To transplant or not to transplant...

The nurse from the transplant clinic called today. My team (each transplant person has a team of nurses, doctors, financial planners, technicians, and a social worker, among others, assigned to him/her from the onset of the process. That team is with you from the beginning of the process to the actual transplantation process and afterwarsds) wants me to come in for more testing, which means that I am, essentially, going to poked, prodded, picked, and pricked. The last time I went in for testing, I had to give over ten vials of blood to the lab. By the end of the testing session, I was dizzy and sick.

Most people in my position would be ecstatic that the transplantation process is no longer on hold. They can see the good that will come from being filled with dyes, given stress tests, having electro-cardiograms probes stuck to their chest. Yes, I can see the good, I can also see what others may not. I see the fact that maybe all of this may not go as well as hoped, that the organ donated may not be a suitable match and will reject itself, the repercussions of missing a dose of medications because my life would essentially depend on keeping up with the correct dosages at the correct time, the possibility of having to return to dialysis as a result of the kidney failing, the many complications that come with the operation itself, and now the complications that come with having hep C and possibly needing another transplant in a short period after the first one. All of this weighs heavy on me. I want to do what's best for me. I want to be happy and healthy, but I know I will never be as healthy as I need to be. The things that most women dream of come secondary to me. Instead of planning for the future, I have to think about the present. I have to think of insurmountable medical bills, the possibility that I will not live to see my friends get married, or watch their children grow up, the possibility of never having children of my own or even getting married. I wake up and wonder if I will be around the next week, the next month. If there is another glitch in my body waiting to erupt. There is an intense and crushing pain that comes in not knowing how your life will turn out: whether you will be around to see your little sister graduate from college or see your brother marry his high school sweetheart; whether you will be around to see your friends' children learn, grow, and mature as they go through the motions of life; whether you will have to watch your parents faces as they attempt to let you go. Most people don't think twie about the occurrences in their lives. They somehow know that they will be around for the next fifty, sixty, seventy years. They will live their lives, taking the smallest things for granted. They will never have to wake up to the black calmness of the night and wonder how they will make it through the next few months. They do not lie in bed listening to crickets and birds chirp in the moonlight, wondering how many more times that sound will fall upon their ears. They don't lie in bed, taking in the sounds of the night, the cars passing by, the wind blowing, the trees scratching against window panes, the light buzz of electricity, the pale yellow glow of synthetic light from streetlights, insects and other creatures, listening so that life doesn't all of a sudden slip away. Most people take life for granted, and here I am, trying to savor every moment, not wanting it to slip away.

Tiredness weighs my body down after dialysis, and on those days my mind literally screams out that a transplant is the way to go. But then I think about the many people at my center who have had transplants but have ended up, once again, stuck to a machine. I don't think I can handle the prospect of not knowing whether or not the organ that I am given will work inside of me. If I go through another surgery, I want it to be bonafide. I want no questions to linger. I want to know that everything will turn out well, that I can move on with my life... that all of this will become a distant memory. I don't want the cloud of dialysis looming over my life after the transplant. I don't want to look at my arm every day and be reminded that there is a twelve inch piece of mesh plastic there. I don't want to go through the process of losing another organ. Hell, I have essentially lost two already! Isn't that enough! I don't want to lose someone else's too. I just want to be normal... in every sense of the word. Too bad I don't know what normal is. I have, essentially, been sick for the past 23-25 years of my life, with both hep C and high blood pressure. The kidney failure is the result of my stupid assed pediatricians and their misdiagnoses (there were several from the hep C, which was not discovered until last year, and the high blood pressure, also not discovered until last year. My blood pressure stabilized except under stress, mine's was above normal elevation ranges. The doctors told my parents that my frequent nose bleeds and headaches were a result of sickle cell trait, which has no symptoms!). Damn the eighties and not testing blood for viruses!

I would give anything to wake up and not have to worry, to not have to make a major decision regarding my health, to be normal and carefree as many people my age are. But, alas, I will never be normal. I will always have to wake up and worry, I will always have to make major decision about my health... I will never be normal, in the sense of being carefree. Well, I have to make the call to the transplant clinic. I figure I may as well complete the testing. I have a while yet to make up my mind! I just hope that I make the right decision...