The universe keeps asserting that I still have a choice to bow out of this donation process, even now, the 11th hour and two shots into this adventure and the final countdown.  Friday afternoon this reminder about choice came by way of the doctor that gave me my first shot of Neupogen the previous day.  He called with the perplexing results of my complete blood count (CBC). According to those results my neutrophils (defined in a previous post as the white blood cell that plays Johnny on the spot when there’s an infection to fight) were low to the point that would suggest I myself am more vulnerable to bacteria, even the most common every day bacterias found in the mouth or gut could cause infection when neutrophils dip below the 500 mark.  1,500 neutrophils per microliter of blood is considered the lower end of normal and ‘mine’ registered at 494 from Thursday’s baseline CBC.  If these numbers were true, it would suggest that I myself should be consulting with a hematologist.  And it would also suggest that I would not be a suitable donor for someone who is heavy into radiation and chemo treatments at this very moment.  The doctor that called with this information suggested that I recuse myself from the process.

I went into a complete tailspin.  The grace I spoke about in the previous post went flying out the window, the weight of a feather commandeered by a violent updraft.  How could this be?  I’ve never taken better care of myself than I have this past year, even before this donation was in my world.  And especially these past few months that I’ve been actively committed to this process.  I’ve upped my supplement intake, eaten healthy, drank lots more water, and supported the more subtle energies with acupuncture.  And all of my results have come back on the higher end of normal, until now.

The doctor asked if I’d been given any other drugs, knowingly or otherwise… how about Prednisone?  It couldn’t be that I’d been exposed to the levels of radiation in Japan?  Um, no and definitely no.  He suggested it was as if someone or something was trying to sabotage.

Could it be that the lab made a mistake, said I? It’s a possibility, said he, and certainly plausible given the dramatic about face of these results.  He went on to suggest that I not go through with the process.

This was the equivalent of being given a koan for which there is no logical solution.  Not go through with the process?!  Everything in me swelled into a tidal wave casting a shadow over the shores of his suggestion and I counter offered that another CBC be taken.  And that’s exactly what we did.

I marched, in an out-of-body kind of way, to a lab in Oakland’s Chinatown for one more round of blood work, despite his suggestion that we couldn’t trust the numbers at this point because I’ve got two days of Neupogen in me now which would falsely report the levels of white blood cells.  En route to the lab I phoned my donor work-up point of contact who successfully talked me off the ledge, kept telling me to breath, and asked me not to freak out.  She assured me that the doctors in NY were the experts and would be making the final call.

The phlebotomist at the lab could see I was in distress and asked if I was okay.  I was able to eek out a no before the deluge.   She offered a hug. I accepted.  This 11th hour drill was an invitation to realize that everything in me is in solidarity and saying yes.  The less pretty face of grace.

In the midst of the drill yesterday, Ryan suggested that the perk and opportunity of being awake is that you are given the option to let the traumas move through you and not let them find a place to take up residence amidst the smaller fire drills that make the heart beat quicken.  Like someone trying to escape danger in a suspenseful film and coming up against the dead-end brick wall too high to climb, I could ignore the quickening, go on auto-pilot, get back to the task at hand, and let the trauma find a nice little corner to play pile-on.  Or I could stay awake to the tremor and let it wash through me, filter it kind of like the kidneys filter the impurities from our blood.

During this morning’s acupuncture treatment it took about ten minutes to settle.  It was beyond fantastic that there was that opportunity to dial-it down after the ratcheting up of the past 24 hours.  Lying there and being with the litany of to-dos, betwixt and between, the taffy-making push and pull of doing and being, rising to the surface where all is busy and bubbling, then falling again to the bottom where all is the flow was delicious.  And when I got up off the table everything settled with gravity.  I felt the aches that were promised as the Neupogen started doing its work.  Sharp flashes in my long bones, in my pelvis, my ribs, and chest.

Back at home again the home-health care nurse showed up as planned for today’s shot.  My CBC count came back just fine last night.  The doctor that is part of the Gift of Life team in NY suspects that if the numbers from Thursday’s CBC were true, it has more to do with my being post monthly cycle.  Fortunately I’ve had CBCs done on April 13 and again on April 25, so they’ve got a good picture of a baseline for my normal.  Who knew your neutrophils went surfing the waves of the menses?