A year ago, right now, I was in surgery. They had ascertained Dave had room for a new kidney and right about now (I'm using a bit of creative license here—I was out like a light), they were removing mine, cutting and clamping and sewing and disconnecting, getting it ready to move to its new home.
The six months leading up to that point had been some of the hardest I'd ever lived through. So many, too many unknowns. So many postponements, tests, unanswerable questions.
No guarantees that it would work.
No assurances that either of us would be ok on the other side.
But, here we are a year later and Dave's new kidney fit right in and made his life so much better. I'm already forgetting how sick he was, how grey, how thin, how exhausted, how drained, how compromised his life had become. How the tube from his chest catheter poked through his shirt or how he'd sometimes have a pipe sticking out of his neck as an access point for dialysis. How I wasn't sure he'd survive what he was going through and was too scared to say it or even think it for more than a second.
How terrified I was that somehow it wouldn't work.
But it did.
As transplants go, one year is a big deal. A huge milestone.
I realized yesterday it's not my milestone, not my story anymore.
I was a piece of the puzzle. An important piece. A life changing piece. From the moment that I was a match though, the kidney was Dave's—from there it was just about getting it to him and getting him better.
One year out and Dave and Sid are doing great. And I'm hoping this is just the first of many more anniversaries to celebrate.
