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Eight months ago today, I had surgery to remove my kidney and donate it to my friend Kelly. I cannot believe it’s been eight months already, and at the same time I can’t believe it’s only been eight months! People who haven’t seen me in a while ask me how I’m feeling, and I often stare at them blankly, because it really doesn’t occur to me that they’re talking about that major abdominal surgery I had a while back. I’m more like “Oh, you mean my allergies? They’re great, thanks!” (Of course, I had that same reaction back in May and it was only 2 months after surgery.)
I hardly ever think about the fact that I only have one kidney unless someone mentions it to me, or I see my scars. The only negative side effect from surgery is that one of my little scars itches a lot. That’s it. Of all the things I was worried about (hernias, internal bleeding, death, etc.), I couldn’t possibly be happier to have one tiny little scar that itches more than normal. Luckily, it’s the one at the bottom of my ribs, so scratching it doesn’t attract attention. Can you imagine if my c-section-ish scar was the itchy one? Oy!
Kelly, in case you were wondering, is doing great! She’s on a minimal amount of medication now, and she’s been able to travel and eat pretty much anything she likes! (She had to watch what she ate very carefully before, since she couldn’t have too much potassium, fluids, or sugar while on dialysis and without kidneys.) I lost a lot of weight after donating, due to my lack of appetite, and conversely, she gained some weight because she was able to eat anything she wanted. (We joke that I gave her my “fat” kidney.) She was able to go to a conference in Baltimore last month for the first time in 5 years, and she’s off to Aruba over Thanksgiving! My kidney is getting to see more parts of the world than I am!
Since donating in March, I have been asked by a number of people if I’d do it again or if I’d do it for someone I didn’t know. I’d absolutely do it again for Kelly. The best part of donating is being able to see Kelly looking and feeling so wonderful. The stress before donating was infinitely times worse than the pain afterward (and the pain afterward was pretty damn bad). But even knowing the amount of stress and pain I’d have to go through, I’d do it again without hesitation. I don’t, however, think I could donate an organ to someone I didn’t know or someone that I wasn’t very close to. I know there are people out there who have and will donate to people they’ve never met or who they aren’t close to, and they have my utmost respect. I just know that I, personally, could never do that. I can’t explain why, exactly, but that’s just how I feel. And since I don’t have any spare kidneys to give, it’s not something I have to worry about!
Yesterday was the two month anniversary of our kidney transplant surgery, and I swear if I didn‘t have the scars to prove it, I wouldn‘t even remember. I feel wonderful. Aside from a twinge every now and then, my muscles have fully recuperated. Even bowling last Friday was fairly painless. I’ve lost weight since surgery, and I’ve started working out again. I’d like to think there’s still a small amount of swelling, but it’s really just fat. The fat, however, is shrinking, and I couldn‘t possibly be happier about it!
People keep asking me how I’m feeling, and it honestly takes me a few seconds to remember why they’re asking. It used to be the only thing I could think about, and now I hardly remember it at all. Kelly and I were in the lunchroom the other day, and an old coworker was in to visit and said “How are the twins?” referring to the two of us. I just looked blankly at Kelly, hoping she understood. She had to explain to me that he meant our kidneys. I just completely forgot. Obviously, it’s a little more memorable to her, as she’s no longer stuck on a machine 3 days a week. My life hasn‘t changed at all. The only difference I’ve noticed is that my appetite never really came back. I used to be hungry all the time (I didn‘t get to be this size by NOT eating, you know?) and now I find that I have to remind myself to eat because I don’t get hungry often. Of all the side effects and potential problems that could have come from donating my kidney, I’m pretty sure this is the best possible one to have.
Looking back on the entire experience, I’d have to say the stress beforehand was the worst part by far. The pain afterward was no walk in the park, and the inability to put on my own pants for 2 weeks was humiliating. But I’d much rather relive the aftermath twice, than go through the pre-op stress again.
