It's Hard Out Here for a Mom

God could not be everywhere, so he created mothers. 

~Jewish Proverb

On Aug. 3, 2015, I woke up, in the hospital. The story of my life.  I'd spent most of the day before that vomiting up everything that I ate. Ben was my witness.  We both figured it was morning sickness, since I was 11 weeks pregnant at the time.  But when the vomiting turned to blood, I ended up going to the nearest Inova ER center.

A Tale of Two Surgeries

"Do not pray for an easy life,

pray for the strength to endure a difficult one."

--Bruce Lee

Originally, this blog post was supposed to be about the time I had an emergency appendectomy while 11-weeks pregnant.  Before the surgery, I asked the surgeon if he'd ever performed an appendectomy on someone who was pregnant and had a kidney transplant.  He said no.  He said there was a 50/50 chance the growing baby would survive.  Then I squeezed my mom's hand and was taken to the operating room.  

Kidney Update: Two Year Biopsy

The results are in!  Er...they were in about a month ago.   If you've been coming back to this blog over and over hoping to see an update on my kidney biopsy I had in April, here it is!  I didn't meant to keep you on edge.  And just so you know what you're in for, I'M O.K.

How Do You React to a Bad Health Report?

By now, you've read last week's post about my most recent doctor's appointment.  And how I learned some less-than-awesome stuff about all the ways pregnancy can go wrong when you have a transplant.  I wasn't feeling so great afterwards, about myself or my situation, so I decided to eat a bunch of junk food when I returned to work after my appointment.

And that got me thinking about all the ways that people might react to a negative health report.  I've had plenty of negative health reports in my short life.  Off the top of my head, there was my diagnosis with FSGS; the news that I was rapidly heading toward kidney failure; then I found out my sister wouldn't be able to donate her kidney to me.  After that it was the news that I would have to postpone my honeymoon so that I could start dialysis.  Oh, and the news that my kidneys were f*#@ked up, yet again.  

So, I started thinking, how do I typically react to this bad news.  What's my M.O.? 

Living for the Weekend: Birthdays, Sick Days, Name Change

Whew, what a weekend.

• Top Left:  I made Ben's birthday cake, from scratch.  It's the classic yellow with Chocolate Frosting.  And so far, this is the best yellow cake from scratch that I've ever made.  For five years now I've been making yellow cakes that were really dry, or just missing the mark.  This recipe that I found on Bakerella really brought me closer to my dream of the perfect, Box quality, yellow cake from scratch.
• Bottom Left:  My kitty! Burton!  When you have a cat you're just obligated to take multiple random pictures of that cat.  
• Top Right:  One of the best things I've discovered, is making homemade sausage.  It's soooo easy and cost effective. I cooked up some chicken sausage that I made back in May but froze in my freezer.
• Middle Right:  A beautiful sunset from my friend's roof top at the outdoor happy hour she hosted.  I didn't drink anything but it was probably for the best because....
• I went to the hospital the next day (bottom right).  Oops.  I'm OK now, but Sunday kind of sucked.  And I felt like crap for the entire day, and half of today.  Gotta love the IV picture.  I've got a bunch of them.  Just like with cats---if you have multiple IVs put in, you're kind of obligated to take pictures of every single one.  

P.S.  I've been married for a month!  And in case you haven't noticed,  I officially changed my last name.  As a child, I always thought/knew that I would just take my husband's last name.  But then once I started my career path, I realized that I really like my maiden last name.  Actually, I love it.  It really just goes so well with the rest of my name, first and middle.  And you want to know something funny?  I was always secretly jealous of hyphenates.  Like, how come they got two last names and I only had one?!  I was even jealous of the hyphenated first names, like John-Paul or Jessie-Lynn.  Well, guess what?  Dreams do come true.  I am finally....a hyphenate. 

