My brother called a little while ago to say that it looks like the transplant is back on track. The hospital is negotiating with the insurance company and if all works out, we could be on the schedule next month.
My heart started to race. Iz reassured me that I'd be ok as we walked home from the coffee shop.
I called my mom. She'd already heard.
My sister stopped by along with a friend of hers who happened to work for a nephrologist.
I spoke to my brother again.
By then I could feel the panic starting. My thoughts racing. My hands shaking. When that train leaves the station it's hard to get things back under control.
I called Jon and promptly burst into tears. Hysteric tears. Sobs so hard he couldn't understand what I was saying.
It's much easier to be a donor when you know there's no surgery in the near future. Being altruistic and generous is a breeze when you're not actually giving anything.
It's not that I'm not on board with this. It's not that I've changed my mind. It's not that I have cold feet. But the reality of this is fucking terrifying.
Lately I've written that this has been feeling like I'm stuck at the top of a roller coaster, knowing there are twists and turns and ups and downs ahead but having no idea when they're happening.
I just felt the motor turn back on. The tracks are shaking. The car is shuddering.
Motion could start at any moment.
Time to pour myself a drink. Or to start knitting another scarf.