I Don’t Have to Be Good EVER Again

That’s it. That’s all they took on day two. My bone marrow is so awesome that they don’t need more than that to save a guy. I should get a cookie-shaped medal. Made out of cookie.

Okay, so all of my greatness from the past week is over and I’m home recovering from my superiority over the rest of the human race. I’m bruised and cranky but I’m STILL basking in the feeling of smuggery over literally everyone else.

For those of you just stopping by, I donated bone marrow to a total stranger and let me tell you, it was not quite the picnic it sounds like. You might be misled into thinking it’s all free T-shirts and being fed cookies by the staff while you slowly drip into a tiny ziploc baggie, but it’s actually full of Viking-sized needles that look a lot like screwdrivers. There was a ton of pain, but I do have to admit that none of it was just because the nurses thought it would be funny to wiggle the needles around while fishing for a different vein.

I’m pretty sure I did more than my fair share of whining during the entire process, but it was mostly because it was day seven of No-Wine-Gate and we had already gone to DefCon Get-Me-A-Fucking-Drink. You can’t take away my merlot AND poke me. It’s just not right.

Now that it’s over and my super venom is at this very moment being injected into someone else, I am taking all kinds of liberties with the rest of society. I got to get on the airplane first, just because I limped up to the flight attendant and told her, “I’m really sore from donating bone marrow. Is there any way I can go ahead and get in my seat so that no one bumps my limbs?” The off-property parking people brought my car to the door of the shuttle bus because I told them, “I just donated bone marrow, and I mean, like, a lot of it, and probably more than the legal amount they were allowed to take because my guy was REALLY sick, and my legs hurt.”

I was planning to use this bone marrow excuse with the cashier at Walmart today, but I’m afraid I’d have to explain what bone marrow is and why you need it, so I’m just going to tell her that I’m a recovering heroin addict and I might go nuts if I have to stand there too long. She would probably be more familiar with that scenario.

Basically, I’m giving myself a time limit on how long I get to milk this, but since I got home last night and my husband decided to go watch high school football with his brother instead of coming to see his wife who’s been gone for three days DONATING BONE MARROW (and because he doesn’t read this blog…I’ve warned him that he really should start checking it out), I’m going to tell him it takes three more days to regain full use of my limbs and another six weeks to recover from the weakness from having my bone marrow sucked out. I don’t plan on cooking, wiping, or mopping anything for the foreseeable future.

In all total seriousness, donating bone marrow is awesome. Of course it hurts, but so does cancer. It was an incredible inconvenience that cost me a lot of time and some sick leave, but so is cancer. It did crazy things to my body, but so does cancer. Go get registered to donate by checking out NMDP.org and you’ll have your own excuse to jump in line at Starbucks.

You’d Think They’d Want to Know If I’m Pregnant Before They Kill The Guy

Okay, so that title is actual words that I accidentally spoke out loud at a completely inappropriate time. In the gas station. Really, really out loud. Here’s what happened:

I made this “without thinking” kind of decision way back in college. When most people do something reckless in college without thinking it through all the way, somebody becomes a baby mamma. Luckily, I’m such a nerd that when I did something in college without thinking, it was donating blood on the blood mobile. And the afterthought was to say, “Sure, go ahead, register me on the bone marrow registry list.”

Twenty-mumble-mumble years later, I got the call. I’m a match for a man who needs my bone marrow. My current line of reasoning is pity for the poor man who receives my bone marrow, but then I also start to think, “Suck it, cancer patient, you are about to be filled to the brim with the sideshow carnival that is my bone marrow.”

Right off the bat, the worst news was that I have to stop drinking until the donation. It was a close call, because that man was ALMOST gonna die. Oh stop, you know I don’t love cheap merlot more than a fellow human being. I gave up the drinking. Then I found out that if I got pregnant, I couldn’t donate. Let me tell you that I’ve thought it through completely and the death of another human being might not be the absolute worst thing to come out of this scenario if I were pregnant. More to the point, if I were pregnant, there would be a dead man lying around, and trust me, it wouldn’t be the cancer patient.

Luckily, I have enough self-control to stop drinking and I’m not pregnant. The process by which doctors will suck the squish out of my bones is a go.

Then I learned that they have to kill off all his bone marrow before he can get any of mine, and they’re going to start that on Friday. And on the following Tuesday, I have to go pee on something and prove I’m not pregnant. Something weird occurred to me as I was talking to my mom about this whole thing:

“Wouldn’t you think they’d want to make sure I’m not pregnant before the start killing the guy?” I asked. Unfortunately, I have no filter, and I was standing in line in the gas station when I said those words all together. No, I wasn’t buying wine. I already said I had self-control.

Let’s just say, when you spit all those words out one right after another, people stare. It was really weird. They don’t even pretend that they’re not staring. They just look and look and look. I also learned there’s really no good way to explain why you just said all that, so I blurted out, “I really hope they catch the guy who did it,” and bolted from the gas station.