Monthly Archives: May 2010

So I think it’s really going to happen. I went for the physical, a long but not unpleasant experience: about 20 more vials of blood and other bodily fluids taken, interview with a doctor, hundreds of questions answered on a dozen forms (hey, do I look like someone who might have had sex with a prostitute?! but I know they have to ask), EKG, chest x-ray, no-nonsense nurse flicking her fingers repeatedly into the crooks of my arms to assess the state of my veins. It was almost a fun way to spend the afternoon because I was accompanied through these various trials by two staff members from the local marrow donor program: S., a young nurse on her way to getting a degree in public health and C., an endearingly chivalrous man who opened doors and offered to bring me food and drink every ten minutes or so. It’s been a long time since I went to the doctor with anyone but myself, and so was a nice and nurturing experience. And after the nurse pronounced my veins in good shape (very important, otherwise I’d need a central line for the donation and would have to stay in the hospital overnight), they both applauded. Never before has the state of my veins elicited a standing ovation, nor will it probably do so ever again.

Then I waited a week and tried not to think about it, an impossible task. The following Tuesday I received a phone call: we’re so sorry, some of your blood samples got contaminated. So I rushed back to the hospital to give more, and C. mentioned that a few of my results had been “flagged.” But no need to worry. Of course I did, so he said a doctor would call to explain. A sleepless night followed.

The next day C. himself called to say that it was a mistake, my results were fine. And, with that, I was pronounced fit to donate.

So now I wait a month and a half. It doesn’t seem quite real, and I alternate between being certain I’m blowing the whole thing out of proportion (it’s just a few hours out of my life, and plenty of others have done it before; I’m nothing special), and being completely overwhelmed with awe.

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Some thoughts on counting the Omer and my PBSC donation …

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On Thursday I learned that I am indeed a perfect match to be a bone marrow donor to a perfect stranger, a woman. As proof that God really does have a sense of humor, and good timing, I got the news in a voicemail message left on my phone at the exact same instant I was having blood drawn at my doctor’s office during a routine checkup. (As the events at Sinai demonstrated, important pieces of information are most effectively delivered with special effects.) I heard the phone buzz and for a second thought—as I had every time over the past month and a half when seeing caller ID from this particular area code—is this it? “It,” I already decided, was no. The odds were too high (about 1:20,000), and how chutzpadik to assume I was perfect? Besides, I didn’t want to get all excited and then be disappointed.

But then I stood on a windy street corner and called back, and heard yes. I was both surprised and not; I guess a little part of me concluded all along that I’d be the one. On Friday I received a big FedEx box containing a million papers to read and sign and a DVD explaining the procedure, an oddly charming glorified filmstrip complete with earnest doctor without any acting ability as narrator.

If all goes well and I pass the physical, I’ll be donating PBSCs, peripheral blood stem cells. They carry the ability to generate new blood cells, and until recently could only be harvested from bone marrow, a surgical procedure involving pain and a hospital stay. A newer method, still experimental but now the most common way to donate, allows these cells to be extracted from circulating (“peripheral”) blood. For five days the donor is injected with filgrastim, a.k.a. granulocyte colony-stimulating factor (G-CSF) a.k.a. Neupogen, a drug to stimulate stem cell growth, and then undergoes a procedure where all the blood in one’s body—a few times over—is filtered to remove stem cells, and then returned. Out one arm and in the other.

Assuming I do pass the physical, the procedure won’t take place until July or later because of a drug trial the recipient is on. In the meantime, she has to stay both sick and healthy enough to make a transplant appropriate, a scary balancing act.

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