Get 20M+ Full-Text Papers For Less Than $1.50/day. Start a 14-Day Trial for You or Your Team.

Learn More →

A story of forgiveness

A story of forgiveness BECOMING A PA Anthony Carli was 9 years old and it was June 2001. I sat in a stan- old sister was in the hospital’s hematology/oncology unit, dard examination room on a plastic phlebotomy chair. shackled to an IV post with bags of blood products tether- I It was the kind of room we are all familiar with: an ing her like a prisoner’s ankle weights. My older brother, examination table with crinkly butcher paper sheets; mom, dad, and I had left her room, and waited to have our empty walls; fl uorescent bulbs pounding everything with blood tested. We would fi nd out who, God willing, was a white light that washed youth from skin. It was summer bone marrow match—the one who could save her life. in Arizona, which meant the breeze being pumped from I sat in that frigid room and prepared myself. The nurses the vents in the ceiling made my skin feel fragile, paper- slathered the crease of my elbow with numbing cream to thin. Pulses throbbed in both temples and beneath my make sure I wouldn’t actually feel the pain of the veni- ribs, like a series of tiny explosives systematically detonat- puncture. http://www.deepdyve.com/assets/images/DeepDyve-Logo-lg.png Journal of the American Academy of Physician Assistants Wolters Kluwer Health

Loading next page...
 
/lp/wolters-kluwer-health/a-story-of-forgiveness-iGZDORLKTv
Publisher
Wolters Kluwer Health
Copyright
Copyright © 2021 American Academy of Physician Assistants
ISSN
1547-1896
eISSN
0893-7400
DOI
10.1097/01.jaa.0000791508.22528.a3
Publisher site
See Article on Publisher Site

Abstract

BECOMING A PA Anthony Carli was 9 years old and it was June 2001. I sat in a stan- old sister was in the hospital’s hematology/oncology unit, dard examination room on a plastic phlebotomy chair. shackled to an IV post with bags of blood products tether- I It was the kind of room we are all familiar with: an ing her like a prisoner’s ankle weights. My older brother, examination table with crinkly butcher paper sheets; mom, dad, and I had left her room, and waited to have our empty walls; fl uorescent bulbs pounding everything with blood tested. We would fi nd out who, God willing, was a white light that washed youth from skin. It was summer bone marrow match—the one who could save her life. in Arizona, which meant the breeze being pumped from I sat in that frigid room and prepared myself. The nurses the vents in the ceiling made my skin feel fragile, paper- slathered the crease of my elbow with numbing cream to thin. Pulses throbbed in both temples and beneath my make sure I wouldn’t actually feel the pain of the veni- ribs, like a series of tiny explosives systematically detonat- puncture.

Journal

Journal of the American Academy of Physician AssistantsWolters Kluwer Health

Published: Oct 1, 2021

There are no references for this article.