Gone But Not Forgotten

My flesh and my heart may fail, 

but God is the strength of my heart

and my portion forever. 

Psalm 73:26

In memory of

Hugh West

Kidney disease warrior, August 28

Living for the Weekend: Eatin Good in the Neighborhood/A Reminder

"After all You are constant
After all You are only good
After all You are sovereign
Not for a moment will You forsake me
Not for a moment will You forsake me"

Not For a Moment, Meredith Andrews

 

The lyrics above are from a song we sang in church on Sunday.  One of my new favorites. Reminded me so much of how far God has brought me.  Three, basically four months ago, I received a new lease on life.  Anything, ALL THINGS, are possible with God leading us.

And thank God for making this weekend possible.  It was an OK weekend.  The UPs were I got to spend a lot of time outside, enjoying the city, people, spreading the word about kidney disease.  I also got to stuff my face with some really good food.  The DOWN:  I'm having car problems.  'Nuf said.

Top Left (1st and 2nd):  I had enough leftover produce last week to make cob salad with fresh corn to take with me to volunteer for NKF on Saturday.  So I didn't have to spend $8 on something I could have made myself, and I was able to stay on my low-sodium diet.  Fitting since I was talking to people about kidney disease and the effects of high-sodium diets.  I like to set a good example when I'm willing and able.  Sunday night, I enjoyed a ricotta and chive frittata with potato salad.  AKA, girl food because Ben was out for the night.

Bottom Left:  On Sunday night, Ben and I were both completing the drafts for our Fantasy Football Leagues.  Years ago, when I first started dating Ben, I really didn't understand what all the hoopla was about.  Fantasy football seemed kind of dumb.  Eight years later and married:  I still don't understand the hoopla. But what I do know is that it is kind of fun. And it gives you people to root for on Sundays if you're not that into football.  I'm running my work league this year.  Amazed at how far I've come.  

Bottom Right:  I volunteered at a health fair with NKF on Saturday.  More on that Wednesday.

Top Right:  It was so nice here in D.C.  I spent a few hours eating lunch and just hanging out at the Navy Memorial.  Before meeting up with my cousin for delicious Dim Sum.  

That was a lot to write.  I'm actually looking forward to writing a LFTW post that's like...one sentence.  This summer has been BIIIIIZZZZZZYYYYYY.  I kind of hate it, kind of like it. But I'm also kind of tired.  And kind of cranky.  Can you tell?

Anyways, in case you too need a reminder on this Monday morning (I know I do), take in Meredith's message.  God is with you today.  You WILL make it to Tuesday in one piece, and not wanting to kill your boss/coworker/child/person at the bank.

 

The Bib-bopsy

The day after Ben and I returned from our mini-moon in Sedona, I decided to revisit “Torture Tuesdays” and book my 90-day transplant biopsy at the hospital.  It wasn’t exactly 90 days after I received my new kidney, but close enough.  96 days.  Since we had to wake up pretty early to leave for our flight from Phoenix, it would have been nice to sleep in a bit.  But I remembered that I’d made this dumb decision to schedule an outpatient procedure.  The day of the appointment hadn’t even arrived and I was already kicking myself.  Ben was kicking me too because not only was my appointment scheduled for 9:30, but he was going to have to drive me there.  The pre-op rules and regs suggested I have a ride back home for safety reasons.  What kind of narcotics were they going to pump into my veins this time, I wondered.  Hopefully, Valium.  I love Valium.

I arrived at the hospital, checked in.  This was going to be my first appointment with my new name (Edwards-Ashman).  Sorry, probably didn’t need to include that part, but I’m a newlywed. Can you blame me? I get giddy about everything that has to do with marriage right now.  But I digress.  I checked in and waited.  And waited, and waited.  You see my nephrologist at the hospital is brilliant. Which means that sometimes…he’s on his own schedule.  Hey, I can’t be mad at him. 

My appointment was set to begin at 9:30.  I arrived at 9:10. I was seen at 10:30.  I watched a lot of HGTV, which I don’t mind right now because I’m finally taking steps to actually decorate my apartment.  What I learned: sconces are everything. 

I was called to the back, the back being the ultra-sound lab.  If you’re a dedicated reader of this blog, you’d know that this is my home away from home.  Oh, ultra-sound lab. I missed you.  “Hi, Dr. M*” I said. “Oh! Ohmygosh!”  He was checking his email on his phone, so it turns out I startled him. I scared the doctor. I sat on the ultra-sound table, waiting for things to begin. But first, it was storytime.  Dr. M regaled me with a tale, a news-tale, about school teacher who was caught giving steroids to teenage athletes, members of the wrestling team, football team, everything.  He was shocked.  I told him that in school, they made us watch videos about taking steroids.