Thoughts from the Exam Table--Another Ultrasound

On Thursday, I had to get an ultrasound at the hospital.  Yep!  Ultrasound!  Two weeks after the wedding.  You know what THAT means!  No...Ben and I did not create a honeymoon baby.  It means that I'm still recovering from my kidney transplant and need close monitoring.

Ever since Torture Tuesday, and the removal of the stent, I told my doctors that I'd noticed a change in my urination.   I probably sounded really stupid trying to explain how my pee had changed after the stent was removed, but only because I couldn't find the words to explain it.  It's just different, OK!  I pee differently now!  The doctors, seeing my frustration, scheduled me for an ultrasound to look at the new kidney.  I had an ultrasound about six or seven months ago when I was being evaluated for a transplant.  This appointment was a little quieter, because my sister wasn't in the room with me, and there was no yelping because the gel wasn't cold, or at least it didn't feel like it.  It's appointments where I'm lying on my back, staring at the ceiling, with my feet NOT in stirrups, that I do my best thinking.  Top ten things that crossed my mind:

• Hmm, the ultrasound gel isn't as cold this time.
• Oh, that's because the nerves around my incision are healing, and the area around my kidney is semi-numb.
• I wonder if they'll find something, or if they'll see something wrong with my new kidney;
• OK so the ultrasound gel isn't cold, but this room is FREEZING!
• They sure are taking a lot of pictures of my guts.  How can they even tell what anything is?
• I can't decide if this procedure is hurting me or not.
• Maybe I shouldn't have worn my nice work clothes to this appointment.  Now they're going to have ultrasound gel stuck to them.
• I bet the cat pouncing on my stomach in the middle of the night because I was moving my hands under the covers did not help at all.  
• Why is it not Friday yet.  
• I should have peed before doing this.  

About six hours later, my transplant coordinator called me and said the doctor had reviewed my ultrasound results.  There is fluid around my new kidney.  I didn't ask too many questions over the phone but I think this is what I have: either a lymphocele or a urine leak. Both involve the collection of liquid around the transplanted kidney, and both can obstruct the function of the ureter (which helps urine flow out of the kidney to the bladder). Lymphocele can produce edema, swelling of the legs or ankles, which I discovered about two days ago.  

This all means that I get to return to my home away from home, Inova Fairfax, to have a procedure done to drain the fluid from around my kidney.  This just wouldn't be my life if I wasn't driving to or from the hospital to have some blood drawn or some fluid drained.  I really hope everything is OK after this, but my transplant coordinator did tell me that there will be a few bumps in the road following transplantation.  And I guess this is just a little bump which is OK.  I've been through enough speed bumps on this journey now to know things could always get worse.  But once you get over the hump and get going again, a lot of times, things get a hell of a lot better.  

So come June 28, channel Sarah Palin, prepare your best Alaska/Canada-eh voice, and do a "DRAIN, BABY, DRAIN!" for me, and all the transplanted kidneys swimming in slime. 

UPDATE:  This whole experience has put Ben on edge.  While I was editing this blog post, our cat straight up VOMITED on the carpet.  Ben thought it was me and rushed into the living room asking if I was OK and if I needed to be taken to the hospital. 

"We Did It!" and More Tales from My Hospital Stay

2 Weeks with the Kidney

"Congratulations! The surgery is over!" were the first words I heard while coming out of anesthesia.  In my head, I said "GOD...THANK YOU. Thank you."  I couldn't quite speak yet.  Well, that's a lie.  Because the first words I said were "PAAAAAIIIINNN.  PAIIINNN." And to this day I don't really know if I was actually in that much pain.  I mean, yes, I had just been cut.  And yes, I probably should have been in pain.  But could I actually feel it, and I mean really feel it at that time?  I'm not so sure.  But I guess it was just my automatic reaction to coming out of anesthesia knowing that I'd just had major surgery.

