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 of the American Academy of Physician Assistants – Wolters Kluwer Health
Published: Oct 1, 2021