The ultra-sound tech arrived and it was time to begin.  I lifted up my shirt, they covered me with paper, slathered my abdomen with warm (HALLELUJAH) ultra-sound gel and turned the machine on.  “There we go!” the doctor said.   I tilted my head to see what he and the tech saw. I wanted to see my dad’s kidney, to see what it was doing, and how it was behaving.  I looked at the screen.  Seriously, all I saw were black and white shapes dancing around on the screen like the colors in Fantasia.  I put my head back down.  Dr. M resumed his story about the steroids and the kids and the teacher.  “You know that reminds me of this show I’ve been watching about a chemistry teacher who cooks meth,” I said.  “Ohhhhh yeaaah!” the ultra sound tech chimed in. “That’s GOOD SHOW! Do you watch it?” he asked the doctor.  Dr. M said no and with curiosity asked us what it was about.  Before I could begin my explanation, he cautioned me that I was going to feel a little pinch with some burning.  And that’s when the screaming began. 

You see, I’m Ok with getting my blood drawn but not with shots.  Especially shots containing lidocaine.  That s*%t really does burn. “I want my mommy,” I muttered.  Just a few seconds after the doctor emptied the syringe into my abdomen, he pulled out a scalpel, waved it over my kidney while glancing at the ultra sound monitor. It was then that I assumed he was going to cut into my abdomen before I was completely numb.  And that’s when I, no joke, went bats%&* crazy.  I halfway sat up on the table, flapping my wrists back and forth, screaming “NO! NO!! WAIT!!! IT’S NOT NUMB YET! I’M NOT NUMB!”  The doctor laughed.  The tech laughed. I looked over at the tech to say, “WAIT! WAIT!! HE’S GONNA OPERATE ON ME WITHOUT ANESTHESIA!!”  At this point, all I could imagine was how the razor edge of the scalpel would feel like gliding across my skin, and I could only hope that it was so painful that I’d go into shock.

“It’s OK, it’s OK! Nothing’s going to happen? What’s wrong? Am I going to have to sedate you?” the doctor joked.

“Yes! Please! I want sedation! Please,” I begged.  The doctor laughed and raised the scalpel.  

“Look.” He pricked my stomach with the scalpel and made a tiny hole on top of where my dad’s kidney sat.  “See! That’s it.”  

I started to calm down, and return to my original position on the ultra-sound the table.  Through the hole on top of my skin, the doctor inserted another syringe with more anesthesia and deposited the liquid below the layers of tough skin and muscle.  Next, he pulled out another larger needle.  About the size of my forearm, I’d say.  Maybe a tad smaller.  This is how a biopsy is done:  a large needle is inserted into the organ.  After a few clicks, it snags a sample of the tissue, which the doctors test to make sure nothing is wrong with it.  The needle sunk into my abdomen. I could feel pressure mostly. It was like a thin tree branch was just hanging out in my kidney.  It was only there for a minute, then click click click, and the doctor slowly pulled the needle out.  He placed the tissue sample on a piece of glass and held it up for me to see. 

“Here.  See, it’s your kidney,” he said.  My kidney was all bloody and not much bigger than a strand of hair.  That’s the sample size.  Because they wanted to stop the bleeding in the organ immediately, the doctor put a lot of pressure on my kidney after the procedure.  It was then that I resumed my story about the chemistry teacher cooking meth.  This began with me asking my doctor how to cook meth.  We also talked about types of drugs that have methamphetamine in them. Then he and the tech took a long duct tape like bandage and wrapped it around my abdomen and the kidney, pulling it tight so that I couldn’t breathe.  I felt like The Mummy.  I had to wait for an hour after the procedure to make sure I didn’t have a fever, and to allow my blood pressure to stabilize.  

While I waited on the hospital bed amid all the beeps and boops of vital measuring machines nearby, I thought about what I hope, wish, and want to happen with this biopsy.  I want it to come out normal. I want to have normal kidney function.  I want to continue feeling great every day.  Really the only problems I've had since the transplant is that I can't get myself to go to bed early, so I'm always sleepy in the morning.  BUT, I've survived for 4 months without coffee.  That's saying something.  

I hope there's no more FSGS, or no resurgence of any.  That's why I had to have a kidney transplant in the first place.

I hope to get some news that I'm at least doing something right.  I'm making an effort to take my medicine every day.  I cook all my meals, not just because it's cheaper, but also because it's healthier.  I'm drinking A LOT all the time.  I hope and pray that my efforts to protect my dad's investment into my life are enough.  I'm hoping for no more bad news.

