Welcome to Gaia! ::

As I strode into my bedroom, clothed in fleece pjs (my favorite), I pulled off my amber framed glasses and listened to the metallic clang as they hit my nightstand. Peeling back the ocean-themed comforter, I crawled into the space between two fuzzy blankets (my favorite spot). Hitting the light switch with a clumsy throw of my hand, I settled into my warm nest of cotton and polyester. Sitting there in the reddish glow of my night light gave me time to think as I waited for sleep to overcome. At first, I found myself staring into space, my mind in limbo. I scratched my head, suddenly feeling an overwhelming sense of gratitude as I ran my fingers through the locks of just-past-the-shoulder-length chocolate brown hair. And I felt my hand reach over to my right forearm, caressing a dip in my skin and feeling all the tiny bumps around it as well. All remains of my ordeal.

It was a year ago, a chilly October month with pile of leaves already beneath the trees, cloaking the roots with the skins of orange, yellow, and red. It had been a Saturday, I recalled, when I discovered bright, cherry-red dots all over my legs.

At first, we dismissed it as a simple rash of no harm whatsoever. But what could explain my bruises? I had not bumped anything nor fallen for quite some time. Now was the time for worry. All was vague, blurred by exhaustion of a long Sunday routine and time as it passed. I have a recollection of tears streaming from my eyes as I trudged back to my room to change from sleepwear to something more presentable. It was 10:45 PM when we reached the hospital as a family.

I endured the blood tests with many tears and a whispering verse on the tip of my tongue, growing louder with each turn.

"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort..."

I felt a pinch.

"Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort."

Release. I was tear-stained and shaking by the time the kindly man left with multiple samples of blood. By this time, I was covered head to toe with the unsightly purplish marks and bruises. My brother, tired as he was as well, flipped through a nearby magazine, grinning as he held out a particular page that sparked humor in his blue eyes. It was a picture of a goat, with the page torn so that the picture of a pig showed just the ear, or was it the other way around? It was almost a perfect match. I smiled at him and curled up under my jacket, suddenly feeling very cold...

(That's as far as I'll get tonight. I'm kinda crying as I type this...)

you are an amazing writer. this gave me the chills. i'm sure it's not easy sharing stories/experiences like this to people you don't know well. i'm praying that this story has a happy ending. i would really love to listen to your stories and if you need anyone, i'm here. i'm sure you can use someone like me; i won't judge, i'm a great listener, etc. you'll see for yourself. God bless you!

((*smiles sadly* This is a true story...))

...I didn't really care that my jacket was half a size too small. I had just thrown it on along with my t-shirt and sweatpants.

Minutes later, even though it was pitch black outside, the dead of midnight, my grandfather arrived. Good, honorable, loving grandfather with my compassionate grandmother on his heels. My parents spoke with them, and we laughed, if strained, for the doctor had not come back with the results yet.

My grandpa sat down on the hospital bed beside me, trying to cheer me up, as always when I felt down and depressed. He is a tall gentleman, with little gray hair and a farmer's hands. His smile is kind, even if his teeth are crooked. His eyes are bright, even after so many years. He's my pal, my buddy when the times get rough. He listens, he jokes and laughs...

And I cried. I had thought that I was already out of tears to weep, but I was proven wrong. We tried to make the best of it, smiling and playing connect-the-dots on my leg. I was less than amused when my brother proposed the idea. Much, much less.

Minutes ticked by slowly, excruciating to a girl with little to no sleep in the last forty-eight hours. Finally, the doctor, dressed the the uniform blue-white smock, pushed aside the curtain separating us from the rest of the E.R. hallway. His voice was calm, but a slightly worried gleam was in his eyes, and he explained my predicament for all to hear.

I was diagnosed with I.T.P. that night, a blood disorder rarely seen. According to the doctor, my platelet counts were alarmingly low, but none of the other cell counts were low, just the platelets. That fact alone ruled out many dangerous illnesses that were proven deadly in some cases. He had no idea what could have caused my antibodies to attach to the wrong cells, nor how to treat me.

Minutes later, I was loaded into an ambulance, two kindly men gently lifting my tired, worn-out self on the stretcher into the vehicle. My father and I waved solemnly as the back doors shut, and we drove away, leaving the rest of my family (excluding my brother at college) behind in the hospital parking lot...

((I have to go to bed tonight, goodnight.))