Saturday, 5 January 2013

The Story of 7

I jump. Something's wrong; something's missing. My eyes dart down and I can't find my oxygen. 

And then I remember...I have new lungs.  
The day after I moved to the 7th floor I went to class - med class. It was hard for me to control the jokes during such a serious discussion, but I think I held back well...with a few exceptions. Listen, to tell me that I have such and such a pill to take everyday, and that it's really important, is a bit like training a mouse to like cheese (although not completely), as I've been taking a zillion pills every day my entire life.

Basically, the anti-rejection meds must be taken twice a day, and at the same time every day, to keep the medication levels accurate and to keep my body from attacking my brand new chunky windbags. To accomplish this I've decided to buy a marching band that will flow through the heart of whatever city/town/village I am in.

Then came the weigh in. I went in to surgery weighing 105 lbs. I was weighed one week after surgery and came in at...

"Drum Roooooollllll Please"

 ...a whopping 121.88 lbs.

Folks, this is what is called FLUID. Fluid is not your friend. Fluid is what makes your feet look like pigs feet and your ankles turn into cankles. My calves and thighs have grown into beasts of their own and I am left wandering around not recognizing my own body.

Thank you prednisone. Exit stage left you cranky, cranky old man.

Every day is an adventure. My door opens, a face pops through, full of sunshine - "Morning!!" The scale whips by the door, I wiggle my way to the end of the bed, I stand, I grasp onto the handles and gawk at the digital display. I dare it to please go down; to go anywhere but up.

I want weight, I do...just not fluid weight. It's icky and stuff.

It used to be the complete opposite. 'Member that?

Finally! The day came. Dad arrived! All of a sudden Mom's face took on a certain glow. She got all smiley, happy and goofy. Yes, you did Mom.

Here we are taking our first stroll down the hallways together:

Here's what happens when a post-transplantee pushes their limits:

The Dadster is left hauling it around

Christmas Eve was spent surrounded by friends and family. I started the day off sad that I wouldn't be out in time to celebrate Christmas at home with Mom, Dad, the G-man and Brad in the condo, but soon reminded myself that I had just been through a miracle and my present was being in the hospital receiving new lungs. It didn't take much reminding.

Brad came Christmas night. Just after the choking of the pea, which he told you all about...

December 27th - Breathless Gang Christmas Party

I was advised by the surgical team that my chest tubes weren't able to come out yet and I could go to the party with them in, but it could be catastrophic if something went wrong and they seriously advised against it.

Believe it or not, I asked them for some time to think about it before looking at Brad and saying "What am I thinking? I'm not taking that chance." (Meanwhile he didn't want me to go at all, but wanted me to come to that conclusion on my own.)

So, as we couldn't go to the party, we had our own:

A new profession perhaps?

The Story of 7 to be continued...


  1. Jessica, we have been following your blog for quite awhile and are so proud of you. You definately have a great gift, not only that of your new lungs, but also a great gift for bringing joy to others and you share that gift unconditionally. We wish you good health and happiness as you continue your journey.
    Rodger and Carol Penney in New Germany NS

    1. Thanks Penneys! I appreciate that; glad you are following along :)

  2. Christmas is wherever you are...
    It was fun to Skype you into the party - hope you didn't get too dizzy being passed around the table!
    Brad did an awesome job on the nails, so if that basketball stuff gets boring he could easily transition - he has the gift of conversation down pat, can talk about anything to anyone and a good esthetician must be able to do that!
    Hang in there Chicklet - you're doing great! The docs even say so...

    1. Thank God for Skype! I just had to get my face in there.

      He did do a good job. He really concentrated.

  3. Does this mean Brad has taken my job of your nails away from me? say it ain't so!!!!! did he at least do a good job? hope to hear you are getting out of the hopsital soon. xoxoxo

    1. I think Brad will back down and let you at it. Speaking nails are crying...