My Fear:
I went to the doctor last Friday and my greatest fear was realized. She glanced at my lab results, looked at me in the eye and took a deep breath before uttering these words in a sympathetic but disturbed tone, “I’m sorry to say but you have polycythemia vera, it’s a rare disorder of the blood-producing cells of the bone marrow that results in overproduction of red blood cells. I don’t mean to scare you but about half of the people who have polycythemia vera with symptoms die in less than two years…”
“Less than two years?,” I shrieked. Her words seemed like a million spikes that pierced my heart. I felt blood rush through my veins and it was though my whole body would explode.
“But that is without treatment,” she added. “With treatment, they live an average of 15 to 20 years. Treatment does not cure polycythemia vera, but it does control it and can decrease the likelihood of complications. Usually, blood is removed from the body in a procedure called phlebotomy, similar to the way blood is removed when donating blood. A pint of blood is removed every other day until the hematocrit reaches a normal level, which is then maintained by removing blood every few months, as needed.”
This additional information didn’t appease me. “15 to 20 years,” I thought was still hard to accept. I’m still very young. I would not even reach being a senior citizen. It sounded like a curse, as if my life and existence were stolen before my very eyes. I could never live life the way I used to, in a carefree manner. It felt like I had cancer and in a few days I would start to undergo chemotherapy. Instead it was this poly-wat-cha-ma-call-it and I had to undergo phlegm-my-bottom whatever. I was scared and distressed and disappointed and sad and angry and frustrated, all at the same time. I can’t explain what I felt or what I am still feeling until now.
It started with just a simple itch. I thought that my skin just became sensitive or that my body’s immune system just couldn’t take the pollution in our environment. I didn’t know that it was more than that. That it was already my blood. That my bone marrow was already overproducing red blood cells and that no amount of blood donation could stop it.
Suddenly, my life flashed before my very eyes. I have lived my life on this planet but what have I done to help the world? What have I contributed to humankind, to my country or even to my community? Have I done anything to make this world a better place to live in? Am I a useless speck of dust on earth that my Creator has decided to get rid of me? I know I probably have done something good in one small way or another. But it isn’t enough. I felt so guilty for being somewhat worthless… I still do until this day.
The Truth:
Actually, I did go to a doctor last Friday because of my skin irritation when scratched. But I wasn’t diagnosed with the disease. I just came across that disorder surfing the internet. My lab results did indicate that I had a higher-than-normal-for-female level of red blood cells, hematocrit and segmenters. But if I were male, the results would be normal. I knew that having a low level of red blood cells is anemia but I did not know what condition it is to have a high level. I researched and came across polycythemia vera. What I wrote above is actually what I feared the doctor would say. In short, I prepared for the worst. And I mean, the WORST.
Luckily, the doctor said that my results were just normal and dust mites would be the major cause of my itchiness. Also, I need to avoid, if not lessen, certain foods. She gave me a prescription of medicine which I don’t intend to take anymore. I’m just glad she said that my lab results are fine.
Nevertheless, reading about the condition did make me a bit scared and alarmed as well. Everything I said above did come across my mind and I do feel like I haven’t accomplished anything worthwhile in this lifetime.
All this time, I feel like I have lived life by default. For me, it seems as if life is a stream where I simply let myself drift with it. Like a fish, I just flowed with life, caring for my own survival. I’d like to believe that I am strong and unafraid, having overcome a lot of difficulties. But looking back, I realized that I haven’t been through anything that deserves recognition. I don’t want to make major choices to greatly affect my life because I am afraid to fail. I’m also afraid of change thus hindering my progress, keeping me where I have been all my life… nowhere.
I don’t want to waste my life anymore. But I feel helpless somehow. What can I do? I know I’ve got to start somewhere, but where? I want to start as soon as possible, but when and how? It saddens me that I do not know the answer to these questions. Or maybe I know but I refuse to admit that I do because I don’t want to pressure myself too much.
Time is moving so fast. It does feel like my life has been shortened. I have to do something. I just have to. So help me God.
Note: This was posted as Friendster Blog on September 3, 2005. I just tweaked it a bit. It is still meaningful to me until now because I still have the same unanswered questions. And we never really know when our time is up.
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