My Final 7th Floor Weekend

I forgot to show something mucho importanto. This is my very last post-slashing-my-body-open-hauling-out-the-crusties-and-stuffing-new-windbags-inside-antibiotic-IV:

This made me very happy as it meant I would be tethered to once less thing. When I'd go for my struts around the transplant unit I looked like a dog walker who'd taken on too many clients.

The only other times I needed IV's after this was for a couple of magnesium drips and gravol. Turns out my vital anti-rejection meds are creating some havoc on my noggin. I've become acquainted with head pain; more specifically migraines.

I'd only seen people suffer from these narsty demons.

My first was New Years Eve.

My second was after midnight on New Years Eve.

I've had three more since. It starts with stars; no, not Halle Berry or Hugh Jackman, but actual flashing lights. Ie. When your picture is taken and you can't see crap for several minutes due to the blinding flash. Except, times that by a lot. I will look at someone and their one eyeball is missing and then half of the room will twinkle and maybe even disappear. Then the headache creeps across my forehead, before settling behind my left eye (guess it's cozy there...always knew there was a 'lil somethin' somethin' about that eye). Then the nausea begins. It's all very beautiful.

Saturday, Jan 5th I had another x-ray (I know, weird) and was told my right lung had expanded and things were looking up for getting the tube out and going home the next day. I was super psyched. All I could think about was going home to the G-man and sleeping in my bed made of pillows, as by this time my back felt like it was participating in an active game of darts - and it was the dart board.

I spent the day hanging out with June and Pamela, in my johnny shirt, as usual. We ended up picking up dinner (well they did) from a diner called Fran's (holy crazy yummy). I devoured that food. I believe I talked about my appetite - at this point I was still in ravenous mode. I wanted everything in sight; I'd finish one meal and would immediately start fantasizing about the next.

This, btw, was totally foreign territory for me. Pre-transplant I was lucky to eat two meals a day. Breakfast, no lunch and then a bit of dinner. Breathing (and let's face it - being cool) took up so much energy that there wasn't much left for food; nor was there much desire. Hence, the malnutrition and feeding tube. Sexy, right?

Not sure why I got excited. I should know have known better, huh? 

Sunday. Surgical team came in and advised me that they wanted 24 more hours with the tube in order to feel confident in its removal. Why not? The tube and I were just getting to know each other. It had settled into my chest and made itself at home; the housewarming was scheduled and everything.

I settled in and watched episode after episode of Dexter. Nothing like admiring a serial killer to pass time.  

Then I crossed my eyeballs for the night in hopes of a release the next day...