Yesterday was my follow up appointment at UCLA. It lasted 45 seconds, I kid you not. I got there 20 minutes early and was called into the room 15 minutes before my appointment. I waited approximately 3 minutes for my surgeon to come in. He took a look at my incisions, answered a couple questions I had on some pain in my stomach (totally normal), and it was over. I literally said to him "I drove all the way up here (60+ miles) for that?" It’s a legal thing, apparently. They have to see me at least once after surgery to make sure I’m alright. And I am! I’m clear to resume life normally. I thought it would be more blood & urine testing, weight, height, blood pressure, etc. Nope! Just a quick glance, a couple questions and I’m out! Thank you drive through!
I can’t lift anything over 10 pounds for another week (which is fine by me, since it hurts to do so). I can start bowling again on May 2, and I CANNOT WAIT! I hung out at the bowling alley with my team last night, and I was DYING to bowl with them. Of course, my stomach was hurting halfway through the evening, not from bowling, but from laughing too hard. They’re hilarious. I’d gone to the alley to visit them a week after surgery, and while they were still funny, I was in a lot of pain and couldn’t appreciate the funny appropriately. Last week I was feeling crappy, so I didn’t even bother to go down and visit. But this week I realized how much I missed them. Trying to bowl while laughing is going to be painful, but worth every second of it.
Jas comes home on Monday, which means I should be cleaning the house in anticipation of his arrival. A feat I’m obviously not accomplishing, as I’m sitting on the computer writing this post. The house doesn’t look TOO bad, but it could use some work. I’m still hoping that if I wish hard enough, little house cleaning elves will show up and handle it for me. Think that’ll happen?
Last Monday (the 31st) I tried going back to work. I made it about 2 hours before I had to go back home. The drive to work was excruciating (the seat belt nearly killed me), and then the bending, standing, sitting, standing, walking, sitting, standing routine was more than I could take. I was in a lot of pain when I got back into the car to go home. Then some idiot decides that he doesn’t actually want to exit the freeway even though he’s in the exit lane, so he swerves in front of me, causing me to slam on my brakes, and the seat belt to yank on my stomach. Oh my hell, the PAIN. I had to pull on to the shoulder because I was crying so hard. It was awful. I went home and just laid on the couch for the rest of the day.
This past Monday I tried going to work again, with much better luck. Driving is still uncomfortable, but tolerable. And the difference in the amount of pain between last week and this week is amazing. Last week sitting and standing was still hurting me. This week I can sit and stand and sit and stand repeatedly before it even starts to bother me. Sitting for long periods of time hurts a little, since the swelling in my lower abdomen pushes on the incision, but it’s nothing that I can’t handle. The worst post-surgery effect I’m having is my lack of energy. I’m so freaking tired all the time. And yet, as I mentioned, I am having trouble sleeping. Yesterday I left work about 4:45 because I was starting to nod off at my desk. I came home and planned to take a 1 hour nap (so as not to disrupt my already precarious sleep schedule). I set my alarm and promptly fell asleep. And proceeded to sleep right through the alarm for another 45 minutes. So when I went to bed last night, I couldn’t fall asleep. I took a pill about 3am, and that made me fall asleep (even a I cursed myself for needing the pill). Today was a little better. I felt sleepy around 2pm, but managed to stay at work until 6 (even though I was laying on the couch at work reading for the last half hour, while the computers did their updating). But then I came home, showered, and fell asleep again. So I guess my problem is not so much NOT sleeping, but not sleeping when I should be sleeping, and sleeping when I shouldn’t be. (For the record, that made perfect sense in my head).
Jas called tonight and I got to chat with him for a while. I’m hoping the contact will settle me enough to where I can sleep pill free tonight. I don’t miss him as much as I thought I would (I’ll qualify that in a second), but it was really nice to get to talk to him for a while, and not just be connected by text messages. I love Jas, but sometimes we just need a break from each other, and this yearly trip of his is the perfect time for that. I like coming home to a quiet and clean house. I like being able to read my book, and not have someone turn on the television in the same room (when there’s a perfectly good TV in the other room that no one is sitting in). I like watching Jon & Kate Plus 8 without someone constantly complaining about what a bitch she is, therefore drowning out the show. I like watching Big Brother and not getting mocked about my horrible choice of reality TV. I like not being upset that the person who has only works 4 hours that day hasn’t bothered to take out the trash, but has in fact left that, the laundry, the dishes, and various other chores to the person who works 10+ hours a day. This break from each other is like a relationship reboot. It gives us both time to appreciate the good things about each other.
