Days Following Surgery

The day after surgery, as they were trying to help me out of bed to remove my catheter, I felt a searing pain in my left leg.  It literally took me down.  It was like a lightning bolt that started at my hip and went to my knee.  At that point, I realized that besides the searing pain – I had absolutely no feeling in my left thigh.  When I asked the surgeons, they all seemed to be baffled by it.  Physical Therapy was called.  They helped me stand and got me a walker.  The whole effort seemed pointless to me. 

They ended up keeping me an extra day because I was having a hard time shaking the anesthesia and the ongoing issue with my leg.  At the time, I didn’t want to stay an extra night, but in the long run – it was definitely for the best. 

The car ride wasn’t very much fun.  I wedged the kidney pillow between me and the seatbelt, then held my breath all the way home.  It was about a 30 minute drive and completely unnerving. 

My dad was released from the hospital later that same day.  They were sleeping at another family member’s house, then coming to my house during the days.  My dad and I spent a lot of time side-by-side on the couch taking turns napping. 

The next several days all sort of run into each other.  Lots of sleeping, very little eating and conversations that I don’t have a lot of recollection about.  I learned that narcotics are not something I like to be on.  I can say, however, that the sleep was probably the best sleep I’ve had in years. 

I had purchased a belly band to help with my abdominal pressure.  For the first couple of days, there was too much swelling and the pressure was too much for me.  By the end of the first week, I was able to manage it for short periods of time.  I used it because by the end of the day, it literally felt like my guts were falling out. 

During this time, we had lots of visitors and lots of great people bringing us meals.  I’m not really sure what we would have done without the kindness of those around us.  

Transplant Day

One would think that with as nutty and emotional as I’ve been leading up to this day, that I would have woken up a basket case.  The biggest surprise to me is that I didn’t.  I seriously didn’t.  I slept.  Woke up to my alarm.  Got in the shower.  Pulled my bag together.

The ride to the hospital was non-stressful.  We weren’t running late.  We talked.  We went through the motions, but not the emotions.  I didn’t feel anxiety or stress or out-of-control. 

When we got to the Mayo, my dad and I checked in and waited to be called.  They took me back first, then brought my dad back almost immediately following.  We were in the same room, but separated by a curtain.

The nurses went through their motions – vitals, hospital gown instructions, IVs, general instructions.  I could hear my dad’s nurse from the other side of the curtain.  After about an hour, their let our families and friends in.  We chatted, laughed and carried on like it was a normal day or a normal occurrence for the two of us to be laying side-by-side in hospital beds.

My youngest daughter crawled in bed with me so we could take selfies.  My older daughter kept a safe distance and stayed distracted.  It’s how they both cope. 

Once again, I wasn’t feeling any anxiety or fear.  Not a single ounce of it.  I even remember thinking to myself that clearly this was the right decision – I wasn’t feeling anything negative, at all.  I also thought of all of the people thinking and praying for us knowing that it was really helping. 

There were a few tears as they came for me.  I got hugs and kisses from everyone.  I’m guessing that it was harder for them to see me go, than it was for me to leave.  I don’t remember much from that point on.  They must’ve hit the meds almost immediately.

I have a very vague memory of the ride down a short hallway and the bright lights of the surgical suite.  I remember thinking that it’s just like in the movies – bright white and sterile.  My next memory is being transferred from a gurney to a hospital bed.

The rest of that day is quite a blur.  I remember people talking around me, but have very little recollection of what they were saying.  I’ve been told that I attempted conversation with them, but have little recollection of that either.  I remember a whole lot of “I love you” and “we’re proud of you”. 

I woke up in the wee hours of the morning and wanted to know where my dad was and if he was okay.  The nurse went to check on him (or at least, said she did) and reported back that he was resting comfortably.

My pain was managed very well.  I don’t remember much except for little snippets of conversations with my husband and daughter.  

Transplant Eve

It seemed like this day wasn’t going to come.  The hanging TB question on scheduling lingered on and was debated by many.  It started with April (after 9 months of treatment), was scheduled for October 14 (for the minimum 3 month treatment), then ended with my dad’s surgeon willing to risk TB over dialysis – so we arrived at September 22.

It’s definitely been an emotional journey full of ups and downs.  I think I’ve ridden just about every emotion possible.  I’ve laughed until I cried.  And cried until I laughed.  I’ve insisted that everything be in order – from my bank accounts to my closets to my girls to my weeds.  I’m quite sure that I’m driving my people insane.  Distractions are my coping mechanism and I’ve kept them on high speed.

 

Through the magic of social media, I was able to share my journey with many I hadn’t seen in years.  The outpouring of support boosted me from the inside – right after it reduced me to tears on the outside.  The kindness of people has been the best part – especially when it feels like everything else in the world is less than kind. 

The heartfelt private messages I have received have reminded me that I have had a lot of great people in my life.  From an old boyfriend and a college professor who reached out, to the police chaplain that sat at my feet and prayed for me – and everyone in between.  Especially a stranger on this same journey and one who went before us – their friendship has been priceless.

Another thing that I have learned – is that we don’t say ‘I love you’ enough.  Not just to our spouses, children and parents – to everyone.  I’ve heard those three words from so many and realized that they DO love me.  As I love them.  And wondered why we are afraid to tell people.  (Side note – If I told you that I loved you and I creeped you out… my most sincere apologies!)

I’ve had some of the best conversations with people over the last two weeks.  My dad and I have yucked it up on the phone several times.  Humor is our best medicine.  We’ve decided that we put the “kid” in kidney.  And that we’re doing a narcation (narcotics vacation) instead of a staycation this year.  I’ve been able to steal away a few precious moments with those dearest to me and let them know how much I care.  Again, I wonder why we don’t just do this anyway?

I’ve also realized that some people deal with things very differently – by keeping a safe distance.  And I understand that, too.  I know that I sometimes have the tendency to separate myself when I’m scared.  Or don’t know what to say. Or both. 

So, on this Transplant Eve I will do one (or two) more loads of laundry.  I’ll probably vacuum something.  I’ll cling a little tighter to my husband.  I’ll hug on my girls a little longer.  I’ll tell every single person I come in contact that I love them.  Then tomorrow morning I’ll do the hardest thing I have to do – relinquish control and trust that everyone has it covered.