OCR Text |
Show 318 I am an outpatient. I relish every moment of my exit from the hospital each time I come for outpatient plasmapharesis. Today, Georgia has preceded me. The machine is only brought down here to this hospital from its home at the Red Cross headquarters further north as we need it and for this reason we are scheduled back-to-back as much as possible. "Hi!" she is saying as she prepares to leave. She is looking well and feeling it as well, she notes. We exchange pleasantries and share a few war stories. We both agree that this out-patient plasmapharesis option is a good one. Neither of us enjoys hospital life. I have been coming now, as an outpatient, for several months, though lately it has seemed that my requiring the procedure has been more frequent than at first. Georgia has left and I am transferring from my wheelchair up into the bed. My plasmapharesis tech is placing her hand on my forearm to feel the whirr of blood moving through the patent graft. She is frowning. "Have you felt this lately?" she is asking. |