Today is feeling like one of those best/worst of times days, which warrants my first ever double kidney post.
The surgery's been postponed. The 21st is not happening. The 28th is a distinct possibility. Seems like, should pieces fall into place, April is going to be it.
My brother has a follow up visit to a hematologist in 2 weeks and from there, we figure out next steps.
He had to make me feel better about the whole thing.
I know. How much of an idiot can I be? He's the one who's not well. He's the one with the tube sticking out of his chest, the dialysis sessions that last for hours, the more complicated recovery to contemplate. He's the one who should be feeling frustrated, pissed, let down, aggravated.
Instead, he went out and bought us vegan chocolate cupcakes.
Me? I was numb for most of the afternoon. For someone who is remarkably adept at figuring out how I feel, I've been frozen. This week, finally, I was getting comfortable with the actual transplant. Meeting the surgeon helped make it both real and accessible. The anxiety that's been surrounding the surgery was quieting a bit. I've been talking and tweeting and writing and sharing. Preparing for the reality of it all.
Plus, I dreamed this.
I DREAMED THIS.
I loved that months ago the transplant date appeared in my dream. I loved that it was coming true. I loved the synchronicity, the forces of the universe putting the puzzle together.
Only, the pieces aren't fitting anymore.
So much for my psychic abilities.
So much for thinking I had any control over any of this.
I feel lost. Aimless. I don't know what to do with myself.
Intellectually, I know this is for the best. He needs as many balls in his court as there possibly can be. That his team is being so responsible, so attentive, so concerned, is a bonus.
I am exceedingly grateful for all this care and consideration.
But I'm still wallowing.