Ummmm...

I know what shoes hanging on phone wire means, but what does
sweatshirt hanging on random telephone pole mean?

April Commence - Days 1-4

April 3rd, 2009

So, there I was, sitting at the family dinner table slurping down one of my favorite meals, homemade chicken and no-yolk noodles, when the phone rang...

It was Thursday and I had come home early that day from work. I felt awful. This marked only the first time I had actually left work early, but the previous month had seen days of me working 3 per week at a sheer max.

My days off were filled of fatigue, light-headed awakedness, eye-sensitivity to light, and pure built-in familial guilt that my ass was NOT at work.

I was a solid 10-15 pounds overweight. My drinking machine had tanked to the point I was now literally retaining water. I had just been in the ER the week prior after vomiting while watching President Obama deliver his first State of the Union (my hurling had nothing to do with the content).

It had been approximately 6 months since I had first gotten my first possible donor call, which I conveniently took at the desk of a big cheese while they were blissfully even unaware I was on "the list." That was an interesting call to have.

...I picked up my phone and when I saw who it was, my body froze for a moment in anticipation. It was "the call" (not nearly as cool as Jeremy Goodwin's "call" on Sportsnight).

I immediately dispensed of the rest of my soup, grabbed my bag and we headed off to the drinking machine removal department (the hospital).

The drive through the cold, moist, big city air was quick. What would await me would be the longest, most annoying wait of my entire life...

I can honestly say that it wasn't nerve-wracking like most people would think. I had sort of seen this inevitability coming nearly 2 years prior.

There was some initial denial. I made the doctor who eventually sat my butt down and clearly said I had a choice, but I really didn't wait a year before I came to that conclusion. But, for the whole next year, even when on a wonderful vacation with my friends, the possibilities loomed over me like a midget at a Christmas-themed store.

But, finally, after the year had passed and the hard data came flying in my face, which I completely expected, but seriously hoped not to see, I acted very quickly.

In typical family-tradition fashion, I did a lot of the legwork in secret. I scheduled appointment after appointment that summer. My social calendar (rarely full) was booked between my friend spending the month with me, and fantastic doctor visits.

By the time, my body was on the line, I was mentally already ready.

...Being ready, and getting to the chopping block 6 hours early...really sucks. When waiting, one couldn't eat or drink. And go to sleep?!?! Forget about it! Well, I got around an hour of sleep.

After being woken up, I was more than ready to go.

I flopped my bod on that stretcher/gurney quickly and was whisked off to the OR waiting area. (Shocker...not a lot of action in this OR at 5am)

Again, I waited. I was read some stuff on how they were going to knock me out (big hammer blow to the noggin). And, continued to wait.

Before I signed my life away I was asked the simple question as to whether I was nervous. I hesitated because I knew the correct answer...duh, yeah!

To which I said, "Yes." But, I vividly remember being extremely ambivalent about the question. When you get to that point, you've said all you've wanted to say to the people you love, you've written letters in case of one's death, and it's when you have to go all in.

I remember being hooked up the the knockout hammer for maybe a minute. After that, the next 98 hours was me being a goner. Day 5 begins at around 7am...

My hands, my hands!

As has been noted previously in this blog, my 11-hour procedure left me with some lovely scars and some other little things.

After I was weaned off the morphine self-loving pump, the first things to really annoy me was the thumb on my left hand.

It was a bitch to text and my thumb was killing me. I remember texting my sister they'd have to call me because I was tired of my thumb hurting.

Well, here I sit with nearly 7 months behind me and my thumb is still hurting on occasion at various levels. Along with half my forearm STILL being 1/2 numb.

I am beginning to think there was some serious nerve damage done while I was strapped down for the surgery. However, I have also begun noticing a little thing with my right hand/arm. So, it appears both arms/hands were somewhat hurt, albeit my right hand has been largely fine up to this point.

Now that my last physical outer wound has completely healed up and I have no more things to worry about getting infected, it appears the last waiting game is the hands. I am growing ever more convinced that this will never completely heal back to the way it was, but it they do...it will take a good year...maybe 2 at this rate.

I'm not complaining. However, I am making an observation of something that is annoying me and causing occasional pain.

Fifty Percent

Today marks the 50% mark to a year post-transplant. A year post-transplant is my ultimate sign-post, but this is technically-speaking, a bigger benchmark for me and my progress in keeping the organ I have acquired.

So, I am at 6 months out, and the road looks as clear as one can possibly imagine.

The next month will be a test, however.

A. Swine flu shot will be coming, and no one really knows how those will work. So, there is a threat to my health.

B. There also may be some changes coming in terms of the drugs I am taking, so who knows how that will go after I get the last foreign object pulled out of my chest.

It will be an interesting month to see how my body reacts. But,so far so good.

This is a massive benchmark I have met and it has made up for an awful Friday.