after the transplant . . .

Jon thought my last post was the perfect way to end this blog. In a way he's right. This space was about the journey of a potential donor and now I'm on the other side of the road. But, this is truly a one door closing/one door opening place to be. The journey of a donor, a week into it, is just as intense, just as joyful, just as chock full of everything one could imagine as before.

And so folks, if you're still interested, I've still got a tale to tell.

Surgery was one week ago today. One week ago, at this moment, I was lying on an operating table, a tube down my throat, a blue stretchy cap over my hair, organs being moved around to make space for my kidney to leave the building. Or maybe I was already in recovery. I have just about zero recollection of that - I remember coming to and asking how Dave was. I remember being somewhat interested in the fact that I was wearing something completely different than I'd put on in pre-op. I remember missing my phone.

It's been a week. Quite a week. There were moments when I felt like I'd lost myself, my mind, my sanity and I'd never be ok. There were moments of happiness and relief that were like a drug washing over me. There is the reality that my body was assaulted and recovery is in no way going to be the quick, easy-breezy experience I'd readied myself for.

Right now, at this very moment, I'm having trouble staying positive. I'm hurt by the people I thought should be here who aren't. I'm surprised at how few have offered help or stopped by. I'm stymied at how I'm going to manage walking dogs and getting dinners and keeping the apartment clean when everyone's acting like I'm just tired.

No one seems to understand what a big deal this is.

It is.

Honestly though, I can't process it.

I don't feel like an organ is gone. I don't feel very different, except for the bloat and the gas and the fact that I walk like someone's timid grandmother and can only wear sundresses that work well for pregnant women. And the fact that all I want to eat is bland carbs. The thought of salad or garlic or pad tai or anything I'd usually love, is gone. Oh, and that I've given up my twice a day decaf habit (that could be contributing to the fatigue).

I gave up pain pills early Friday morning and am recovering on Tylenol and gas-x. Intellectually I am so proud of what I've done, of how I'm handling it, but I'm so fucking tired at times I lose track of the bigger picture.

Even the fact that I lost my bigger picture.

Getting a kidney to my brother was the main event. I had no next act. I figured I'd heal with creativity bursting out of me.

Nope.

I'm healing with tomato soup and rice, challah, and buttered bagels.

In some ways my body feels like it could do anything I ask of it. But it can't even begin to.

I read these amazing words people are posting/writing/sharing about me and they sweep me away.

Right now though, I don't feel like that person.

And right now, my faith that I will be what people believe I am is shaky.