Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness ...

So, just a little over a week ago, I got "the call."   Well ... not at first.  The transplant team called me on Tuesday the 5th around noon to tell me I was, once again, the backup.  Which was fine.  I didn't have a tingle ... nothing telling me that my life was about to change.  So I agreed to not eat or drink anything ... and I just kept on working.

On the drive home, they called back.  The surgeon wanted to talk to us.  He explained where the kidney was coming from ... a 19 year old girl.  He explained why it was available ... tragic car accident.  He explained that it was high risk kidney ... the "capsule" had been removed around it.   At the end of the call, he invited me to come to the hospital and meet with them.

And so we did.

At six o'clock pm, Stoney, my mom, and me all met at the hospital ER and let them know I was there for a transplant.  We told a few people ... mainly bosses and necessary co-workers.  We didn't want to leave anyone out ... but there's no guarantee that this was going to happen.  It's a long process.  It's a really long process.  They took us upstairs to my room and the tests began.  A chest-x-ray ... an EKG ... 15 vials of blood ... endless questions.  We sat there for almost four hours going through the hoops.   We met the surgeon and he was a pretty awesome guy.  He just sat down and relaxed ... and just talked to us.  We really liked him ... he seemed to really like us. 

And then it looked like it was going to happen.  Like it was really going to happen.

We put it on Facebook.  I got phone calls ... I talked to the girls ... more texts went out ... phone calls to various family members were made.  And at a little after 10:00, I said goodbye to my mom and Stoney ... and they wheeled me out the door and down to a prep room for the OR.  I can't describe the overwhelming amount of adrenaline that was going through me.  I was sitting alone in a wheel chair in the OR hallway ... pushing myself back and forth with my feet ... making a circle from one end of the hall to the other ... humming some song.  I must've looked maniacal.

They finally took me into the prep room and the anesthesiologist came in and placed my IV.  She gave me my first dose of anti-nausea medicine and was getting the "relaxation" shot ready.  That's when the word came back ... everyone hold up.   The surgeon was examining the kidney.   The nurses were overly cheerful and told me this was "completely normal."  They assured me that the surgeon always did this and things would begin shortly.  The anesthesiologist left.  No one had to tell me ... that was a bad sign.

The surgeon came in to tell me something horrible had happened.  Whoever harvested the organ had damaged it almost beyond repair.   He drew me a picture ... showing me the way the kidney SHOULD have arrived versus the way it HAD arrived.   It put a hand on my shoulder and told me was going back into the OR to try and make it usable.  Out in the hallway, I overheard a nurse nervously ask him if she should get my family.   He told her yes ... he didn't want me alone.   No one had to tell me ... that was also a bad sign.

And so Stoney and mom came in and I repeated what he'd told me ... unfortunately, without the aid of helpful drawings.   They hugged me and he we sat and waited.  And we waited.  And we waited.  And we waited.

Mom nervously talked.  Stoney held my hand.  The surgeon worked for two hours in the OR.  And when he finally came in, he looked utterly heartbroken.  He took out his drawing and showed everyone all over again.   Everything is fuzzy ... but I believe he told us, "I'm a surgeon and my hubris wants me to tell you I can do this.  I can make this work."  I told him whatever he thought was right ... I told him I trusted him. 

My mom spoke up.   She asked, "If you had a daughter, would you give her this organ?"

My surgeon paused paused.  He paused for a long time.  And, as Stoney says, that pause said it all.  When he finally spoke, he asked if dialysis was working for me.  Was I doing alright?  I said I was ... and he said, "I can put this kidney in ... but it has a two to five times greater risk of clotting.  If that happens, it's deadly and it has to come out.  Then we're starting this all over with you in a much weaker state."   By that time, it was after two o'clock ... and we called it. 

It was over.

They took me back upstairs to take out my IV and put my discharge papers together.  I probably owe everyone an apologize ... Stoney, Mom, and any nurse who saw me on the 5th Floor.  It was the middle of the night.  I hadn't had anything to eat or drink since noon.  My blood sugar was low ... I was exhausted ... and I just couldn't anymore.  We walked back out to the parking lot together.  A sad trio ... not talking much.  Stoney offered to buy me something from Hardees since they're open 24 hours ... he even offered just to get me a root beer.   But all I wanted was to go home.

I don't remember anything after that.  I don't remember getting home or walking in the door.  I don't remember getting undressed or texting my boss that I wouldn't be in.  All I remember is holding it together until I could crawl into bed ... and then just falling apart.  Stoney held me and rocked me and said every single thing I would want him to say ... and, in retrospect, he had to be hurting almost as bad as me.  It was a horrible night for everyone.   He was up for hours ... he didn't have dinner ... and, even if it had worked, he wouldn't have had a new kidney.  He was running on empty just as much as me.

But we held each other ... and you can only cry so much.  Eventually, around 3:30 in the morning, we just fell asleep.   And when I woke up, I was every bit as depressed as I was when we left the hospital.   We'd both taken the day off work ... which was good since I didn't even wake up until eleven o'clock.  I couldn't bear to get on Facebook.  I didn't even look at my text messages.  It didn't matter whether they were congratulations or messages of sympathy, I couldn't bear any of it.   So Stoney was my rock ... he talked to everyone.  His family ... my family ... our friends ... everyone.  He was social when I couldn't be.

Stoney offered to make something to eat ... and I asked if he would just take me to IHOP.   I got dressed.  I had bacon.  Which helped a little.  And as soon as we went home, I went back to bed.    I don't remember the rest of that day or night.  I don't know what I said to anyone or what I did.   I think I ignored everyone.

And so it's a little over a week later.  The melancholy has passed.   I think I'm back to the old me?   I'm going around making up stupid songs for everything I do so ... that's got to be a good sign.  

But now I'm dreading the next call.  I don't know whether I could go through that all again.  I don't want to go through all that again.  It's not just a matter of being the backup.   It was being outside the OR ... steps away from a new kidney ... and having that just pulled out from under you.  It's a horrible feeling.  I don't know if I've ever experienced anything like it.

But I guess when it's meant to be it will be.  That's what we tell ourselves, right?  

I'm not alone ... I've got the best person on the planet standing right next to me.  Everything's gonna be alright ... 

She feels safe now in this bar on Fairfax
And from the stage I can tell that
She can't let go and she can't relax
And just before she hangs her head to cry
I sing to her a lullaby
I sing

Everything's gonna be all right
Rockabye, rockabye
Everything's gonna be all right
Rockabye, rockabye
Rockabye

Shawn Mullins - Lullaby Lyrics