A hundred million birds fly away

Well, it looks like there's enough possibility that ibuprofen and naproxen sodium could do some damage to my new kidney that even though transplant recipients are not specifically contraindicated by PDR-type web sites, I'll be a good girl and not take any chances.

And then I started reading about transplantation. You see, I didn't have time to do all the reading I intended to do before the surgery happened, because I had no clue I would get the call so soon.

I guess you could say that today was the day it hit me how amazing it is that I got the call after being on the list for less than a month. October's numbers are still up at the local OPO site; there were 29 people waiting for a kidney and a pancreas last month. There were also 36 people waiting for pancreas and thousands waiting for kidneys. I'm the one who got the call. Me.

I'm in awe.

As I was waiting around at the transplant center this morning, I talked to a guy who's been waiting for a kidney for five years. He's B+, and this will be his second transplant, so he's got a lot of antibody issues, but I felt a little guilty with my six-out-of-six match, which is the only way you go to the top of the list no matter how long you've been on.

This guy has been on dialysis for 17 years, and he said it's starting to take its toll on him; I was on dialysis for a matter of months. No, I wasn't doing particularly well on dialysis, but I wasn't doing that badly. I could function at work, I could travel a little bit; everybody thought I was the Brave Little Toaster, but really I was too stubborn to stop living my life, no matter what it cost me.

And then the phone rang, and there was this maybe-miracle waiting for me. We waited around for hours; the evening grew darker and darker, I did everything I was told to do, but once I realized that we wouldn't know anything until at least 3 a.m. I sent my family away to get some sleep, then I lay in that room by myself.

I remember that at one point, in the darkness, this sense of total peace came over me. It was as if everything that had ever stirred within me grew still and quiet, pausing to listen. I knew then that everything would be all right.

Maybe 45 minutes later, Dr. Jonsson came in. He didn't turn on the light, and I remember being grateful for that. He sat on the edge of my bed and introduced himself quietly, saying it was good to finally meet me; I may have mumbled something in response. After apologizing for the delay, he told me that the crossmatch was negative and that meant he could use the organs and would go ahead with the surgery.

As is my custom, I said something blase; what I'm recalling is "OK, good" but that may not be accurate. He told me to try to get some sleep, and said he'd see me in surgery. The feeling of calm remained, and even increased. I could feel the whole world looking out for me that morning.

In the aftermath, I feel this great debt to opportunity. It's been three weeks since the surgery; three weeks since my life started over. I'll grant you that I spent two of those weeks in a hospital bed, and the rest of that time alternately hauling myself out to Fairfax in the morning rush hour, hepped up on goofballs to dull the pain, or both; but I haven't done anything.

Today I finished a meal for the first time. I looked at the sky, washed clean from yesterday's rains and this morning's winds, and wasn't it the most brilliant blue? I stopped to smell a red-orange rose, all fragrant in full bloom. How can it still be blooming in November? I wore my favorite new sweater, the taupe cashmere with the scoop neck. I tried the new Calvin Klein scent, which is called Truth. It's clean; I like it.

That's not nothing.

before - after