Gratitude
I've been pondering how to write this post for a few days. I learned long ago that - when I'm confronted with difficulty - I tend to focus on logistics and organization as a way to calm myself and deal with my emotions.
Well, today I decided to dig in and talk about the elephant in the room: how I'm feeling. Since my last post was primarily the "nuts and bolts" of the transplant, I thought I should now devote a little time to the circus that has been playing in my head in recent weeks.
Right after I got the call about applying for transplant, I found myself oscillating between ecstasy and fear. Of course I was excited to reach this next stage in my journey. After all, I've been working for years to be a candidate for transplant.
But I also felt trepidation. See, I've been doing pretty well over these last few years. Sure, dialysis is a total pain, but we humans are resilient beings. We can adjust to anything. I also recently saw an acquaintance who had started peritoneal dialysis shortly after I did pass away, so I was also dealing with that. Of course, she was a much different person (and patient) than I, but her death hit me pretty hard because it reminded me that complacency wasn't an option. Dialysis isn't intended to be for life. It's a temporary solution to get people to transplant.
Also, my memories of 2011-2012 were pretty remote, but they were still fresh enough to punch me in the gut with the realization that it could all happen again. The hospitalization, the infections, the swelling, and the pain could all come back.
I realized that I had to psyche myself up for this. I had to prepare to fight again.
Let me start by assuring you that - yes - I'm VERY excited about the proposition of being off of dialysis. Getting a second chance at life, literally, is nothing to thumb one's nose at. I think about what it would be like to lose track of time talking to a good friend, not having to count the hours to ensure I have time to complete therapy before work in the morning. I think about being able to attend evening events, weeknight dinners, football games, and concerts without having to "bail out" due to dialysis. I think about having time and energy after work to exercise, walk my dogs, cook dinner, and hang out with Mike. But more than anything, I think about living longer. Seeing my nieces grow up, graduate from college, and start lives of their own. Being around to grow old with Mike, enjoy our hard-earned retirement, travel and see the world.
And I think about sacrifice. I think a lot about sacrifice. See, here's the thing about organ transplant. My gain inevitably equals a loss for another. If I get placed on the list, my second chance comes at the cost of another's life. Another family, another husband or wife, kids, nieces and nephews, uncles and aunts, cousins, and friends. Broken hearts left in the wake of tragedy, with a silver lining of continued life through organ donation. I can't begin to express the humility of receiving such an incredible gift.
And then there's living donation. Friends, family, loved ones who are willing to literally give a piece of themselves to save my life. I truly have no words to describe the emotions that accompany their selflessness.
When I was at my doctor's appointment on Friday, Dr. Rojas explained that kidneys from a deceased donor usually last 10-12 years. She then asked about living donor options, since living donor kidneys tend to be healthier and last 20-25 years. Without missing a beat, my mom said she'd like to apply. She wasn't sure if she would qualify because of her age, but she decided that she would rather apply and be rejected than not to apply and wonder "what if." She didn't even hesitate. Not for a moment. That kind of love blows my mind. I mean, I know I would do the same if the tables were turned, but still - I'm in awe.
My brother also applied to be a donor this evening. He has a family... a wife... two beautiful daughters. And he still - without question - put himself up as a candidate. A simple "thank you" just isn't enough.
Today, my husband Mike submitted his living donor application as well. Again... here is a man who winked at me on Match.com thirteen years ago. We'll celebrate our 11th wedding anniversary next month, and he - without hesitating or second-guessing - applied to give me one of his kidneys.
Some people have asked me how I'm feeling about everything that's going on. The truth is, I can't really even process it. Of course I'm excited, anxious, nervous, unsure, and confused. But I'm truly, truly overwhelmed. I'm not sure what I have done in this life to be so incredibly blessed.
I have found that words keep failing me. I try to articulate the immense gratitude I feel that people are even entertaining the idea of donation. Their selflessness awes and inspires me.
Every now and then, in the midst of my regular day-to-day life, these feelings hit me like a ton of bricks. This is really happening. I usually deal with my anxiety by making to-do lists, reading transplant survival stories or articles online, or escaping into a book. But the thing is, emotions are patient. They're like a silent guest in the room, waiting wordlessly until you turn off the TV or lay down your book. It's during those silent moments - in between life's ordinary tasks - that the magnitude of my humility and gratitude hits hardest. I envision these feelings like a big thick quilt, wrapping me in love and peace.
I remember walking into my dad's office sometimes, seeing him sitting in his chair completely lost in thought. I always wondered what he was thinking about. Now I think I may know.
He and I talked about chronic illness. We talked about facing - and making peace with - death. I try to think of what he would say to me now, and I try to imagine how he was really feeling during those quiet moments. I know that - if he were still alive - he would understand. He would give me that knowing look that means he's got my back, assuring me that everything is going to be OK.
So, yeah, the truth is that I've got a lot on my mind. It's a hodge-podge of emotions running in the background of my brain pretty consistently. I am digesting it all slowly, taking little bites and savoring each feeling, grateful that I'm being given this chance.
