We loved our visit to the Zoo and Botanical Gardens last Friday. But that visit also left us with excitement of a different type.
I had increasingly been complaining of exhaustion the last couple of weeks. I found myself out of breath just walking up a flight of stairs. I told myself it was because we were burning the candle at both ends – midnight dinners and early-morning Spanish lessons. Four hours of wandering around the zoo, and I was whipped.
We were packed like sardines into the subway on the way back from the Zoo, and Tom was gazing adoringly into my eyes from 3 inches away. And he noticed that the whites of my eyes had turned yellow.
My prince then sprung into action. Before you could say blue suede tango shoes, we were off to consult with Dr. Elvis at a top-notch private hospital. Our lean, tanned, polo playing (and English speaking) doctor took my medical history and then personally walked us over to the lab at the hospital next door. Much blood was drawn, and I was told that the results would be ready on Monday.
Tom went off to find a money machine so we could settle our account, and I waited at the lab. Next thing I know, the technician is running out to tell me that the doctor will come back to talk to me: DO NOT LEAVE.
Seems I had a significant shortage of red blood cells, I was seriously anemic. The reason was unknown – the rest of the tests hadn’t been processed – but the clinic wanted to transfuse me with a couple of units of blood. They would do the cross match work overnight and proceed on Saturday morning.
What to do? This was a good doctor, a good hospital. I was sick.
On the other hand, the prospect of being a patient in Spanish was more Spanish immersion than I had signed up for. The list of possible reasons for anemia are long and frightening. And if there were side-effects to the transfusion, or the cause was not readily discernible, I might not be able to get back to Canada.
And so, the next day we packed up the apartment, took the 11 hour flight home, and checked into the emergency ward at Toronto General.
A complete medical history was taken. Because we had been travelling in South America, no potential risk factor was overlooked. Each risk translated into at least one vial of blood. So if I wasn’t dangerously anemic before, I was in ever increasing peril.
“Did I go into any fresh water?” (Yes, but the fact that it had been glacial ice hours before did not seem to lessen the vial count.)
“Any adventure tourism?’ (Well, no to white-water rafting, but the mention of thermal hot springs seemed to bring a gleam to the hematologist’s eye – since when is a day at the spa considered adventure tourism?)
“Visit any tropical locations?” (No, Ecuador shares parts of the Amazon, but we were freezing our butts in the mountains. Well, let’s check for malaria anyhow.)
The hospital ran me through every test they could think of – x-rays, ultra-sounds, and a huge variety of blood tests. They quickly determined I was producing red cells properly, but that my body was destroying them.
The blood tests did not give clear cut answers. So more were ordered. Some of the tests were so rare that they would be sent for processing in Ottawa and the US. The drawers of blood were unfamiliar with them – one set of samples had to be redone three times – the last time with personal instructions from the hematologist.
Doctors were starting to compare me to a patient in the series “House”.
No one knew exactly what triggered the destruction of my blood cells, but there seemed to be fascination that my new cells were spheroid, rather than biconcave discs. Internet research that Tom did from home kept bringing up links to Bruce Bannister and some green alter-ego. I was not amused when he shifted from calling me little honey, to little hulk.
I had been checking out the wonderful shoe stores in Buenos Aires, but hadn’t yet found the perfect shoes. And I also had my eyes on a very kicky pair of high-heeled Tango shoes. Tom bought me these as a consolation prize.
And, the exciting part, I was asked to be the final exam for some med students. I hope they read comic books and watch TV, or they are doomed. (I was discharged before the exam, so it didn’t happen.)
As I write this, my hemoglobin levels are doing well. I have received two units of blood (type A+, what else) which helped get me over the hump, and my body took the sledgehammer hint and had stabilized. I’m resting at home and manufacturing new blood.
Maybe we will never know exactly what made my system go wonky. The best guess is a 24 hour flu with bad after-effects. The doctors have assigned a long medical name, translated from the Latin it means “We don’t have a clue.”
And just possibly we can blame it on the full moon. As we flew back from Buenos Aires under the full moon, my sister went into premature labour. Coincidence or cause, what pulled us home?
We will miss the sunny warm clear skies of Buenos Aires. Especially since this is what Toronto looks like today – it’s gently snowing, with another few inches of snow on the way.
So if we are a little disappointed, there are sweet pink compensations. Janine and Robertson’s first child, Nora Samantha, is beautiful and perfect.
In all, I spent four days in the hospital – 36 hours in Emergency. There is nothing that makes you more thankful for your health than being among people who are truly ill.
And no matter how sweet travel is, we are thankful for the company of friends and family.
This blog is temporarily suspended, we are back in Toronto for the foreseeable future. You can e-mail or call us to catch up anytime, we’d love to hear from you.