On My Not-So-Secret Power To Summon Flying Monkeys

My brother, an airline pilot, has been in a hospital in northern Kentucky for two days - after falling very ill during a layover.  Big sis is frustrated on the sidelines - as her baby brother is alone and doped-up.  To top it all off, he's on a surgical service, and, as is often the case with doctors-treated-as-inapproachable gods, answers have not exactly been forthcoming. 

And now it's a weekend . . . with six inches of snow on the ground there, and flights cancelled.

Yesterday, in sharing some of these frustrations with the freaky Mennonite during rounds, I mentioned that there is a family history of varigate porphyria.  It is a rare genetic disorder of heme metabolism that is both autosomal dominant and "variably-expressive" . . . basically meaning that it can appear to skip generations and that not all who are affected have serious symptoms.  Based on family lore, I'm fairly certain my Great-GrandMother Blanche had it (I actually tracked the disorder through the family tree for a paper I did in college).  And I have a distant cousin (actually, I think he's technically an Uncle-once-removed) with the full-blown disease who has been followed for years at Duke. 

My Mother has had life-threatening problems with anesthesia in the past, and we're both "allergic" to sulfa drugs - cannot tolerate them at all.  And everyone in the family knows that pale, lily-white Mary . . . with her super-sensitive skin . . . is a night-owl, and "allergic" to the sun.  Mother and I have made a point of mentioning the disease whenever we go under anesthesia - it simultaneously excites and terrifies any Anesthesiologist worth their salt.

My brother has never had any problems that one would associate with the disease, but I did not want to be taking any chances with antibiotics.

When I mentioned porphyria, the Mennonite looked at me quizzically and asked, "Porphyria"?

"Think, the legend of the vampire", I responded.  "Or the madness of King George".

Insert pregnant pause.

"So," she said wryly, with a WICKED smile on her face,  "You REALLY CAN summon the flying monkeys?".

Score three point for the freaky Mennonite.  Nothing but net.

Why yes, my pretty.  And I just may sic them on some doctors in Kentucky before the end of the day.