Well, today I decided to dig in and talk about the elephant in the room: how I'm feeling. Since my last post was primarily the "nuts and bolts" of the transplant, I thought I should now devote a little time to the circus that has been playing in my head in recent weeks.
Right after I got the call about applying for transplant, I found myself oscillating between ecstasy and fear. Of course I was excited to reach this next stage in my journey. After all, I've been working for years to be a candidate for transplant.
But I also felt trepidation. See, I've been doing pretty well over these last few years. Sure, dialysis is a total pain, but we humans are resilient beings. We can adjust to anything. I also recently saw an acquaintance who had started peritoneal dialysis shortly after I did pass away, so I was also dealing with that. Of course, she was a much different person (and patient) than I, but her death hit me pretty hard because it reminded me that complacency wasn't an option. Dialysis isn't intended to be for life. It's a temporary solution to get people to transplant.
Also, my memories of 2011-2012 were pretty remote, but they were still fresh enough to punch me in the gut with the realization that it could all happen again. The hospitalization, the infections, the swelling, and the pain could all come back.
I realized that I had to psyche myself up for this. I had to prepare to fight again.
Let me start by assuring you that - yes - I'm VERY excited about the proposition of being off of dialysis. Getting a second chance at life, literally, is nothing to thumb one's nose at. I think about what it would be like to lose track of time talking to a good friend, not having to count the hours to ensure I have time to complete therapy before work in the morning. I think about being able to attend evening events, weeknight dinners, football games, and concerts without having to "bail out" due to dialysis. I think about having time and energy after work to exercise, walk my dogs, cook dinner, and hang out with Mike. But more than anything, I think about living longer. Seeing my nieces grow up, graduate from college, and start lives of their own. Being around to grow old with Mike, enjoy our hard-earned retirement, travel and see the world.
And I think about sacrifice. I think a lot about sacrifice. See, here's the thing about organ transplant. My gain inevitably equals a loss for another. If I get placed on the list, my second chance comes at the cost of another's life. Another family, another husband or wife, kids, nieces and nephews, uncles and aunts, cousins, and friends. Broken hearts left in the wake of tragedy, with a silver lining of continued life through organ donation. I can't begin to express the humility of receiving such an incredible gift.
And then there's living donation. Friends, family, loved ones who are willing to literally give a piece of themselves to save my life. I truly have no words to describe the emotions that accompany their selflessness.
When I was at my doctor's appointment on Friday, Dr. Rojas explained that kidneys from a deceased donor usually last 10-12 years. She then asked about living donor options, since living donor kidneys tend to be healthier and last 20-25 years. Without missing a beat, my mom said she'd like to apply. She wasn't sure if she would qualify because of her age, but she decided that she would rather apply and be rejected than not to apply and wonder "what if." She didn't even hesitate. Not for a moment. That kind of love blows my mind. I mean, I know I would do the same if the tables were turned, but still - I'm in awe.
My brother also applied to be a donor this evening. He has a family... a wife... two beautiful daughters. And he still - without question - put himself up as a candidate. A simple "thank you" just isn't enough.
Today, my husband Mike submitted his living donor application as well. Again... here is a man who winked at me on Match.com thirteen years ago. We'll celebrate our 11th wedding anniversary next month, and he - without hesitating or second-guessing - applied to give me one of his kidneys.
Some people have asked me how I'm feeling about everything that's going on. The truth is, I can't really even process it. Of course I'm excited, anxious, nervous, unsure, and confused. But I'm truly, truly overwhelmed. I'm not sure what I have done in this life to be so incredibly blessed.
I have found that words keep failing me. I try to articulate the immense gratitude I feel that people are even entertaining the idea of donation. Their selflessness awes and inspires me.
Every now and then, in the midst of my regular day-to-day life, these feelings hit me like a ton of bricks. This is really happening. I usually deal with my anxiety by making to-do lists, reading transplant survival stories or articles online, or escaping into a book. But the thing is, emotions are patient. They're like a silent guest in the room, waiting wordlessly until you turn off the TV or lay down your book. It's during those silent moments - in between life's ordinary tasks - that the magnitude of my humility and gratitude hits hardest. I envision these feelings like a big thick quilt, wrapping me in love and peace.
I remember walking into my dad's office sometimes, seeing him sitting in his chair completely lost in thought. I always wondered what he was thinking about. Now I think I may know.
He and I talked about chronic illness. We talked about facing - and making peace with - death. I try to think of what he would say to me now, and I try to imagine how he was really feeling during those quiet moments. I know that - if he were still alive - he would understand. He would give me that knowing look that means he's got my back, assuring me that everything is going to be OK.
So, yeah, the truth is that I've got a lot on my mind. It's a hodge-podge of emotions running in the background of my brain pretty consistently. I am digesting it all slowly, taking little bites and savoring each feeling, grateful that I'm being given this chance.
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