"What?  You're in pain?" the nurse said.  "Here."  She handed me a button attached to a wire connected to a box on an IV stand.  Those of you who have stayed in the hospital before know what this is.  For those of you fortunate enough to never have experienced this, that button is what connected me to my pain medicine:  hydromorphone aka dihydromorphinone aka dilaudid aka morphine aka...all hell, let's just call it what we know it is...CRACK! OK!  Let's just be real.  It's hospital grade crack in an IV.   So of course, I press the button, and I'm out. Unconscious. 

"Here! Want some water?" The nurse holds the straw from a styrofoam cup filled with ice water in it up to my mouth.  I suck down the water as if I had never had ice water before.  Then I hit the button.

"Here! Want some water?" The nurse holds the straw from a styrofoam cup filled with ice water in it up to my mouth.  I suck down the water as if I had never had ice water before.  Then I hit the button.

"Here! Want some water?" The nurse holds the straw from a styrofoam cup filled with ice water in it up to my mouth.  I suck down the water as if I had never had ice water before.  Then I hit the button.

No, that's not a copy paste error.  The previous three paragraphs are meant to be an exact representation of what coming out of deep anesthesia connected to an IV of hospital heroin is like after surgery.  It was literally "Crack Button," pass out, wake up, water, "Crack Button."  I did this for, according to my family, 3-4 hours following the completion of the transplant.  

At some point in there, Ben and my mom came to visit me.  I only sort of remember this part, mostly because my eyes would only stay open for seconds at a time because the Hospital Heroin pulsing through my veins would force my eyes shut.  

During my time in recovery, I was allowed to see my dad for a few minutes.  The nurses wheeled his bed over to mine. I don't remember our conversation fully. But I recall saying "We did it, Dad."  And I remember him saying "Yeah, we did."  

* * *

Once I arrived in my private room at the hospital (from what I've heard this is a pretty big deal, to have you're own room) I was greeted by my fiance, sisters, aunts, my uncle and my grandma.  I think I was happy to see everyone, even if I could barely open my eyes and had to squint because my glasses were taken before I went into surgery.

And for some reason I just couldn't keep my hand off the "hospital crack" button.  I just kept pressing it, falling into some sort of half sleep, then waking up to pump my fist and say "We did it!" according to my sister Jocelyn, who derived some pleasure from taking videos of me in a morphine-induced coma with her iPhone.  

Even in this trippy state, where I just barely was able to absorb what transpired in the previous hours, I was celebrating, sort of.  I think I was mostly proud of the fact that I let the doctors put me to sleep for several hours and perform organ transplantation on my dad and I.  Like...what?! That just sounds crazy doesn't it?  I feel like it does.  Who gets organ transplants?! Well, apparently I do.  And my dad...apparently he's a super hero because he's one of those people who donates his organs to save another person's life.  

In the moments when I was able to comprehend things being said to me I gathered that the transplant was a success; that my dad's kidney was a perfect match with my blood and tissue type; that once they received my dad's kidney and hooked it up to my arteries and veins and stuff, it started producing urine immediately, taking over for the two kidneys in my body that were barely doing anything; that I am lucky to be ALIVE because the surgeon almost cancelled the surgery when they discovered that I had NO blood in my body!!  Yeah. That right there...that's God.  Because I would have been A) pissed if they had decided to cancel the surgery after putting me under and putting me through all this stress; and B) dead if God hadn't intervened and said "Um, no, Jewel's gonna make it through the surgery, with 1 pint of blood, because I said so."  I'm so thankful that I survived (can't believe I had no blood!) and I'm happy that the kidney worked immediately.  

For my first examination by the doctors, early in the morning on the day after the surgery, I learned that my creatinine level was 1.1.   Creatinine is basically chemical waste that your kidneys filter out of your blood, and nearly all of it is supposed to leave your body when you pee. If you're kidneys aren't working right, you don't pee out this waste. It floats around in your blood and makes you SICK.  When I my kidneys started failing, my blood had a ton of creatinine in it.  So to hear that my dad's kidney was actually making me better was pretty great.  And then I fell asleep.  It was the drugs, I tell ya! The drugs made me do it.  

