Finished

My incision is superglued closed, and as the superglue flakes off, it itches.  But the wounds look gruesomely cool.  I went to see my surgeon yesterday, who declared everything to be healing well and looking good.  I feel good, if a little sleepy.  So, I guess that's it.  I'm done with this project.  It seems odd to have it over, I've been working on it so intently.  Since I can't repeat this project unless I'm killed suddenly, what next?  I'm sure I'll think of something.

Recovering

I was warned by multiple people that the day after surgery is the worst for organ donors.  Boy, they weren't kidding.  I thought I was going to die, and that didn't seem like a bad idea.  Painful, queasy, general feeling crappy.  Taking a deep breath hurt enough to literally make me cry.  And they made me get up and take a walk, which hurt more than I expected.

Luckily, it's only one day.  I feel much, much better today.  After 5 days in the hospital, I'm finally home.  I couldn't eat for two days, then a day on clear liquids only, then a day of full liquids. 

Yeah, I didn't know what full liquids meant, either.  It means they put everything in the blender.  Corn chowder with no whole corn kernals in it.  Cream of Wheat.  Luckily, it also includes things like pudding and snow cones. 

Today I can finally eat normal food again.  I just have a tiny appetite.  Partly because I'm just not hungry.  Partly because the thought of eating more than my stomach wants and throwing up with this incision is my idea of Hell.  Mostly because I'm simply too tired to chew.  I still can't keep my eyes open.

Tuesday, the Big Day

I met my recipient Tuesday morning.  Actually, the clinic accidentally left his name on a piece of paperwork they gave me, so I Googled him.  I couldn't find any social online presence, but I did find his business website, including his picture.  As I was walking into the surgical center, I saw a man that looked remarkably like my recipient.  So I went to talk to him.  "Are you Mr. D?"  He looked at me like I was some kind of nutjob, but confirmed his identity.  I said, "I'm your donor," and he immediatlely became a warm, charming man.  His wife hugged me--she's probably a hugger all the time--and he was charming.  I was glad for the timing, so there was no need for a long, awkward conversation.  How long does it take to exchange "Thank you" and "I'm happy I can do this for you"?  About 3 minutes?  Then I had to check in for surgery and the fun began.

I don't remember any of the surgery, obviously.  Kerry said it took about 200 hours, but according to the clock, it took a little over 4 hours.  I came out of anesthesia just as they were wheeling me to recovery.  I handle anesthesia easily, so I woke up pretty easy.  Groggy and sleepy, but awake enough to identify my surroundings and ask for my glasses. 

I was sore that day, but not unbearably so.  I was grateful for the morphine pump and the little green button.  And that kept me groggy and sleepy all day long.  I was sore enough not to worry about dignity, and I was even grateful for the catheter, that meant I could sleep all day long without having to get up to go to the bathroom. 

As soon as I saw my surgeon again, I asked how my recipient was doing.  I got the good news that his new kidney is working well for him.  Yay!  I'd hate to go through all this and have it not work.  I have been careful to think and talk of it as his kidney, not mine.  I have no control over it, I willingly gave it to him, it's not like I can take it back.  It's his now.

And that's how it goes they day of donation.  Holden, if you decide to donate when you're a grown-up, you'll know what to expect.

Faith

Many people have promised to pray for me this week.  I am so grateful.  There is power in prayer and faith. Prayers are heard.  Prayers are answered. 
While you are praying, please pray for my recipient.  Pray that his surgery will also go well, that he will recover quickly and most importantly, that the kidney will work well for him and allow him to live a long and happy life.
I have faith that all will go according to Heavenly Father's plan for me and for my recipient.  I look forward to a positive outcome for everyone.  I'll take all the prayers I can get.

To Whomever Gets the Kidney

Dear Recipient,
I am grateful and humbled to have the opportunity to make your life a little healthier.  I feel honored to be able to donate my spare parts.  Thank you for allowing me to serve you.  I am counting on blessings from Heaven in return.
There are a few things I'd like you to know; an owner's manual for your new kidney, if you will.
Your new kidney has never been exposed to alcohol, tobacco, or illegal drugs.  It has been flushed with copious amounts of Diet Coke over the years.  It prefers life in a body that will treat it well, take care of it, and take steps to be healthy.  I hope you will do continue to do that.
Your new kidney has been in a body that believes in God, family, and patriotism.  It's previous host was devout and active in her church.  It's previous host loved her wide circle of extended family, and welcomed "family by choice" from all walks of life.  It's previous host paid attention to the political climate and was conscientious about voting in all local and national elections.  I hope you will continue in these things.
Your new kidney comes to you with the hope it will improve your health and give you more time to do the things that matter to you.  It comes with no expectations of anything in return.  But sometimes, perhaps often, you will have the opportunity to do something nice for someone.  I ask that you take advantage of these opportunities.  Small kindnesses, given with love and compassion, make life worth the ride on this crazy earth.
Good luck.  God bless you.
Les

IMC Organ Transplant Program

I have been very impressed with the transplant program at IMC.  That's the huge hospital on 54th and State in Murray, for anyone who doesn't know.  Everyone I've met has been very good to treat me as a person, not a machine to keep a kidney alive.  Today I met the donor coordinator for my recipient.  I think it's good that there are different coordinators.  That just helps to avoid any conflicting interests, and helps keep anyone from thinking of me as an extra-efficient dialysis machine.
My husband is impressed that, of the three transplant surgeons in this program, the one doing my surgery has the smallest hands.  He figures the smaller the hands, the less bruising I'll have.  I'm beginning to see his point, actually.  If a hand must reach from my navel to the back of my ribs, I prefer that hand to be delicate and small.
T minus 6 days, and counting.

