Happy Happy Halloween

Today was one of those days that didn't go at all as I had imagined. This was The Plan, more or less:

• go to lab for blood tests for physical next week (my half century check-up!)
• workout
• talk to friend Janet (in Canada) while carving pumpkin
• talk to Peter (on business trip in Switzerland)
• sit down and draw for two hours
• grocery shop
• prepare for Trick-or-treat-ers
• enjoy evening with Henry and any visiting goblins

But then this is what actually happened:
It started out fine. I went to the lab. Went to the gym. Talked to Janet. Got half way through carving pumpkin. Then picked up a phone message from my doctor who called while I was talking to Janet (Will someone please show me how to do Call Waiting?) Doc's message says, "Hi Holly. Gee we got some test results from your labwork this morning that are really not good . . . " It went downhill from there. "I need you to go directly to the emergency room . . . " What?! Excuse me?! Something about platelette count nearing a dangerous level. I went all weak at the knees. I put down the carving knife -- very carefully. I called my doctor.

Indeed, my platelette count was 13,000, according to the lab test. It should be at least 150,000. He described three very serious things that could be wrong with me, but also said it is possible that the test results are false. Still, GET TO THE EMERGENCY ROOM. Ok! I'll go!

When one is suddenly confronted with one's own mortality smack in the middle of an ordinary day and for no apparent reason whatsoever, one enters a sort of state of shock. I actually feel fit as a fiddle but suddenly I'm contemplating every cough or sniffle or bump or scrape -- is it a sign? Does low platelette count feel like anything? And what do I take to the hospital? If the test is accurate they're going to admit me. I pack my computer. I grab my book. I pack a peanutbutter sandwich. I take Ginger on a quick walk. Oh this is surreal, walking my dog while who knows what is or is not floating around in my bloodstream.

Quick phone calls and emails to various family members. Now everyone is upset, momentarily. I get to the emergency room, and wait in line behind the fifteen-year-old girl in labor. They check me in stat but I feel pretty silly occupying a bed when I really feel like sitting in a chair. The nurses and doctor are puzzled, too. They can't find anything wrong with me. Not one thing. And so I wait to get another blood test. Nervous? Not nervous? I try to remain calm and distract myself by reading my book. My sweet husband calls and sends reassuring texts from Switzerland. The poor man next to me is deaf and dumb and is having a very bad reaction to a flu vaccine (don't even get me started on this one!). The poor man across the way is in a lot of pain for some reason, but not cooperating with the nurses. I sit quietly in my little bed and wait.

Finally the doctor returns with the blessed news that I am really really fine. My count is 243,000. Perfect. Air escapes from my lungs in a huge, relaxed wave. The world stops spinning and all I want to do is to get out of there and go home and hug my family. I sign papers, change out of that stupid gown, escape to the parking garage, and head home. I stop by the university so I can hug Katie. I hug Henry when I get home. I hug Ginger. I hug the phone when Peter calls. Life is good.

I can finish carving the pumpkin after all. I can enjoy the Trick-or-treaters. Henry's friends come over for dinner and thank goodness there's plenty of spaghetti to go around. We talk. We laugh. It is all so normal it makes the afternoon seem like a bad dream with a happy ending. The boys spontaneously decide to start a music blog, and ask me to quickly draw artwork for the logo, the thumbs-up fist bump, above. Well that seems appropriate!

It isn't the pretty fall leaf I was planning to draw. It wasn't the day I was planning to have. But thank the good Lord I get to have another ordinary day tomorrow. I'll draw my pretty leaf then.