But really, I was happy.    At that moment, hearing that my kidney function was normal, I was happy, and every day since then I've been pretty happy.  And grateful.  And very aware that this thing, my dad's kidney, buried inside of me, is what's keeping me going every single day. 

What Happens Before a Transplant

10 Days With Kidney

I cannot believe it's been almost two weeks since I wrote anything meaningful on this blog.  My fiance helped me keep the blog from disappearing into the realm of "blogs that we start and then never ever come back to again" by doing an ah-mazing guest post last Monday.  So I'm pretty thankful for that and him.  I think he did an excellent job of not only sharing his perspective on the whole kidney transplant event, but also describing what the mood and atmosphere were like for most of us really.  After editing Ben's post and blogging it, I turned and looked at him from my hospital bed and said "Why didn't you say you were feeling that way?! The whole time I thought you were calm but you were actually freaking out like me!"  It's probably for the best that he didn't tell me how he was really feeling, or else I would have gone into full scale panic mode. I was only flying at about half-staff with the nervousness and that was mostly due to my mom's and Ben's positive and supportive presence with me in the pre-op room. 

So we've heard what Ben has had to say about the surgery. Now it's my turn! For today's post, a list (obviously)!  ThingsThat Happen Before You Have a Kidney Transplant. And... go!

1.   You shower for the first time in a month.  Yes.  I....actually can't remember if I revealed that on this blog but the Thursday before the transplant, May 2, was my first shower since I had the PD Catheter placed.  Because the holes in my stomach were still healing and they didn't want me to get an infection, I'd been taking sponge baths.  Let me tell you, that first shower after 4 weeks of not showering felt so good, I didn't want to get out of the tub.  It was also the last time I would shower with the catheter. So to all of you wondering if my hair smelled when you saw me that one time out in that one place, the answer is...probably.

2.   You wake up pretty freaking early.  Kidney transplants have to begin in the morning.  That is the rule. Actually I don't know if it is. I just made that up. But we had to arrive at the hospital at 6 AM to check in.  Around 6:30 and 7:00 they called my dad and me back to the pre-surgery areas where we had our vitals checked and started having us get undressed. 

3.  You yell at your mom for touching your neck.  And she shouldn't have touched my neck! Especially, after the anesthesiologist had JUST come in and done something to it.  What had happened was the anesthesiologist asked me to turn and lift my head so that she could make a mark where my main artery was with a marker.  During surgery they inserted an IV with three different tubes into my neck to deliver transplant medicines and antibiotics directly to my heart during the surgery.  My mom, of course, because she's always touching me (my face, my hair, my neck), walked over to where I was laying in the pre-op area, balks "What is that?!" while trying to rub the marker off my neck.   OK soooo, I do watch House and I do watch the news. And that type of s*#t right there...that's the type of s*#t that will have you going into the operating room for a kidney transplant and coming out with no legs. Real talk. So of course I yelled "Don't touch me!" and cried for the nurse to bring the anesthesiologist back to redo the mark.  Fortunately, my mom did not manage to wipe off the marker spot and I probably shouldn't have yelled at her.  But I had to do what I had to do! I used to cover "wrong side surgery" for a health care publication.  That stuff is real.  

4.  You meet a lot of different doctors and nurses.  All during pre-op several nurses and doctors were coming in to introduce themselves, to let me know that they would working with the main surgeon to do the transplant.  Luckily at Inova, everyone was super nice and extremely accommodating. One thing that some people might find annoying (my mom was irritated by this) they ask you the same question over and over again: why are you going into surgery.  Kidney transplant.  I didn't mind this. I knew they just wanted to make sure all their ducks in a row and that everyone was in the right place.  This doesn't bother me because, like I said, I watch House and the news, and I know what can happen when there's a wrong answer to a question. Anything to keep everyone safe.  One of the nurses also, set up one of the three IVs I would have over the course of the procedure. 