Yeah, It’s been 15 days since it happened (and a day after I promised it), and I’m just getting around to typing it all out. I blame the drugs, the inability to sit up, and the fact that TypePad decided to lock up on me when I was almost finished, thereby negating hours of work. THANKS TYPEPAD! These problems have (mostly) been corrected. Also, heavy parenthetical usage ahead. You’ve been warned.
March 19th I stayed at a hotel across from UCLA and my alarm went off at 4:15am. A useless event, as I hadn’t been able to sleep at all the night before. I got up, brushed my teeth (carefully, as not to swallow any water), and sat on the edge of the bed with my previously packed backpack, waiting for Kevin to come get me so we could go to the hospital. My stomach, completely empty now due to the intestinal cleaning the night before, felt like a football team had set up residence and was running practice routes. I was alternately shaky and light-headed. Kevin, being one of my favorite people on the planet, was awesome. He kept the conversation upbeat and light hearted, which is exactly what I needed. I arrived at Admissions at 5am, filled out my paperwork, and was told I would be called at 5:30 to go to pre-op. Jas called me to let me know that he was stuck in traffic (only in LA is there traffic at 5 freaking am), but would be there as soon as humanly possible. My parents were going to be there around 7ish, in hopes that my surgery was at 8 (since the hospital had told me 8, but the surgeon had told me it was at 6:30). I didn’t have a watch on, but it seemed to me that I was called down to pre-op well before 5:30. You’re only allowed to have one person at a time accompany you to pre-op, so Kevin came with me, since Jas wasn’t there yet. I stripped, got into my oh-so-lovely hospital gown, and hung out on the bed watching Charmed and chatting with Kevin. (BTW, Charmed? At 5am?) It was quiet for a while. One nurse came in and went over my medical history, and then disappeared. Kevin warned me that all the sudden I’d be surrounded by people, and boy was he right. The anesthesiologist (SUPER CUTE!) came in at the same time that the surgical nurse, surgeon, and some other assistant type all showed up. It was 6:15 and I knew things were getting close, so I asked Kevin to go upstairs and look for Jason for me. He did and came back saying that he’d called and Jas would be about 15 more minutes. The surgeon scared the hell out of me and asked what surgery I was having. At my panicked look, he explained that he just had to make sure I knew. After I confirmed the kidney removal, he wrote YES on my skin in marker. Sweet. I got all hooked up to an IV, and the anesthesiologist started whatever drugs they start. I was quickly rolled into the OR, and asked to move to the operating table. And that’s the last thing I remember.
Jas told me later that he got there and asked to see me, and they kept telling him that my family member was already with me, and only one was allowed at a time. He got quite agitated with them, trying to explain that HE was my husband, not the guy downstairs, and could they go remove Kevin so Jas could see me. Apparently no one had told the upstairs people that I was already in the OR, so they were pissing Jas off for nothing. Mom said that he was grumpy about it most of the morning, which made me feel a little better.
Now, apparently when you’re in the hospital for long periods of time without walking, they put these massager things on your legs to keep the blood moving and prevent clots. They squeeze really slowly, and alternate back and forth between legs. It’s a good 15-20 seconds between the time they start on one leg to the time they start on the other. I felt something squishing my leg, and started waking up. I remember thinking "Oh my gosh, I’m alive." I tried looking toward the end of the bed to see who was squeezing me, but didn’t have my glasses on, and couldn’t see anything. I vaguely remember asking someone for my glasses, and then fell back asleep. When I woke up the next time (the wall clock said it was 11:15), my glasses were on my face, and I was dying of thirst. I croaked "hello" toward the center of the room, and a nurse came over. I first asked about Kelly, but she was still in surgery. Then I asked for water, but was only allowed an ice chip. One. I don’t know if you’ve all ever been dying of thirst before, but one ice chip does nothing to help. I asked to see my family, the next time someone came to check my vitals, and they said I could see them when I went upstairs to my room, which would be shortly. A nurse came to take me up to my room about 40 minutes later, and told me my family should be there when I got there. Except they were not. I asked for them again when the floor nurse came to say hi, and was told again they’d be there in a minute. Which was actually an hour. During that hour I spent time examining the road map of marker that the doctor’s had thoughtfully left on my stomach. I remember wondering if I followed the map, would I get a prize? And then fell asleep. Again.
