Phlebotomists are health care workers who are specially trained to take blood.

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Chronicle Of An Autopsy

6 August, 2018 (20:19) | General | By:

He was a hero-anonymous-as any doctor, walked the streets and roads of the world in search of life, one night in June, those with no moon, no stars, I saw the face of death, so close that I felt his breath necrotic , so close in Emergency, Operating Room and ICU “Almanzor Aguinaga” of health is Chiclayo, lived with her, almost a month and just to save me, my colleagues 8 units of blood transfused, then 4 more … to They saved me !…. final One day a few months ago and accompanied by Marujita pressed I underwent upper endoscopy, CT, ultrasound and blood tests, the results were devastating for me and my loved ones … I had Hepatitis C virus, Liver Cirrhosis and Cancer Liver! “QUEEEEEEEE? … I was like any of you, doctor, I worked normal, had no inconvenience or suspicion, had a rare genetic disease: It was sad and melancholy! … But not threatening my life … for nothing! ., from there begins my misfortune, we have visited about 10 gastroenterologists, have visited two teams of Transplantation (one in Mexico and one in Peru), we have four living donors, Francisco Garcia Angulo, Trelles Martin Alvarado, Jorge Arevalo Olvera-Mexico, and Cecilia Palacios Celi, I’ve been adportas 4 cadaveric transplants in Lima, three of them did not apply to me and only if it applied, administrative officials and doctors did not call me, as it sends the protocol-and transplanted to another patient, while therefore already a year since I detected the cancerous disease, I’m waiting for a donor or a new and fatal lump, it is hard not to get depressed in this context, knowing that any day, beginning the end, great efforts have been made, amicale, family and personal, but are not able to resolve the problem, then say “God knows it does,” the Lord knows I hope it does!, while no longer wander the paths and streets of the World, and no rondo for operating rooms, have been off the cries of parturients in my ears, I live in the solitude of my sins and my sorrows, my children grow up with a father who is dying, my other children grow up with a father who can not see and perhaps do not even want to, agonize reproached by all, forgotten by many and loved by few, dreaming again, repeating JG Rose.