To-marrow

Though I’ve never been trampled by zebras nor fallen from a hot air balloon, I know pain, specifically bone marrow biopsy pain. I won’t compare it to giving birth or breaking a bone. Those I haven’t done. I compare it to my previous biopsies and conclude, yes, they are still painful.

During a previous sonogram I was on my back, looking at everything. For the biopsy I’m on my belly and told to look towards the wall, away from everything. Anesthesia is injected into the hipbone and they tell me to breathe deeply and think pleasant thoughts. I hold tightly to the sides of the bed. Anesthesia is not going take away all the pain I will feel. The needle like tube sucks up air as they practice for the real thing.

They insert the tube and I thank God for my kids. Due to them we took Lamaze classes and learned about my “special place”. Actually, it was my wife’s “special place” but three kids is enough and now, lying on the table, I’ll take that second star on the right straight on till morning and discover mine. Pain taken as a whole pie is not easily bearable, so we divide it into portions. Breathing deeply and thinking about something else accomplishes this and leads one to their special place. Theoretically the easiest way to learn about a special place is to ask a woman during labor “Have you found your special place?” “What is it like?” However, during labor my wife told me to “shut up”, putting me in the catch-22 position of knowing nothing about this oasis but making me want to scurry from the room to find it. Sometimes theory is best left on paper.

I’m working with all I’ve got to portion that pie into manageable pieces. I don’t care if those who fall out of hot air balloons do so without anesthesia; at this point what I’m going through is comparable. In the past I’ve connected with my insides. At times my stomach’s gurgled “Here is what you sent me, do with it as you please.” My heart has gasped, “What gave you the idea you’re in shape?” But feeling my bone marrow jostled as the needle works a bit loose is surreal and painful. Marrow should be left alone. A perfect world would have no leukemia and marrow would neither be shaken nor stirred.

My special place is with my son. Earlier that morning our four year old banged his plastic bat on the bed and pillows, enjoying himself until I took it away and left him downcast. Now I picture myself back in the bedroom while he hits the bed with all his strength. He glows with his wide smile, happy eyes and mussed up blond hair. He jumps around the room and nothing stops him until the doctor announces she is finished. I come back to the room as the tube is pulled out and I lie there, my hands shaking a bit. There is a lot to be said for special places.

Hairy Cell Leukemia looms large in our lives; it seems anti-climatic that the miniscule marrow in front of me holds the answer. Sitting, somewhat dizzy and not wanting to walk, I hope for healthy marrow.

It’s small, but boy does it hurt coming out.