“Nothing to worry about,” Carolynah told me. “Just a routine check on how you are feeling, generally. Maybe he’s going to tell you how much longer it’s going to take.”
“I hope to God it’s not so.”
Carolynah took me to his office and a glance on the doctor’s face told me nothing. I was hoping that I could have a clue of what it was, but he was expressionless. He had my file open before him on his desk.
“Oh, come on in, Shiri. You look awesome.”
“Thanks. I won’t mind the compliment, if that’s what you meant, under the circumstances.”
He indicated a seat opposite him, his eyes not leaving me even for a second.
“You don’t have to be such a pessimist always. Let you see slivers of light even in the darkest of tunnels,” he said. “How do you feel?”
God, how did I feel? I didn’t know. If there was anyone who could know how I felt, it was him.
“Strange,” I said. “Like am on the highway to grave.”
He didn’t smile, even show that he liked the little joke. He’s hard to read, you know. He riffled through my file and looked up at me.
“We’ve been doing this prophylaxis for how long…? Lemme see.” He scanned thorough his notes then said, “Eight weeks.”
I said nothing but continued looking at him, my stomach muscles clenching.
“Seems like we’ve done so much.”
“I consulted with a friend of mine from Agha Khan Hospital,” he continued. “I sent her samples of your plasma and blood that we took at the beginning and the ones we took last week.”
Now, he had my attention. Was I healing or had I just a few months to live?
“Nothing to worry about, though. We do this kind of thing – exchange consultation that is – with other doctors, just to be sure.”
“Yeah, so, what did she get?”
“Though there seems to be marked improvement since we started the prophylaxis, there are some inconsistencies.”
“What?” My stomach muscles tightened now.
“Not what you are thinking, Shiri,” the doctor’s voice was almost edgy. “From other patients who have undergone plasmapheresis up to eight weeks and were healed, yours seems to have been a bit gradual. According to her, the daily plasmapheresis would have done pretty good if it was to remain consistence, but that break to four times a week caused a minimal relapse.”
“And why didn’t you consult this doctor friend of yours in advance?” I asked. I was beginning to get shocked.
“No. No. No, nothing is wrong. Actually, you are doing just fine.”
“Just fine? Jeepers Creepers! I want to be fine.”
“Of course you’d be. Your platelet count is gradually increasing and that shows a steady healing process. However, it would have to take you longer than we had anticipated, like 12-14 weeks.”
“Are you sure you are not making that up to make me feel good?”
“Not my style. Beating around the proverbial bush to make my patients have hope for life is a euphemism I can’t afford. When I tell you you’re fine, believe me, you are fine. So are you, Shiri. Feel good. You are doing great. We shall conduct another test in a fortnight and see whether we can reduce the transfusion to twice a week.”
“And come with ‘there is inconsistencies’ story later?”
“That’s how it gonna be. We were to do it sooner or later.”
Even though what the doctor told me was a bit of a slammer, I was at least happy I was improving.
I have spent the whole of this week at my home office. I have started the first draft of my novel – the theme is just fine, but I am still having trouble with the setting and characterization.
However, it’s coming.
Copyright ©Elove, 2012.