Forest and trees and all that...

Have some time where I actually feel like communicating so I figured I’d update all my blog minions on what the heck I’m still doing in Colorado.  I know it feels like 6 months have passed since I left on this journey (or at least it has for me) but then I look at it and it’s only been a total of 5 days, including the day of surgery. 

A quick status update on me: I’m moving around much better than the last few days which I attribute to two things: my innate to ability to heal faster than a caped super hero and the pain meds.  Percocet does a good job of taking the edge off but it’s not knocking me ou………………………………………………………….

asfjlkdsfgds;lkhgsffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffff  Wha?  Oh, must have dozed off there for a sec.

But I’m up and about pretty well though I still look like Lurch as I walk since I have a 6 inch gash in an inconvenient place.  I don’t know what I was thinking about when I decided to do this when it’s still pretty cold out here and I have to wear jeans all the time.  What does that have to do with the price of pork in Israel?  Well, jeans aren’t exactly soft on the edges and that’s where they tend to rub the most.  As a result, I have to walk a bit more gingerly than normal to avoid any undo discomfort.  That combined with my non-shaven face (had an IV shoved in the side of my neck and it needs to heal) makes me look like walking wreck.  I have to say though, it seems people are steering a little clearer of me, a look of uncertainty in their eyes.  I just smile and nod to throw them.

The next few weeks are going to be interesting as I get used to a dizzying array of 12 (yes, a dozen) new meds taken at seemingly random intervals.  I’m ok with the number and can get into a routine for pretty much anything but they seem to find it fun to switch things up on an almost daily basis.  “Take  of these drugs twice a day for 4.3 days then reduce 20% three times a day for the next 38 hours then switch to…” I know that these things need to be monitored closely and some changes are necessary but I am getting suspicious that they get enjoyment out of it.

Another thing I’m not sure I’m ok with is some of the meds I’m taking.  Take for instance Prograf.  Not only would cocaine be less expensive but it probably comes with fewer side effects and not harm me as much.  If I have too much Prograf in my system at any given moment, it can kill the new addition to my happy home faster than stabbing it with an ice pick.  If I have too little, my body essentially says, “OK, bud, you gotta go” and tries it’s best to make my body kick the squishy sack out.  So I have to toe a fine line forever.  Anyone who knows me knows that I can do that for a little while and if needed focus for a bit longer than that but then my lack of attention kicks in and all that goes out the window.  They also want me to take and record my temp, body weight, blood pressure, fluid intake/output, hair follicles lost, millimeters of nail grown and total skin cells lost three times a day.  This from a guy who would forget to feed the cats if they didn’t gnaw at his leg when they got hungry. 

I’m unsure how I’m going to manage all this but I’m sure it’ll work out in the end.  I guess I’ll put in the perspective of either I do all this and keep myself healthy and respect the ultimate sacrifice my sister made on my behalf (which I still don’t deserve but will strive to till I die) or I have to go through all this again before too long.  I have to tell you – while I can imagine much worse fates (and I still think I got off light on this one), I certainly have no desire to repeat this any time soon - or ever if possible.  For now, one day at a time.

Along with getting used to the meds (which all have fantastic side effects as you can imagine), I need to go back to the hospital so they can continue to rape my insurance ensure that I’m doing ok.  Right now I’m scheduled to donate blood three times a week and meet with half a dozen people in an office who will go over my recordings of things only they think are essential and erode my dignity by showing them my scar.  I mean I’m not one to be shy about taking my shirt off but you have to understand where this cut ends – very near a very sensitive part of me – like quarters of an inch.  If all the guys reading aren’t squirming by now, they should be.  But it makes for an interesting battle scar.  I wouldn’t go so far as to say conversation starter because I imagine that would be a bit awkward.  “You want to see my transplant scar?  Let me just unbuckle…”  I think not.

So that’s me.  Feeling good, healing quickly with a few things to conquer but nothing out of reach.  But enough about me – what about the star of this show, my sister?  Different story.

She’s still down in the Springs with Aunty and Uncle and still is… unmoving.  I can’t speak to everything that’s happened but I know she’s trying everything she knows and experimenting to get things going.  By the end of this, she could have created a new form of yoga – who knows?  She certainly could use a dose of good luck about now, so any you can spare, please send this way.  I’ll even buy some off you if I can… just let me know where to send the check – I promise it’ll be in the mail soon.  Keep up the good vibes, positive thoughts, prayers, rain dances (can’t hurt, right?) and let her know that you are thinking about her.  Everyone has been beyond supportive thus far, so thank you for that.  Just a little bit longer.

