Transplant day + 1

Today started later than yesterday but still before God was up.  I know this because the sun wasn’t up and everyone knows that if the sun isn’t up, neither is God.  (The moon is His nightlight, in case you were wondering)

To the hospital we go, me and the one who is holding my new kidney for safekeeping (because it is obvious you can’t trust me with them).  Let it be known that I consider a hospital to be like an enema – useful when you need them but should be avoided at all costs.  Later in this post you will see the irony.

At the hospital it is normal to be asked a few questions but when they started asking about my motivations in life, if I thought 22lb velum paper was appropriate for wedding invititations and if I consider a baboon a safe pet for children, I thought maybe we had gotten off track a bit. 

My opinions recorded, they moved on to pointless torture.  If anyone has a good explanation why it takes 5 minutes to put the damn stickers on for a 15 second EKG test, I’d love to hear it.  For those who haven’t had one, here is an accurate depiction of what actually happens:

“Here Mr. Petruff, let me put these stickers randomly across your body...”

I age 18 years

“OK, we’re going to start the test”

I blink

“OK we’re done.”

Removal of stickers commences. 

Another 66 years pass

“Gosh, that looks like a little skin has torn off with the sticker.”

Walk out looking like the Steve Carell

After removing my skin in one square inch increments, it is decided “Wow, your arms make a great pin cushion!”  Normally, needles don’t bother me - I’ve been stuck with them so much I often worry that people will think I have a heroin addiction.  However, when the phlebotomist is telling a story, waving his hands about and I’m watching the needle swing about 90 degree left to right while stuck in my arm, I get a little upset.  They nailed both arms for good luck and send me packing. 

Next up was the chest x-ray which is strikingly similar to having your mug shot taken.  This was actually quite painless and boring so did the only sensible thing and clutched my sides, screaming, “They’re burning!  My inside, they’re burning up!”  The nurses were not amused.

I was “escorted” back to a waiting room and the rest of the afternoon passed without further involvement of hospital security.  I met with many of the staff who will be giving me the overhaul tomorrow.  I’m not entirely sure they appreciated me calling them by their mechanic nicknames but it’s a mnemonic system I like to use. 

As I left, they gave me some fun parting gifts – a soap that will kill every living organism residing on my epidermis with the added benefit of completely depriving my skin of anything that resembles moisture and a squirt bottle of saline solution that, well, let’s just say is not designed for my eyes.  After me making many jokes regarding my newly acquired squirt bottle, we were asked, with the forced politeness and subtly of a bar bouncer, to leave.  Which was fine with me.

So.  I now sit here in the aftermath of post-squirt bottle use.  If I’m honest, it was a bit of a letdown.  I won’t go into details but it seemed to lack that kick, that little something extra.  And as…awkward as it was, at least it was over quickly - Tracey has to down a 30oz milkshake of magnesia.  She always gets to have more fun…

So yea, tomorrow is the big day.  I know that a lot of people are pulling for us, so THANK YOU!  I have the easier job – I get to sleep through it while everyone else is worrying.  All I ask when uploading post-operation videos of me to YouTube, remember – they are there forever…

My next transmission will most likely be in a few days.  If you see something posted before that written in Klingon, I hope you understand why…