5.  You wait for about an hour and a half.  After all of the above was done, my mom, Ben, and I waited in the pre-surgery room for about an hour and a half, until it was time for me to wheeled away.  During that time, I started to think, maybe the surgery won't even happen.  Yes, I wanted to be healthy.  Yes, I wanted to get a new kidney.  But did I want to undergo major surgery with risk of complications?  No, not really.  After meeting all the nurses and talking to the anesthesiologist, the reality of what was about to happen was kind of starting to get to me.  I didn't want to be put to sleep and I didn't want them to slice me open and spread apart my skin.  I didn't want to be cut and poked and prodded. I just wanted to magically be healthy.  So while we waited, there was a part of me that was wondering if the surgery would even happen.  Well, at 9:30 when the anesthesia nurse  came in and gave me "the good stuff" aka hospital strength Valium, it was time.  They wheeled me out of the room in my bed, wearing just a gown and a blanket. I barely had time to say bye to Ben and my mom, not that I would remember saying it anyways.  

The last thing I remember before the surgery started was me trying to roll onto the surgical bed, but just laughing uncontrollably instead of moving.  This may or may not have happened. And then I remember the lights on top of the ceiling as the nurses were strapping me onto the table. Then they gave me "oxygen."  And I was gone for about six hours.

There's something that happens in the seconds before surgery, where despite all the fear and accumulating anxiety your mind, and body, just sort of gives up and gives in to what's about to happen to you.  There's no room, space, or time to fight back or even say no. You deeply inhale the air being pumped through the oxygen mask and something inside says "Finally."  It's almost a relief that you've gotten to the point where you can't worry anymore, even if you wanted to, and you can't think about the may or may not happen. In those seconds before it all went dark, I thought "Finally. Time to find out if this is it.  If this will work.  Time to find out..."  

Tube-in-my-Stomach UPDATE

Originally, I was going to post a video I made of myself on my iPhone a few hours after the surgery.  Naturally, since it's technology, something went wrong and I wasn't able to upload it to the blog for today's post.  In case I don't get to upload it later, the gist is that the surgery went well. They gave me Valium.  I think they also gave me the Michael Jackson drug.  So I was OUT.  I spent the rest of the day/night resting up in bed, with moderate soreness. 

Everybody told me day two would be worse. And everybody was right.  

The good news is that I'm writing this at the end of day two and I'm regaining a lot of my mobility.  My stomach still HURTS, and I can't believe I let someone cut into it in two different places. Of all the surgeries to get, I feel like stomach surgery is one of the worst.  EVERYTHING is connected to your core muscles-- laughing, peeing, hell, even walking is.  So it's been a bit rough. But I'm making it.  

Serious shout out to the great doctors at Healthqare.  I was really nervous before the procedure but they were super nice and made me feel really comfortable.  And that place is serving some seriously good Apple Juice. For real!!  Why do the hospitals have all the good food?? 

Also, thanks to my baby sister, Danyelle, who I don't write about that much on the blog because we don't have the same blood type so she's not relevant to the conversation.  JUUUSSSST KIDDDDING!  She is relevant, and one of the most generous people I know.  Thanks to her for driving me to my doctor's appointment on Friday. 

And finally...goes without saying, thanks to Ben.  You know how I feel about you.  And no words I write on this blog will ever be able to convey it.  

Ben and I engulfed in daytime trash TV before the surgery.

Hospitable Hospital

The first order of business after completing my four hour informational meeting with a kidney transplant nurse, dietitian, social worker, financial planner, and appointment coordinator was to show up at the hospital prepped and ready for another four hours of medical procedures.  

I decided to spare Ben from having to request another day off work, and demanded that my sister accompany me to this next appointment as part of her maid-of-honor duties.  I played the "...but you're the maid of honor" card. I'm not gonna lie--sometimes it’s fun to be a Bridezilla.  

Another early morning, and this time, there was McDonalds...for Jocelyn.  I had to fast for 8 hours. And this time, I documented the whole experience.  First up: there will be blood! 

