I heard from the transplant office this morning that all's still good to go. Not that I don't trust my brother's assessment, but in this he's not the decider (I love that word - it's the only thing I have to thank George Bush for).
We have one last hurdle—that the last cross-match test which happens tomorrow shows all is still fine. Apparently my brother's body can develop a reaction towards mine. Please forgive the below sub-par explanation but what I understand is that things change and what was ok before, meaning stuff in his blood didn't react to stuff in mine, isn't a permanent given.
You never know.
Anything can happen.
It feels, in retrospect, that just about as much as could possibly happen in the past six months did. My life often felt like an out of control roller coaster combined with one of those tunnel of love rides where you're in the dark, moving very fast. Throw in a ferris wheel that got stuck with me swinging slowly somewhere near the top and bumper cars with an obnoxious kid who keeps going the wrong way, purposely ramming into me as hard as possible and you can get a sense of how I've felt. Not all the time, but often.
Now? I'm getting excited. Actually excited. In sort of a birthday approaching/big party planning kind of way. The anxiety's still here, but I'm managing to keep it at a low boil. At least for the moment.
The thought of surgery, of recovery, of stitches and pain and all the planning I have to put into making sure everyone's ok? Meh.
The thought though, that my brother could feel better, that we'll get to go bike riding next summer, that he and Jack can play catch for as long as they both want . . . priceless.