Mom, Dad, Jas and Kevin came in about 1pm and hung out for a while. Mom and Dad brought me a super cute stuffed Curious George for me to cuddle with. I used to LOVE him as a kid, so it was really cool to have him back. I immediately asked Kevin about Kelly and he said she was just getting into recovery, but was doing great! The kidney was working right away, and everything looked good. I can’t tell you how relieved I was to hear that. They stayed and chatted for a while. Mom and Dad went to get food about 2:45, so Jas and I could have some time together. Except at 3:10 I started falling asleep. Since Jas had to leave at 3:45 anyhow, I told him to go early and get lunch, and that I’d see him Thursday when I went home. I don’t remember much after that, but I know my parents came up with my sister at about 4:30. By this time I was pretty coherent, and in a lot of pain. The gas that they’d filled me with for the surgery was moving around in my stomach and in my body, and every time it moved it felt like some one was kicking or stabbing me. Not so much fun! Mom and Dad stayed a while, and then left me and my sister to hang out. She stayed until Big Brother was on (yes, even in the hospital I fed my addiction) and then left me to go home.
Thursday morning about 6am I was told I had to get up and start walking. Oh joy! My stomach muscles were non-existent. It took me 10 minutes to go from a sitting position on the bed, to a standing position next to it. I walked down to visit Kelly (because for some dumb reason we couldn’t share a room) and we got to chat for about 10 minutes, before I had to make the long trek (all 4 doors) back to my bed, where I proceeded to crash for almost 3 hours. I was exhausted. Duke came to visit, and spent a few hours entertaining me, and helping to distract me from the pain. I was supposed to go home on Thursday, but I still felt really uncomfortable about it, since I was hurting so much. The nurse told me that the doctor (who I’d never seen or heard of) said I needed to go home. When the doctor came up, she tried persuading me that going home was what I needed. She wasn’t getting that I was in too much pain for feel comfortable outside the hospital, so I told a wee little white lie about my husband not being home to help me out. She seemed agitated about it, and told me that I needed to think about it. I could still be discharged later in the day. I never saw her again. My surgeon came in later, and I told him about the pain I was having and that I didn’t think I would be ok going home. He was completely ok with me staying another day. I told him what the doctor had said earlier, and he said he’d handle it. Duke told me later that he saw the bitchy doctor downstairs, and she told him that I was welcome to stay as long as I liked. (He was there when she came in, so I’m assuming she thought he was family.) I thought it was interesting that A) she changed her mind so quickly, and B) she never bothered to come tell ME that she changed her mind. My nurse came up later to tell me that I was free to stay another day, and also to give me more wonderful pain meds. About the same time, Kelly’s daughter Portia came to visit, and delivered me the stuffed elephant that Duke bought for me on his way out. (Yes, I’m almost 29 and stuffed animals make me happy. Bite me.) Since Jason had to coach a track meet Thursday afternoon, I told him that he didn’t need to come visit (we live 60 miles from UCLA, and with traffic it can be anywhere from 2-3 hours, one way). My sister, however, came to visit after work, and brought me a Mr. Duck! (There’s a story behind Mr. Duck, and if someone reminds me, I’ll tell it later). She spent a few hours making me laugh (which hurt like hell), and she also bought me mashed potatoes and ice cream, 2 of my favorite comfort foods. Best. Sister. Ever.
