And of course, it's raining again

No wonder you feel lousy, they said, your kidneys aren't working. Within 24 hours, my life completely changed as I became a kidney patient. All I knew is that they told me I'd start to feel better soon.

It was good, in a manner of speaking, to know what was wrong, what had been wrong for a long time. Knowing, even knowing such drastic news, was better than my stabs in the dark.

I went in for a check up at the transplant center this morning and mentioned the anniversary to my coordinator. "Three years," he said. "Is that all?"

Seems like longer, doesn't it? How do you pack almost 30 hospital admissions and six major surgeries into three years? And how am I supposed to rebound from that?

"It" is almost over, the time when my primary care physician is the director of abdominal transplants at a major hospital. The time when I have a good reason not to have a day job, and keep rock star hours just because I can. (OK, I don't have a good reason to keep rock star hours.)

Hey, I might actually have to file a tax return for 2003.

I thought I'd feel relieved when I reached this point--not that I have exactly reached it, but there seems to be a promise of reaching it. Sure, I've sensed that before, several times, and that's why I am nervous. The word that more accurately represents how I feel is "adrift." I honestly don't know what to do next. This is both refreshing and terrifying.

What I find daunting is the prospect of being concerned with the future after three years filled by the present. At least I think that's it. Who knows any more?

But right this minute I need to go to the post office and the bank, and I might stop in at Firehook for a loaf of good bread.

before - after