By Marissa Chow, American Red Cross volunteer
It’s sobering when you’re admitted to the hospital so often that the nurses know you by name. They look at you with a mixture of compassion and pity, saying “Oh no, you’re back again?” or “I remember you. I’ve known you since you were a baby!” And they don’t just know your name; they know you. As a sickle cell patient, they know your need for a blood transfusion is urgent and that your tiny veins tend to collapse, making blood draws difficult and painful. They know that the intense stabbing pain racking your body, a dangerously low hemoglobin level, and a high fever can result in your condition progressing from serious to critical very fast. They know that every hour that passes without a blood transfusion increases your risk of infection, life-threatening respiratory difficulties, organ damage, and stroke. They know that once you get new blood in your veins, you’ll perk up and return to your normal self; that you hate the weird clown guy who comes around trying to make you laugh but welcome the friendly and comforting therapy dogs; that the only way to get you out of bed is to challenge you to a game of foosball. The hospital has been your second home since infancy; the nurses just know you.