Friday morning I really did feel good enough to leave. Don’t get me wrong, I was REALLY sore and really tired, but I didn’t feel like it was something I couldn’t handle. Jas dropped Mia off at my parent’s house, and came to get me. He took down all my luggage and then came back for me, my balloons (thanks mom and dad!), my flowers (thanks Mitch!), and the aforementioned Curious George, Elephant, and Mr. Duck. I’m sure we were quite a sight rolling down the hall. The ride home was horrible. I felt every lump, bump, pit, hole, curve, and rock on the road. Magically, I fell asleep part of the way home (yay drugs!) otherwise it would have been exponentially worse. Jas was great, though. When he saw a pothole or a bump, he would warn me, so I could hug my pillow tighter against my stomach. (It works as a shock absorber, or something). I took us 3 hours to go 60 miles. I love LA! We managed to stop at KFC so I could get some mashed potatoes for my oh-so-healthy dinner. (Comfort food. I wasn’t kidding.) He helped me out of my car and on to the couch, where I stayed planted for the next week. The pain killers made me really dizzy and very sleepy, so I didn’t like taking them during the day, but Friday was the exception. I took one as soon as we got home, and then one before bed. The rest of the time I’ve been on Extra Strength Tylenol (per my surgeon’s suggestion) and I took the dizzy/sleepy pill at night for the first few days. (I think it’s Hydrocodone, but I’m not sure, and I’m too lazy to get up and check.)
So that’s the story of the donation, as far as I can remember. I feel a lot better, and I’m moving around a lot more. The steri-strips have finally fallen off of two of my little scars. The other two have loosened considerably, and because they were making me itch, I trimmed the edges. My big scar is still covered by steri-strips, and it doesn’t look like they’re coming off any time soon. (I’m not allowed to remove them. They have to fall off themselves.) The little guys have bruises around them still, and not all of the "road map" marker has come off, especially around the top one. It’s a little too tender to scrub off, so I’m leaving it be. Below is a picture of the little scars. Remember it’s two weeks after the surgery, so they’ve healed a bunch. Also remember that I am still very swollen, and filled with excess gas from the surgery, so I look much fatter than I am (plus I can’t suck in my stomach. My muscles don’t work that way yet. Dammit.). The trimmed steri-strips look a little like the toilet paper scraps that guys use when they cut themselves shaving. I’m not sure why I find that so funny.
 (I will admit that I was tempted to PhotoShop this picture so that I’d look more tan, and less fat. But I figured the fat is really just swelling, and fish belly white might evoke a little more sympathy. Fake it if you must.)
If I missed anything that you are curious about, feel free to ask. I’ve rambled on forever, but I’m sure I still missed something.
Look! I’m sitting up for an extended period of time! Yay me!
I never thought I’d have to train myself to sit upright. I feel a little stupid saying it too, but it’s absolutely true. I can lounge semi-comfortably, but sitting upright (as you would at a desk or table) puts excess pressure on my incision and swollen insides, and becomes very uncomfortable after a short while. Since I’m planning on trying to go back to work on Monday, I’ve been "training" myself to sit for long periods of time. Of course, it doesn’t help that I’m so exhausted that I need to take a 2-3 hour nap every day, just to be functional. That might throw a wrench into my work plans, but we’ll see how it goes.
I feel better than I did last week, but I don’t know that I can say I feel good. I feel like a Mack truck ran over my stomach, stopped, flipped it into reverse, and then tracked back over my stomach again. I have probably 20% of my muscle strength working for me right now. Simple things like washing my hands are exhausting, and make my stomach hurt. In an effort to protect my tender stomach muscles, I have to sit and stand differently (much like a very pregnant woman would). Yesterday, while pulling myself off the couch, I managed to pull a muscle in my back. Awesome! Now my pain is balanced between my front and back. Oh wait, there’s more. Since it became even more painful to stand, I used my coffee table to brace myself on while attempting to stand up. Except my hand slipped and I slammed my face into the table, and then lay on the floor crying because my stomach/back muscles tensed up when I was falling. Crying, by the way, one of the most painful things you can do with busted stomach muscles. Right up there with sneezing, coughing, and laughing. It took me a good hour to scrape myself off the floor and back onto the couch. I had a HUGE fat lip from hitting the table. I looked like I was pushing my bottom lip out in an over exaggerated pout, but I wasn’t pushing it at all. It was ballooning out there all on it’s own. I can laugh (carefully) about it now, because it’s so ridiculous. Who pulls a muscle while standing up, and then proceeds to give themselves a fat lip mere hours later because they STILL can’t stand properly? Me, ladies and gents.
