I got a phone call yesterday that scared the wits out of me.
It was my clinical trial coordinator calling in reference to Tuesday's visit.
Like my mom, she takes forever to get to the point.
She starts out by saying "we got all your labwork back from your visit the other day..." and I'm thinking I'm about to find out something terrible. That maybe my liver enzymes were too high and I was going to be pulled from the trial. GET TO THE POINT! I wanted to scream.
Then she said "but something was wrong with your hemoglobin."
I'm enough of a hypochondriac that I know that means "blood".
I sit down with a "whump" as the air goes out of me and I collapse on the couch. I know I must have been stark white.
"Something's WRONG with my blood??" I ask.
"Yes, it was clotted and they couldn't perform the tests on it. It will have to be redrawn," she said.
"Whew!" was all I could say. "No big deal! Heh. When do you want me there?" I ask.
"Whenever you can make it up this way. Perhaps you need to come up to go Christmas shopping?" she said, trying to make the 4 hour round trip for a thimble full of blood sound appealing.
Little did she know that we are so freaking broke this Christmas that I guess I should bring my son with me for the trip so he knows that the gas money used to provide his *view* on the way is all he's getting from me this year.
I'm going back Monday and all I can say is Loreen better be back at work. She's the only one who can stick me and get blood the first try.
I knew I should have held out for making Novartis pay my gas money.