After looking at my cluttered desktop on my Mac laptop this morning, I decided it was high time I trash a lot of files. That's when I came across this thank you letter that I wrote to my boss for sending a gift basket to the hospital right after I undwent a second mastectomy and reconstructive surgery.
"You're trying to kill me to keep that vampire happy," I finally accused a nurse as she came at me with her needle to extract yet more blood. "No, no, no, she replied, we need to analyze your blood because you are losing way too much blood."
There were complications. I was in the operating room for 24 hours. Due to radiation, the reconstructive part of the surgery wasn't successful. I lost a lot of blood. I ended up in intensive care for three days. I was in the hospital for all of eight days. It was a scary.
Nonetheless, I managed to find some humor through it all. I got a kick out of reading this. So here it is.
Subject: thanks for the gift basket!
A little bird told me you were the one that arranged to have that beautiful gift basket come to me while I was in the hospital. So now I'm going to have to tell you why, when I got that gift basket, I was so happy.
When I first woke up in the recovery room after my operation, a nurse cheerily pricked my arm and said: "Sorry to bother you, but I have to take some of your blood. You see, we have this vampire that lives in the basement, and we have to keep him fed. This vampire always requests blood from new patients, since he considers himself a connissour of blood varietals, and is always looking for new kinds of blood that will delight his sophisticated palate."
"No problem," I replied to the nurse. And didn't think anything more about it until I got into intensive care. That's when it seemed requests for my blood were coming every six hours. As I tossed and turned in my drugged-up state, it occurred to me, that the vampire had acquired a taste for my blood. I realized in horror that Winthrop Hospital had to keep that vampire downstairs fed, so every once in awhile someone became the vampire's sacrificial lamb. I was to be his next victim.
"Hello!" I retorted. "Then just stop taking all my blood! Have the the vampire go after the elderly woman next door who keeps me up all night screaming for morphine!" The nurse bent down and whispered in my ear: "Relax. our vampire gets tired of the same blood type meals after five days. He's had his fill of O positive blood for awhile. Word has it he's requesting B negative blood. You're off the hook."
That very afternoon, I was wheeled out of intensive care on to an ordinary hospital floor. As I got settled into my digs, a woman came into the room wearing a big smile on her face and bearing this beautiful fruit basket. "Are you Marcy?" she asked. "That's me," I replied." She placed the basket on the bedstand next to me. My first thought was, it's the vampire, he wants to let me know how much he enjoyed feasting on my blood. Oh no, I'm still on his radar.
Then I opened the card. It said: "From Your Friends At Yellowbook." That's when I realized I hadn't seen any of my family or friends for four whole days. I had been totally alone fighting demons and vampires. That's when I realized I was very close to finally going back home to rejoin the people who loved and cared for me--and none of them were vampires. That was the happiest moment I had in the hospital.
Thank you so much.