If you would indulge me a short pause of seriousness for a moment.  I know that I said to many of you that I didn’t think it was needed to have emotional support through all this and I would be lying if I said I didn’t still think that, albeit to much smaller extent.  However, I knew going into it and have been proven correct that having that support behind me and Tracey would make the experience much easier.  I can’t tell you how true that is.  I have been truly humbled by the number of people, even people who I know peripherally, who have expressed support and well wishes.  You all have overwhelmed me with love to the extent that I could never repay – but the awesome thing is that, although I will never stop trying to, I know it wasn’t given looking for repayment.  Almost as awesome as that run-on sentence, yea?  My point is, thank you has never seemed so small and doesn’t even begin to express how I feel towards all of you.  Alright, I promise no more of that nonsense unless warranted. 

So I guess if I had to sum it all up (and where’s the fun in all that?), you could say that I am not out of the woods yet but I see the edge and am running full force towards it.  Well, lurching quickly.

Ketchup

Alright guys, this is going to be short and sweet ‘cause I’m tired and want to go to bed. 

A quick catch up on the last two days have been thus: up at 5am for vitals, up at 6 for meds, up at 7 for breakfast and after that they leave you alone for a couple of hours.  Honestly, it’s worse than boot camp.  About the only difference is they don’t expect you to jump out of bed (yea, not happening) and instead of banging a metal trash can with a billy stick, they come in with a cheery “Hi, how are you?  I just want to make sure to completely destroy any semblance of a decent night’s sleep.”  I honestly don’t know which one is worse.

I’ve been doing stellar, performing to my normal rock star standards and have now been rewarded with release paper effective 6pm tonight.  I am a free man.  Well, I don’t have to stay at the hospital - I still have to go back three times a week for checkups and such but at least I get out of the sterile dorm room I was in.  I’ve also been rewarded with a list of meds that would bewilder a Harvard chem student.  I’m starting to rethink the whole hospital thing – it was a lot easier when they just brought them to me.  When to take what is honestly more confusing than quantum entanglement and if anyone has any useable brilliant ideas (like they know another transplanter who has a good system?), I’d love to get some thoughts.  Taking them all at once and seeing what happens is not an option.  I can think of a few people who would be quite put out if I did and I’m sure my insurance wouldn’t so happy either.

So how about Tracey?  She’s still full of it but has been released as well.  I truly wish I could do something for her but pushing on her stomach might just make her want to reach in and grab her donation back.  So for now, I’m offering the support that I can and trying to drum up support.  She will be staying at Barb and Skip’s in Colorado Springs for the foreseeable future where she will be well cared for and pampered.  I would say call her on her cell but don’t be surprised if she doesn’t pick up.  She also might have a little more access to modern technology like electricity and *gasp* internet so you might be able to catch her on the Book of Faces or other influential internet pages.

Me, I’m staying at my cousin Danielle and Shannan’s place for the time being but as I said, I most likely will be moving houses like a hunted terrorist as the hosts get sick of me.  I will try to write more about my time in prison hospital later - I think you’ll find the part about bowel movements quite interesting.  But for now this is all you get.  And you’ll like it.

Merry Men

Transplant Day -13 hours

After having my last meal and precious sip of water just before midnight, I settled in with my squirt bottle while listening to The Crying Game.  And that is all I will say about that.

Morning again came far too early but I figured after today I would be sleeping – a lot – so I didn’t complain too loudly.  I had to be at the hospital by 7am to get this escapade underway – Tracey needed to be there at a completely unreasonable 5:30a.  Danielle and I head up to pre-op and get all that squared.  It mostly consisted of putting on ridiculous outfits that even EPCOT employees would be embarrassed by and getting hooked up like a home theater system.  Seriously, I had wires and tubes coming from everywhere.  Tracey’s pre-op room was next to mine, so I got to visit for a little while before the blessed event occurred.  I briefly wondered if it was bad luck to see the donor before the ceremony but I figured I’d take my chances.