I will write about the whole hospital "visit" (I love that too, NGS) and procedure on my next attempt at sitting upright. Right now I want to get back to the semi-comfort of laying down and reading the next of the futuristic mystery/romance novels that have become my latest obsession.
Just wanted to let you know I’m ok. I came home Friday from the hospital, and I’m really sore. Sitting at the desktop is impossible, and being on the laptop for more than 15-20 minutes at a time is uncomfortable. I’ll post all the fun details of surgery and recovery when I’m feeling a little more up to it. Thanks to everyone who commented or sent e-mails. I appreciate it!
I’m not freaking out. I’m not having a breakdown. I’m incredibly calm, if I do say so myself. I am, however, STARVING!!! I haven’t had any real solid food since Sunday night. I’ve been living on Aquafina, Vitamin Water, and jello snacks. Two days without real food isn’t that bad, in theory. But when you’re used to eating whenever you want, and when everyone around you is eating, and when there are eateries ALL OVER the place, you really make yourself think you want to eat. That’s the part that’s killing me. But since i got up here in the hotel room, and there’s no food or people eating near me, I’m doing a little better.
Surgery is scheduled for 6:30am or 8am tomorrow, depending on which part of the hospital you ask. All I know is that I need to check in at 5am, and they’ll take me up to the pre-op area. I’m hoping the surgery is at 6:30, as that give me less time to be awake and worrying about everything. My parents and Jas are coming tomorrow morning to say hi, and then they’re hanging out during surgery. Tonight I’m going to the movies with Kevin, so that I can get my mind off of tomorrow’s events. I’m actually surprised that I’m not a crying mess right now. Occasionally my heart starts to pound, and I need to take a deep breath, but that’s it. My stomach might have butterflies, but it’s hard to tell over the hunger pains, and the constant growling. We’re all predicting that I’ll lose about 10 pounds from this liquid diet, coupled with the intestinal cleansing I have to do tonight (I won’t go into that. Just think: Ew.). I’m planning on using this as a clean slate. The caffeine is out of my system, the junk food is out of my system. From here on out, I shall eat healthy foods only. Or at least try a lot harder.
I hung out in Kelly’s hospital room earlier today, and the jackass doctor came in to say hi. He didn’t remember her, didn’t remember Kevin, but remembered me. He asked me if I remembered what he said to me the last time. I was VERY tempted to say “Oh? When you called me a little bit of a fat girl? Yeah I remember,” but I managed to keep my cool and just nod. He reminded me that after surgery I need to watch my weight, and make sure to stay healthy. Kelly said she could see on my face that I wanted to punch him, but that I maintained my composure pretty well. I know I shouldn’t let it bother me, but I can’t help it. I’ve actually lost weight since the last time I saw him, and still he feels the need to remind me to watch my weight. That bugs me.
On a more serious note, it occurred to me this past week, as I was getting everything settled before I came up here, that people always regret not saying certain things to others while they have a chance. I know this surgery is going to go well. I know that everything is going to be fine, and I have really nothing to worry about. But still I feel the need to get this out. I want to say thanks to all my friends and family who have supported me through this decision to donate my organ as well as throughout my entire life. I wouldn’t be the person I am today without all of you. I can’t name names for fear that I’ll forget someone important, so if you think I’m talking about you, you’re probably right. Whether we’re friends in person, over the phone, or just through the magic of the internet, I can’t tell you how much our friendship means to me. I don’t have a lot of friends, so I am eternally grateful for the ones I have made.
