Bachelorette Diaries; Wk23, 2012


Eve was the first to arrive.

“You look pale, Shiri, but your smile is strong,” she told me. “All very good signs, despite the fact that you are still not fully recovered,” she added.

“Are you kidding me?” I said. “I must get out of this place this very day.”

I had already been discharged and was waiting for my other two friends who had vowed to take it personal if they did not take me home. Imagine, they got time from their busy, career-oriented schedules to be with me. What are friends for – I’d do the same for them, too.

“Why? Because you missed the Bac’s days at Galileo’s? Why would you want to get out of the hospital where you are being patched up, treated like a Queen?”

I laughed, just for effect, in spite of myself. I knew that they had insisted on taking me home because I had not told them when I was admitted and they wanted to make it up, more to themselves than to me. After all it was I who’d not told them, and thinking that I could have inherited my disease from my father was scary. How much more risky things had I gotten from him, or mom.

I remembered mom telling me that dad was sick way back in January, and that he was to be operated on. She did not tell me much about the illness, though, even when I went home two months later in March. I was just happy that he was recovering and hoped to God that he did just fine.

Dad’s a fighter, and I had no doubt that he’d be OK. I did not ask him what had been the problem, nevertheless. I guess the joy of him being alive and kicking had overshadowed everything else – and he did not offer the info.

Now, when the doctor told me that I had a very rare blood condition, and that it’s generally due to inherited deficiency of ADAM TS13, I did not think it through. My parents are sexagenarians – and healthy – and have never told us of any hereditary disease in the family, to the best of my fading knowledge (we’ve no secrets). Why then had dad not told us of this condition? I just hope to God I am speculating – heck, what do you think? I am the media and speculation and conjecture is our middle name.

For the past three weeks I have been confined in this minimum security prison – Karen Hospital – I walked myself into on my own volition. The doctors have done all their best to tackle this Upshaw Schulman Syndrome leviathan though I might not live up to forty when life begins.

When last week they said that I could be discharged and be coming four times a week for the transfusion I welcomed the idea enthusiastically. I am so sick of this place, already.

It feels good to be taken care of, to have no duties and responsibilities – your meals prepared and brought to you, your clothes washed and ironed, sheets washed daily and mail and newspapers brought to the comfort of your bed.

I look at the seraphim and cherubs on the ceiling, project what my life could be on that ‘blank’ screen. Life will never be the same again. If it’s something that’s in the family it will never go. If Daliah doesn’t have it, I might be the only person in the family who has inherited dad’s genes fully.

I am waiting for the doctor to come and discharge me. I can’t be happier to get outta this place. I know I am a fighter – like dad – and I will be better. However, I can’t help thinking that I might bequeath my condition to my kids. The thought enough scares the hell out of me, and any future plans of a family are pushed to the dark recesses of my petrified mind. Nonetheless, that’s something for another day – no one knows what the future holds for them.

Any time from now the girls would stomp in to whisk me away and take me home.

Copyright ©Elove, 2012.


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