One thing that amazed me about the process was that everyone had a specific job.  This one stuck me with a needle, another shaved me, yet another helped me put on my thigh high stockings (which, by the way, do not make me feel like more of a woman).  Trust me, these stockings are not for fashion but more for cutting off the circulation to my legs in the hopes I won’t clot as I sit on my lazy ass in a hospital room for the next week.  They do a fantastic job of slimming them though and I resisted the urge to bound through the pre-op room playing with a pretend bow and arrow hunting the Sheriff of Nottingham. 

Before long, it was time for Tracey to take her nap so I got into my bed and prepared for mine.  The anesthesiologist came in and gave me a little to start me off.  I looked over at Danielle, took her hand and said something like, “If you need to tell me something, you’d better do it quick!” 

Imagine my surprise when the next thing I know, I have a man I’ve never seen before gently waking me up.  I was already in the ICU and had two additional hard point connections attached, one in my neck and the other…well, it made it convenient for me to use the bathroom.  The one in my neck apparently made it easy for them to knock me back out in case I got unruly and try to overthrow Prince John or randomly get up in the middle of the operating room. 

The first thing I remember was the overwhelming need to pee.  It felt like I had started St. Patty’s day early and forgotten to go to the bathroom.  I don’t want to get overly graphic on this but this… attachment took a long time to get used to – it goes against everything I learned when I was 6 about peeing in my bed!

I vaguely remember the time being around 2pm and I drifted in and out for a while.  One thing I can clearly remember is my first “sip” of water – they handed me a 1000ml container of water which promptly got chugged.  And promptly threatened to come out the same way it went in.  I felt like I hadn’t had a drink of anything for 300 years and went a little overboard. 

Apparently my new kidney is happy in her home because I consistently expelled about a liter an hour for the first 10 hours.  This they take as a good sign – I take it as I really need to go.  Nurses and doctors come and go telling me that I’m doing great and to relax.  I look at them and say to myself, With these drugs, how can I not?  Don’t let the stockings fool you doc – I won’t steal you watch.  They constantly ask me to rate the pain.  “Well, I’d give the right side a 8.5 but the left leg botched the landing, so I’d have to go with a 4.”  Apparently the higher the number you give them, the more drugs they bring you.  In reality, I can certainly feel where I’ve got a 4 inch cut but it’s not that bad.  Hard to move and I won’t be doing any crunches anytime soon, but it’s manageable. 

Some of my family came in and visited for a while and gave me an update on Tracey who was in a regular recovery room on the third floor.  She seemed to be doing well but needed to pass a gas baby before she could really feel comfortable.  From what I gathered, they shot her full of gas to expand her belly and provide more room to root around inside and get the squishy bits out.  Getting rid of that gas has proven to be problematic and she is not a happy camper.  I offered to poke her with a needle t pop it but that suggestion was politely refused. 

I’ve been moved from the ICU up to a regular recovery room and wish I could go back.  ICU to regular recovery room is like first class to coach on an airplane.  There is one nurse for 3 people at most, they come in and do everything for you, the rooms are nicer – it’s just better.  I do get my own room here now but one thing keeps bothering me – these damn stockings.  Not only do I have the stockings on but also these really cool legs compressors thingys that use air to squeeze your legs (again, to prevent blood clots).  All fine and dandy but it’s HOT.  They’ve turned the AC down in my room three times and I’m still practically sweating.  In Colorado.  In March. 

One other thing that has been driving me nuts is the hiccups.  I cannot seem to go an hour with starting back up.  Normally it would be annoying but with a fresh stomach wound, it’s truly unpleasant.  I told the doc and his response was expected.  “All these advances in medicine and we don’t have something for those.”  Thanks.  Real helpful.  Gimme the damn watch.

Originally I was told that I would be given ice chips and sips of water post-operation.  If I held that down, they’d let me move up to delicious hospital jell-o and maybe *gasp* pudding.  I could hardly contain my excitement.  In that containment, I may have said something like Are you $%^*ing kidding me?  I can’t really remember, I was drugged.  I am happy to report that I have overachieved and was able to order whatever I pleased off the menu, as long as it was jell-o or pudding.  But the flavors they offer! 

Alright.  It’s getting on that hour where I need to stop being macho and take some drugs.  Apparently tomorrow I have to start moving around more.  What is this place, boot camp?

We're men in TIGHT tights!