We waited several hours that night. The half-empty waiting room was filled with lined-up black chairs, no colour on the walls to lighten the mood, and very little advancement in calling patients to see the doctor – if there even was one at that ungodly hour. It was tough to stay awake, but I didn’t see myself lounging on those chairs where many may have sat with infectious germs. The lack of comfort didn’t allow me the luxury either. My husband could easily bow his head and take a snooze.
It was such a long night, but I was determined to get answers. We were frustrated by the time three a.m. came around, but stayed until I was called at seven fifteen that morning.
The doctor requested blood work, and results showed I was anemic. “I have Thalassaemia Minor, so that may be why.”
I didn’t know at the time, but my family doctor, who recently mentioned he had studied the disease, explained that the only way to distinguish the anemia from the Thalassaemia is to check two other sources in the blood. The ferritin was one, but I don’t remember the other. The results can easily be misinterpreted. I wonder if the emergency doctor knew that, and if it would have made any difference in the timing of my diagnosis. Sometimes I speak too much. Perhaps I should have let her continue the investigation without my input. There was no further attention placed on the low blood count, at least not to my knowledge.
So would it have made much difference waiting until the next day to go to the hospital? Would I have gone or tried to see my family doctor following the spitting of blood? No other symptoms occurred for quite some time, so surely I would have done what everyone else does… forgotten about it.
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