My mind started spinning. My heart started pounding. My hands started shaking. Full blown panic was flirting at my edges but there was an awareness I needed to keep it together which became particularly challenging when the train screeched to a halt before my stop and didn't move for an endless couple of minutes. I quickly sent Dave a text saying no apologies necessary. I knew he'd be feeling guilty about the changes to my afternoon.
I flew up the subway stairs, across 2 very long avenues as fast as I could and up to ambulatory surgery. When the receptionist heard my name everyone stopped. She said they'd been waiting for me and started making frantic phone calls. A lovely nurse came, took my arm, told me to stay calm all would be fine, to keep breathing and that Dave's doctor wanted to speak to me.
There was a tear. A hole. The wall of his colon was perforated. The tissues were fragile, delicate, fry-able - the results of anti rejection meds from the transplant, plus years of various diseases. He was in recovery, waiting for a surgeon to take him in. Of course the first thing he did was apologize. But, as I have for as long as I can remember, I assured him I was there for whatever he needed. No worries.
His wife and I talked to his doctor, to the surgeons, about options and complications and best case scenarios, words and procedures floating about I'd never heard of. Honestly, none of them sounded particularly good. In the end we were hoping for a longer surgery which meant they were able to cut a piece of his colon out and join the two ends together.
And then we waited. Joked that it was nice to finally spend time together. That she better go home to get all the computer and charging cables that Dave would need. I headed to a yarn store on the upper west side - I needed something to keep my hands busy. And something to keep my mind productive and positive.
We met back up and were eventually shunted into a tiny, cramped waiting room as the one we'd been in was shut for the night. We'd both had tearful moments but for the most part we keep each other comfortable and talked only of positive outcomes. The surgeon came in with good news - the surgery went as they had hoped. Dave was in recovery and we'd be able to see him soon. 6 inches of his color had been removed, sides reattached. She mentioned a sizable hole several times which became the running joke of the night and next day. We saw Dave and headed home, knowing he needed sleep more than anything.
I am the queen of distracting. I am great to have at hospitals and waiting rooms. I can entertain and chat and advocate, keeping things light and positive, making sure everyone is comfortable and calm. This time though it took its toll. By the morning I started to cry and couldn't stop which happens so rarely it's disconcerting. I couldn't catch my breath. I couldn't fully breathe. After the fact I think it was all those months of kidney stress and unknowns pulling me back in. I sort of believed, after all this time, that his new kidney was like a magic charm and would keep him from the edge of a medical abyss again. And yet here he was. Only this time I couldn't do anything.
He, as always, blows me away. I think this was his 23rd or 24th surgery. He is so matter of fact about it all. He sent a video from the hospital before I got there saying instead of a colon (drum roll please) he now has a semi colon. Less than 24 hours after emergency surgery, between bouts of pain and pain meds, he was answering emails and sending texts.
Every doctor we spoke to assured us that his kidney was fine. And maybe it will be his lucky charm in the end. His body is healthier now than it's ever been and perhaps that will help him heal faster and better than ever.
There are no organs to give this time. Just time and love and positive thoughts. So I will continue chatting and advocating and hanging out until he doesn't need me to anymore.
I believe from the bottom of my heart he will be fine in the end. Because he is determined to be.