This will be my last post until I’m out of surgery. I don’t know when I’ll have access to the internet again, so it might be a couple days until I’m back. You all know that I’m not a religious person at all, and in fact am an atheist. But I’m not above admitting I might be wrong about things like that. So if you pray, please keep me in your prayers. If you don’t pray, then think happy thoughts for me. It might not make a difference, or it might make a huge difference. I don’t know, but it can’t hurt to try!
Denora – for the last time with 2 kidneys 
One week from today, knock on wood, I will be leaving UCLA and coming home. It’s almost surreal to me. Yesterday I was saying it was one week until major freakin’ surgery. Today? One week until I’m laying on the couch watching crappy TV. Now of course, I could have to stay in the hospital an extra day or two. I probably should assume that’s what will happen, so as not to get disappointed if it does. Either way, the scary part of this thing will be over. And I’ll be able to eat again! Yay!!
Tomorrow is my last day at work. Some of my coworkers gave me some really sweet cards wishing me good luck on surgery. I think I’m going to take them to the hospital with me as sort of a mobile support group. I really love the people I work with. They’ve all been wonderfully supportive. I think it probably helps that they see Kelly every day, and they saw the awesome change that Kevin had after his transplant, and they want that for her. I know I do. Sometimes I wonder if I’d still be going through with this if I didn’t have to see her everyday. If my fear would have overcome my desire to help. Obviously that’s a question I’ll never be able to answer. Most of me thinks I would still do it. But in my darkest moments, during the worst panic attacks, I have my doubts. I guess it’s a good thing I see her every day.
I wish I had something exciting and non-donation related to tell you all about. Oh! My friend is pregnant! Yay! Except my super selfish oh-my-hell I’m a rotten person first reaction was to be jealous, and not happy. That lasted a few seconds, and then I was able to bring on the happy for her. Of course, the jealous came back as soon as I put the phone down. Dammit. I’m trying to remember that everything happens for a reason. That all of my freaking friends (except 1 couple, and they’re trying) have kids (or are currently incubating) and I don’t, for a reason. I cried on the phone with Jas when he told me how happy the couple’s parents were to hear the news. (The Dad-to-be is an old friend of Jason’s, so he actually heard the news before me). Jas either ignored my sniffles, or didn’t hear them. I’m guessing it’s the first one, since we were talking about a friend’s kid last night, and he immediately got silent when I asked him if he’d be the same way with our kid someday. I can’t even start trying to get pregnant for at least 6 months after surgery. By that time Jas should have a full time job, and won’t have an excuse reason for us to wait any longer. I know better than to get my hopes up, though.
I really am happy for my friends. I can have a pity party for me, and still be excited for them. At least I can try.
I am surprisingly calm going into this last week of work before surgery. I thought I’d be much more nervous (and trust me, I’m still VERY nervous), but I’m not the freaked out crazy psychopath I thought I would be. Perhaps it comes from getting over being sick, and not really having a lot of energy to expend on being nervous. I’m sure that’s part of it. The other part might be that I have a little better perspective now. I had a long chat via e-mail with Kelly’s cousin Eric about his donation experience (to Kelly’s brother), and he put it into layman’s terms for me. I have a better chance of winning the California Lottery 3 times IN A ROW, than I do of having serious complications from surgery. That may or may not be true, but it really made me feel a lot better about doing this. I mean, I was donating either way, but I’m less nervous than I was before. I’m still not so excited about the preparations for doing it (I’d donate my spleen and perhaps my left arm for a soda right now), but I know that it’ll be an amazing experience, once I get through it.
One week from today begins my 48 hour clear liquid diet. And if that horrifying experience doesn’t make me lose weight, I’m convinced nothing will. I have a date with my favorite restaurant on Sunday night, as a last supper sort of deal. It’ll be my last real food until Thursday at least. That seems like cruel and unusual punishment to me (and I wonder why I’m “a little bit of a fat girl”). I’ve lost weight in the last week, thanks to having no appetite, so the jackass doctor should have nothing to complain about when I check in next week. And if he does, I shall kick him with my fat leg.
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