Airplane

For the first time since being told to leave work immediately and report to an emergency room, I have went four weeks without a red blood transfusion. My counts have not risen, but they have started to fall less rapidly. My doctor used the phrase “seem to have stabilized a little,” which to me means improvement. Whether stable, or less rapid, something is different than three months ago—even six weeks ago.

My bone marrow is a plane. I promise this isn’t the beginning of some contrived attempt at poetry; just another boring analogy. Maybe it’s not a sleek government-funded one that drop bombs and goes undetected by radar, but it’s a plane. It’s out on the runway—finally—after months of being worked on in the garage, or hangar, or whatever the space where planes are mechanically ‘adjusted’ is called. Now we wait. Wait to see if the engine will turnover, if this thing will chug down the runaway and build up enough speed to fly.

(Photograph courtesy of D.McCarthy)

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