        
















 I don’t mean to brag, but I’m pretty good at getting my blood drawn. After ten years of doing this, I know which veins are going to be automatic.  And by automatic, I mean ripe for blood drawing.  From years of experience I've learned that an "automatic vein" is one that practically jumps out of your arm when you show it to the nurse, prompting the nurse to say "Wow! You have good veins!."    I know how many times to squeeze my fist or the little red ball and then when to release once the needle is inserted.  I’m not squeamish and I don’t get dizzy.  This is what 10 years with a chronic condition can do for a person: give them a whole new skillset related to withdrawing blood.  

  

The picture above shows the 14 tubes that I had to fill with my blood--by far the most tubes of blood that I've had to fill up.  I usually don't worry about whether I'll have any trouble giving blood, given that most instances involve two or three tubes.  This one time, at the National Institute of Health, I had to fill up six tubes! And I thought I was actually going to pass out then. Now my mindset is more like, "Six tubes?  Whatever man.  Whatever.  Come back when you're serious about taking my blood."

Next up: only the second ultrasound I've ever had in my life. And I've never been pregnant. I have to admit, ultrasounds are not my favorite medical procedure.  Doesn't everyone want to see their insides, you ask?  Well, first of all, I don't know how anyone can determine anything on those machines. Everything looks the same. And second, in this day and age I guess we still can't find a way to warm up the ultrasound gel BEFORE rubbing it all over someone's stomach.  If I yelp because of the temperature of the gel, you might have a problem.

The picture above is one of my favorites of the day.  In the first post, I rambled on about how glorious McDonald's breakfast is.  In this post, you'll hear about one of the most gratifying meals I've ever eaten:  hospital breakfast. Yes, after ten hours of fasting, 14 tubes of blood, and an ultrasound that went on a little too long (I guess two crippled kidneys don't show up on screen very well), my sister and I sat down to a delicious, freshly prepared hospital breakfast.  It cost me $4.  Since then, I've suggested to many people, "Hey, lets hit up Fairfax Hospital for some flapjacks."  Or "Hey, you know who has great coffee and cheap biscuits?  The hospital."  If it were closer, I'd never eat anywhere else.  

For the last three procedures I don't have any pictures because I had to do them topless. And this isn't that kind of blog.  I will end with this:   

• Just like the ultrasound gel, those little stickers they put on your boobies for the echo cardiogram are freezing cold.  Why?
• After ten years of doing it infrequently, getting my blood pressure checked still gives chills (149 over 101 during this visit; not good).
• More than anything, my favorite part of these experiences is getting to spend time with my family, especially one of my sisters. My faith that God will work everything out in the end keeps me going. But I'll also be forever in debt for the rest of my life to my family, who have cried with me, and mostly laughed with me, prayed for me, driven me to the hospital, eaten 40 cent eggs with me, and took pictures of me for my "sick people problems" blog.  I can't thank you guys enough. 

 

Kidney Transplant? 'I'm Lovin It!'

Organ transplantation.  I know it’s not something that’s unheard of in 2013, but still, when I say the phrase out loud, “I’m being evaluated for a kidney transplant,” I can’t help but feel like i’m having an out of body experience--watching a science fiction movie about a girl who says she’s me.  She looks like me.  Even acts like me a little bit. But who within the year will be operating off of a kidney that’s not her own.  Sometimes, I kind of feel like Ripley, from Alien.  Except, hopefully my kidney won’t bust out of my side if the other cells in my body decide to reject it.

When I make a list of events I used to think would occur in my lifetime, “kidney transplant” isn’t on it.   Things like “marry a black doctor” and “become an astronaut” used to take up the top two spots on my short “When I Grow Up” goals list.  Well, my fiance is white, and I willed myself to stop doing math (really, I stopped) years ago, so becoming an astronaut was just out of the question.  

Having a kidney transplant definitely would have made the list of “events that are highly unlikely to occur in my lifetime,” if there ever was one.

