Saturday, June 7, 2014

The Neutropenia Waltz

My white cells are lower than last time, once again low enough that the neutrophils couldn't be counted. Hemoglobin is low, platelets are super low.  But that's not very fun, is it?  What is fun is The Neutropenia Waltz that I wrote and conducted in my head at 4 this morning.  (My guts woke me up at 2 and I struggled for hours to go back to sleep.)  What follows is an imaginary and fantastic orchestral debut that is sure to win me a Grammy.

Imagine a stately waltz, with the melody plucked in a call-and-response between the first violins and the cellos.  The timpanis thunder on the word Neutropenia.  I suppose a choir of some sort is required to convey the words, but I'm really not feeling or hearing a choir.  A real musician could use these words to write the Waltz.  I'd love to hear that Waltz.  

The Neutropenia Waltz   

1 2 3
In they come
Down I go
Try to eat
Sleep sleep sleep
Cells are beat

Blood is thin
Don't get sick
No no no

Slow rebound
Now I'm found
Time is short
1 2 3


  1. I'm so sorry you are sick. I wish I could take your sickness on for you, even if only for a little while. So many people are on your team, Heather!!! I love you. Hang in there, babe.

  2. I wrote your poem out on a ragged piece of lined spiral paper and put it up in my cube when I got to work.
    I wrote it in red--it seemed fitting.

  3. I wrote a waltz too. There is no orchestra. There might be a steel guitar though.

    My Kid's Breast Cancer Waltz

    She tells me
    She’s tired
    Her blood counts are low.
    She goes to
    The doctor
    She calls Doctor O.
    She’s fighting this battle,
    No matter the cost.
    And my kid
    Does the breast cancer waltz.

    Her friends are
    The party’s been set.
    Her husband’s
    A soldier
    She’s lucky she met.
    An over-achiever,
    She never has lost
    And my kid
    Does the breast cancer waltz.

    And oooooh...oooooh...oooooh
    Don’t she look lovely.
    And oooooh...oooooh...oooooh,
    Don’t she show class.
    And oooooh...oooooh...oooooh,
    In three quarter only
    Dance while
    The band plays
    And my kid
    Beats this breast cancer’s ass.

    1. Oh dad. I'm completely bawling. I'm going to paste this into a real post. I love you.

  4. Now we know why Heather is such a wordsmith.

    Funny though... It always came out as "Macarana" when I read Heather's "Neutropenia"