T Minus Seven Days

With only one week left before surgery, I'm feeling almost every emotion in the world.
Happy that I have this opportunity.
Nervous about surgery.
Scared that I'll be a big weenie.
Dreading the loss of dignity necessary to recovery.
Angry that the waiting list for a transplant is so long.
Hopeful that I will make a difference for one person and his/her family.
Excited to have a "get out of housework free" pass for a few weeks.
Sad that my Mom can't be with me for the entire six weeks.
Worried about my granddaughter being left in the care of my sister-in-law.
Content with my decision.
Puzzled at the people who think I'm a hero.
Secure that my angel husband will be available to pamper me and take care of me.
A little slap-happy and punch-drunk from feeling all of this at once.

Someone want to go out for ice cream and some distraction from all this?

Regret

There are 75 thousand people on the national transplant waiting list.  There are over 10 thousand Utahns on that list.  Today I regret that I can only give one kidney and change one life.  Next summer, I plan to speak, write and, I hope, help other families make the difficult decision to allow their loved ones' organs to save lives.  Donating your old clunker car, encouraging your boy scout to team up with Intermountain Donor Services for an Eagle Scout project--surely I can find another way to make a difference to more than one person.

Recovery Reading List

Dead Witch Walking by Kim Harrison
The Heart is a Lonely Hunter by Carson McCullers
Tara Road by Maeve Binchy
Second Sight Dating by Marianne Stephens
Room by Emma Donaghue
The Girl with the Dragon Tatoo by Stieg Larsson
The Sound of a Wild Snail Eating by Elisabeth Tova Bailey

Any other suggestions?  I'll have lots of time to read.  As you can see from the list, I don't limit myself to any particular genre.

Surgeon

Today I met the surgeon who will remove my kidney.  I saw the results of all of my tests--apparently my kidneys work extremely well.  The CT scan looks just like the pictures in an anatomy book.  All tests well within normal range.  No worries whatsoever.
So the surgery is tentatively scheduled for June 21.  They'll try to find a recipient who matches my blood, with a relative who wants to donate but doesn't match.  Then that donor can donate to another patient on the waiting list on the same day that I donate.  Two lives saved for the price of one (sort of).
The following Saturday, June 25, is Kerry's family reunion.  If anyone is free that day and wants to come hang out with me while I sleep and read, that'd be great.  Then he could go to his reunion.
Three weeks away.  I'll let you know if that changes.  Pray for me and my recipient.

To Meet, or Not To Meet

People keep asking me if I want to meet the recipient of my kidney.  I don't know.  What would I expect from such a meeting?  The scenario in my head is rather pleasant, where we like each other right away, the recipient is gracious and grateful, I am gracious and kind, and everyone loves everyone.  But really, what are the chances of a group of real people doing exactly what I imagine them doing?
Realistically, I'm not sure what I can expect.  I think I can expect to see a sick person who wants to get well.  But they could resent me for having a choice about donation, where they have no choice.  They could feel angry if I don't measure up to their expectations.  A child could be simply too terrified to care anything about a donor at all.  Spouses or parents of the recipient could be upset that have to watch their loved one suffer, and see me only as a walking kidney machine.  So much could go wrong.
But so much could go right.  A donor could be happy to have a chance at a more normal life.  They could be genuinely appreciative of the risk I'm taking.  They could be delightful, funny, brilliant, and charming. 
What do you think?  If it were you, what would you do?  Please post comments or send me a message with opinions and thoughts.

Glow-in-the-Dark

This morning I had a CT scan of my kidneys.  In order to get a clear picture of the blood supply, I got an iv injection of a radioactive dye.  So far I don't glow, but there's always hope.
A CT scan is pretty benign.  The machine looks like a very large donut, if donuts had flashing lights and spinning lasers and cool stuff like that.  The bed slides through the machine while the laser spins, giving a 360 degree picture of my insides.  It doesn't feel claustrophobic or scary, and it's surprisingly fast.  I was only in the same room with the machine for about 45 minutes.
The weird part is the dye.  It's injected through an iv port in an arm.  They warned me first that I would feel very, very hot all over, and that I'd feel like I was urinating.  (My brother warned me of the same thing)  About 10 seconds after the injection, I felt heat starting in the back of my throat and spreading all over.  I didn't actually feel like I was urinating, but I could definitely tell when the sensation reached my bladder.  Another 10 seconds, and the feeling is gone.  After that, there's nothing weird at all.
Now I'm just waiting for the nephrologist to see the pictures.  Presuming I have two healthy kidneys, then we can move forward.
Tomorrow, surgeon.  June 16, mammogram.