The Circles I've Been Running In

The phlebotomist called this morning. How many people can say that? And how many people can actually say phlebotomist for the first time without sounding it out?

The phlebotomist specializes in drawing blood. My mom's veins are cheapskates, they don't want to give away an ounce. So once a week they call in the special forces to poke, prod and pull a sampling of her miserly platelets to test her body's potency and resolve. Like an inverse milk man, he carries away a little tray of pastel colored tubes filled with my mom's blood. As an added bonus, she thinks he is cute.

There's also the gastro guy, the nurse practitioner, the pancreatic specialist, and the TPN person. TPN stands for Total Parenteral Nutrition - in laymen's terms: a big bag of liquid food that is given through one's veins. I can talk the talk, and my mother is walking the walk.

You see, these are the circles I've been running in. My mother's health has declined in the last year, and my social network has taken on a slightly clinical tone with a whole new set of conversations, vocabulary and circumstances that seem second nature to me now. If only we could meet for drinks!

When I was 8 years old, my Grandmother spent 3 months - one very long summer - in the hospital in Athens, Ohio. She was gravely ill with ulcerative colitis. Thankfully, she survived and had 30 more years with us. Part of my daily activity as an 8 year old that summer was giving "the update" - recounting for family and friends the state of things when they called. These updates were not complex, it was much like reporting baby's first year: she slept, she ate, she pooped. I am reminded of that summer now, but obviously am an adult without the luxury of a generation between me and a weakened parent.

I have conversations with the medical team. It seems good, it seems bad, it seems like a crap shoot. I witness nurses doing their duties and am taught a few things myself. Wearing rubber gloves makes it official…I can perform some of the basics: I can fill a syringe, prime a feeding tube, and change a dressing. I think the physician's assistant is foxy and start rating the cuteness of comfortable shoes. While it may not be much of a social life, it is still social. Talking, listening, asking questions - elements of communication and ritual that any community takes on.

This is the company I keep - partners in my mother's quest to regain her health. And now, via email, I can pass on the information to family and friends and spell check "phlebotomy" all at the same time.