Nonetheless, Dec. 6, 2012, was  the day that I officially began my journey toward transplantation.  I’d worried about that day and prayed about that day leading up to the morning of the appointment.  Ben (my wonderful fiance) was my rock, because for the first time since I’d been diagnosed with the disease, way back in 2003, I had decided not to invite my family to a kidney appointment. Just Ben.

Ben and I are notoriously bad at going to bed early, which means we were terrible at waking up on time to get to my 8:30 A.M. appointment.  When the first alarm went off, we convinced each other that if we slept five more minutes, we’d have enough time to make eggs and bacon for breakfast, which only takes about 10 minutes.  As we hit snooze on our cell phone alarms again, we convinced each other that we don’t need 10 minutes for eggs and high sodium bacon.  Five more minutes of sleep and we’d have enough time to shower, pour some bowls of cereal and be on our way.  Another round of snooze buttons later and we were already talking about the plethora of nutritious and freshly prepared meal items that we could choose from the McDonald’s breakfast menu.

One thing I’ve learned about all of my kidney doctor appointments, is that eating beforehand is a necessity.  You never know when you’re going to have blood drawn, or have to give a urine sample, perhaps get hooked up to an IV for a thousand milligrams of steroids, or in this case, sit through four hours of five different people talking about organ transplantation with only a mini bottle of warm water at your disposal.  

We pulled out of the parking lot outside our apartment complex, salivating at the thought of having an egg mcmuffin and two greasy and crisp McDonald’s hashbrowns. I started up the directions to the INOVA transplant facility on my iPhone.  Only 20 minutes away. Doable, plus, there was no traffic.  And extra plus--we were getting Mickey Dee’s for breakfast. I was on my way to a doctor’s appointment where major surgery was going to be discussed. Yet,  I felt like a little kid at 9:30 AM on a Saturday morning, watching X-Men as my dad walks in with Hot Cakes meals for the whole family.  Everyone knows, there’s just something about McDonald’s breakfast.

We rode in silence, both of us glancing around for a glimpse of those sacred “golden arches.”  We hadn’t spoken a word until we reached the intersection where I thought, but wasn’t certain, that there would be a McDonalds.  

My jaw literally dropped in disbelief as Ben passed the McDonalds. My dream of english muffins topped with microwave eggs and cheese, my coffee with two creams, evaporated into thin air.

It’s hard to say exactly what went wrong.  Nearly a month after the incident, we don’t know if Ben passed the McDonalds because his favorite song was on the radio, or maybe I was too distracted by the moving arrow on my Google Maps app, worried that we wouldn’t make it to the appointment on time. But on that early morning, before my first appointment to begin my transplantation adventure--before learning that the transplant would cost me likely $14,000 out of pocket...before hearing that i’d have to take up to 10 pills per day for the rest of my life...before learning that i’d have to give up my hobby of eating a warm grapefruit because it’s too high in potassium---Ben passed the only McDonalds en route to the transplant center.  As fate would have it, Ben drove past the only fast food establishment within 20 miles of the transplant center.  

For four hours, Ben and I tried our best to digest the waterfall of information on everything kidney-transplant related.  It’s funny how discussing a life-changing circumstance like receiving a transplant can be diminished by the moans of an empty stomach.  

Don’t worry!  This story has a happy ending.  The appointment eventually ended, and Ben and I went straight to Firehouse Subs and gorged on high-sodium concoctions sandwiched between thick slices of bread, and lots of sauce.  It was just what we needed.  And I was reminded of how truly blessed I am to have a partner in this whole mess of failing kidneys and surgeries. Now that I think of it Ben could have easily dropped me off at the appointment, drove 20 minutes back to the McDonalds, and picked me up outside the transplant center later. But he didn’t. We stayed together--learning together...and starving together.  And after lunch and on full stomachs we couldn’t help but laugh at the fact that I it was a lack of McDonalds breakfast that ruined the morning.