I had a bone marrow aspiration done today. Dr. Hosing is hoping it will explain why I’m not producing platelets. When I found out that this was going to happen, I told my team that the last aspiration I had done was administered by a real artist, one who had made the experience almost pain free. When I told them this guy was a tall African-American man, all three women said simultaneously, “Larry.”
I felt good knowing his name. I felt empowered, if you will. My plan was to walk in to the aspiration clinic and insist on Larry doing my procedure.
Which is exactly what I did. The receptionist said it would be no problem as long as Larry was still working. I recognized him, the man who had done such a great job the last time, as he got another patient just a few moments later. I felt good. Larry was in the house.
When it was my turn, one of Larry’s assistants came to take me back to the appropriate room. I walked in and there was this African-American man who wasn’t Larry. Or, more accurately, there was Larry, who was not the same gentleman who had done the procedure last time. My Larry was a much younger guy. Also, my Larry is most likely not named Larry.
The best laid plans. . . .
By the way, Larry did an outstanding job.