Saturday, May 28, 2011

waiting is my middle name

Final test results were due back yesterday, to let us know if my brother's infection has been bested and the transplant would get a green light. Preliminary findings looked good but it was all about Friday's final ok. After being in the almost place so many times  I wasn't ready to let myself get pumped until we got an official yes. 

It never came. 

No phone call. No email. No update from anyone with access to any information. As the day wound to a close and I knew everyone involved must have fled their offices for the 3 day weekend, I realized it would be yet another weekend floating in the not-knowing. 

The land of maybe. 

Maybe surgery will be in 9 days. Maybe we'll go for pre-testing this coming Wednesday. Maybe I'll need to start scrambling for dog walkers and people to pick Jack up at school and volunteers to take my place at high school tours and middle school orientations and the countless meetings I have scheduled over the next few weeks. 

Maybe I'll need to schedule an accupuncture appointment, a massage, maybe I'll finally get my toes done. 

Maybe I'll get to do yoga for an hour 45 to nothing but Zep. Maybe I'll get to a class every day from now until I need to be in the hospital. 

Maybe the anxiety that I've been keeping at bay will come rushing back to take over. I feel it building strength at my edges. But maybe this time I'll be strong enough to not let it take over. 

It's almost fitting, after the past 6 months of craziness, that this last bit would be equally as cloudy and uncertain. What's different though, is how I'm handling it. 

Instead of getting swept away in panic, I'm staying present and am grateful for every moment. Every hug Jack wraps me up in. Every jump of excitement the pups give when they see me. Every time Jon walks through the front door. Every second Iz holds my hand while we walk down the street. 

Every night the sky glows at sunset. 

Every time I practice yoga with light streaming through orange silk curtains. 

Every first sip of a chocolatel-y, foamy decaf bahia from the new Brazilian coffee bar across the street. 

Every bite of watermelon Iz and I crunched through last night. 

Not to be a fatalist, but who knows what might happen. At night, my mind wants to go there as I fall asleep. I'm trying so hard not to go there though and to kick what ifs and maybes out of the room. 

And so folks, I'll finish with what my brother texted me this morning: I'll let you know when I know. 


  1. Elissa,

    I continue to pray for all of you.

    We need not to be considered a "Fatalist" because we realize the things in life that matter while facing such a monumental life changing event.

    The city is gorgeous this weekend. Go drink in the sights of Fleet Week, the laughter of Broadway and the aromas that are delectable within your reach.


    Kathy D

  2. Thinking of you, and sending big hugs. Wish I could be there after surgery to wrap you in a warm blanket and then read you books. How fun would that be!?!?!