Irony of ironies

Auntie Donna was married three times before settling down with her current husband, Burl; this happened about 17 years ago. She had two sons, one by her first husband and one by her third. Jeff, the elder, committed suicide about eight years ago. She comes from a part of Dallas called Pleasant Grove, which isn't quite the wrong side of the tracks, but it isn't precisely the right side of the tracks, either. I mention this because of Auntie Donna's twang; good golly, it's like a steel guitar kicking in.

She wanted to know how I'm doing. She wanted to know if the dialysis hurt, which it doesn't; and if the transplant would make me better, which it will. I told her I'd been reading about transplants on the web today, which was true. Some of what I read was daunting. I still haven't wrapped my brain around the cost, which may exceed $250,000.

I am waiting for a medical procedure that will cost somebody a quarter of a million dollars. I'm lucky in that I have medical insurance that will cover most of the cost that Medicare doesn't, so if all goes well, I could get away from this financially unscathed. You might not have known that the deductions from your paychecks go to pay for my treatment. I had always vaguely resented those donations, as I called them. Ah, the scent of true irony! I suppose I'm cashing in now.

I do find this whole thing ironic. When I asked point blank how long I had, Dr. P told me I could live a long and healthy life after transplant. Investigating today, I find that this is not necessarily the truth. The way the anti-rejection drugs work, they suppress your natural immune system, which tends to open you up to things like cancer and my old friend pneumonia, which you're only supposed to have once but I've had twice. Of course, without the transplants I'd be lucky to make it 10 years. In other words, you're damned if you do and you're damned if you don't.

I'm not letting this bug me too much. I don't blame Dr. P. for painting a slightly rosier picture than the information I found. Part of me would rather trust in the nicer picture, because I've been lucky so far. I don't really feel like my luck has run out completely.

before - after