I shuffled out of the ultra-sound after an hour of waiting.  Ben was meeting me at the hospital for lunch.  Three months ago, a 90-day biopsy seemed so far away.  Making this far means that I've made it through the first three months without a rejection episode, which is pretty swell.  Here's hoping I get another three months, three years, and, if I'm lucky, three decades with this kidney.  Here's hoping.


           "Don't lose hope. Understand? With hope you can always go on." -- Pope Francis

The Ramblings of a Transplant Patient-- Sticking to What Matters

After going through something like a kidney transplant, one would hope to emerge with a much different outlook on life, a brand new approach to dealing with complicated situations, and deeper appreciation for the things that really matter.  But our old selves do not disappear that easy.   While planning my wedding, it was easy to not throw a fit over the same things that would send some brides over the edge.  And it was easier for me to get over and accept the things that I could not change because of my situation.  Of course, I’d say, I don’t have any more money, because I have medical bills.  I don’t have time to worry about programs, because I’m in the hospital.  I don’t feel like getting stressed out over details that will end up stained, in the trash can, and forgotten, because my organs are failing.  

It’s much more difficult to remember those times when nothing mattered and walk down that same path of nonchalance when you’ve reached the mountain top of your struggles.  On the way up, all you care about is making it up there. Once you’re up there, everything else that you “should have” cared about begins to flood back into your thoughts.

I catch myself all the time, in these moments where I’m asking myself, “Why do I care about this?” Because you see, I know that life is short, and that there are things and people worth using thinking space and worrying space on.  It’s nice to say that I don’t put too much stock in many superficial things, now that I've experienced having someone else's kidney put into my body in order to survey, but I’m not going to lie.  I’m human, and I still get caught up into giving two sh&*s about stuff that doesn’t deserve it.  I still care about—

Being accepted, something I’ve struggled with since I was five-years old.  Even though I moved around a lot growing up, I wasn’t that good at making friends.  I attribute it to some combination of me being weird, smelly, quiet, and, quite possibly, a bitch.  Why do I care about this?

“The Joneses.”  I couldn’t find anything else to describe the feeling of wanting to have it all and to keep up with the people who do.  I’m not big on material things really.  Ben and I JUST started incorporating buying clothing into our budgets, and I could stand to replace all if not most of my make-up.  It’s more about reaching goals.  Seeing the most sights, buying a house, or having the most fun doing whatever I’m doing. Why do I care about this?

What Having a Kidney Transplant Taught Me About Acceptance:

--that I am weird, smelly, quiet, and most definitely a bitch…sometimes. 

--that I don’t need 50 sometime friends; just one always friend who will visit in the hospital. Or call to say they’re thinking about you.

--life’s too short to pretend to be something you’re not…or to pretend to like something you don’t…or to try to fit in with people who just don’t get that you’re weird or smelly or quiet or a bitch sometimes. 

--life’s too short to not spend as much time as possible with the people who really truly get you.

What Having a Kidney Transplant Taught Me About The Joneses:
--I shouldn't compare myself to others. I have no idea what someone else's journey in life is.

I know that change takes time, no matter what you've gone through.  It takes weeks, months, sometimes years to realize what lessons you could have learned from any experience.  Not all of our inner demons disappear when a part of ourselves is replaced with something else.   Not all of our insecurities run scared when faced with death.  But I guess the difference is now, I know better.  And when you know better, you tend to do better, think better, and act better...when you remember.

Living for the Weekend--Food, Cars, and Shows

From D.C. to N.Y.

 

 

It was another busy summer weekend for the Ashmans.   But that seems to really be the theme of the summer.  Ever since the wedding, it's kind of been all systems go for us.  I love love LOVE summer. It's my favorite season of the year. I still get pissed off when I see commercials for back-to-school clothes...even though I've been out of school for four years already.  BUT, there's a small part of me that's looking forward to fall.  Looking at my September and October schedules it's kind of a relief to not have anything planned for a while.   

• Top Left and Right/bottom Left:  I'd been feeling kind of down lately and as much as Ben, the great husband that he is, tried to pick me back up, it just wasn't working. Luckily, the next best thing to a husband is two wonderful sisters. We got together to hang out at the food truck festival in D.C. then ended the night on the stairs of one of my [new] favorite thinking spots--the Masonic Temple in Old Town Alexandria.  A Friday outing with them was just what I needed before...
• Bottom Right:  Spending a day and a half with alllll of Ben's best friends. For good cause though:  the guy who sang at our wedding was performing at a show in New York!  He did an awesome job and the "story" of "Storyville" is actually pretty intriguing.  There was lots of interracial love in this play, specifically of the white and black variety, which I was loving of course.