From the office of Bloodworks*
This morning I had to make the trip to Bronglais Hospital in Aberystwyth to see the Haematologist.
I always thought Haematologists were those weird sea creatures from Doctor Who, but apparently those are Haemovores. My Haematologist was a strangely squashed man, with limited mobility in his arms and shoulders, which made writing my case notes difficult. He seemed a nice enough person and a competent doctor, asking me a few simple but pertinent questions my GP could have done just as easily.
Apparently my white blood cell count is low. This, I'm told, is better than having a white blood cell count that is too high, but not as good as having a white blood cell count that's just right. Or is that Porridge? I forget.
Anyway, the upshot of my early visit to town was that all my previous blood tests had been taken in the morning - or at least that was the case to the best of my knowledge. Sometimes white cell counts start low at the beginning of the day and perk up as it progresses. A bit like me in many ways. So to rule out that possibility I must have three more tests done.
The first one was at nine this morning. The second one was at one o'clock this afternoon. I've one more to do at five. There are two problems with this.
First off, Aberystwyth is over half an hour's drive away and there's no parking anywhere near the hospital, so I have to allow an hour. There's nothing I can usefully do in town in the intervening periods, so I've had to come home. Not that there's much I can usefully do here either, except leave rude comments on people's blogs.
The second problem is that they've punctured both of my arms to squeeze out my blood. I'm slightly concerned as to where they're going to take the third lot from.
*with apologies to Alastair Reynolds, though he's had a good plug for the book on this site for at least three weeks now.
I always thought Haematologists were those weird sea creatures from Doctor Who, but apparently those are Haemovores. My Haematologist was a strangely squashed man, with limited mobility in his arms and shoulders, which made writing my case notes difficult. He seemed a nice enough person and a competent doctor, asking me a few simple but pertinent questions my GP could have done just as easily.
Apparently my white blood cell count is low. This, I'm told, is better than having a white blood cell count that is too high, but not as good as having a white blood cell count that's just right. Or is that Porridge? I forget.
Anyway, the upshot of my early visit to town was that all my previous blood tests had been taken in the morning - or at least that was the case to the best of my knowledge. Sometimes white cell counts start low at the beginning of the day and perk up as it progresses. A bit like me in many ways. So to rule out that possibility I must have three more tests done.
The first one was at nine this morning. The second one was at one o'clock this afternoon. I've one more to do at five. There are two problems with this.
First off, Aberystwyth is over half an hour's drive away and there's no parking anywhere near the hospital, so I have to allow an hour. There's nothing I can usefully do in town in the intervening periods, so I've had to come home. Not that there's much I can usefully do here either, except leave rude comments on people's blogs.
The second problem is that they've punctured both of my arms to squeeze out my blood. I'm slightly concerned as to where they're going to take the third lot from.
*with apologies to Alastair Reynolds, though he's had a good plug for the book on this site for at least three weeks now.
Comments
I hear they’re nice finely sliced with fresh chilli and a squeeze of lime.
Or you could try white pudding – that’d work, wouldn’t it?
Stands to reason.