written on October 4, 2014 and finished on October 6, 2014
Another night of insomnia, this one of the can’t-fall-asleep variety. I’m not a big fan of laying in bed being tired but not being sleepy. It’s the old “Charlotte’s Web” conundrum – an empty stomach with a mind that’s full. Hard to sleep when the brain won’t turn off.
I’ve been thinking about the journey up til now. In June of 2013 when my nephrologist told me I only had 11% of my kidney function left, it really freaked me out. Then in November of 2013, when I went through the transplant seminar at Cedars to see if they would accept me as a possible transplant recipient, I almost lost it. I maintained a cool and calm outward demeanor, but inside I was in turmoil. For several months, I really thought getting a kidney transplant would be the end of me. Very irrational, I know. Especially because so many people go through this surgery every year and I haven’t heard of too many deaths caused by the operation.
But it was the idea of having to go through a major surgery to be able to have a functioning kidney again. Of course my mind immediately went to all the things that could possibly go wrong – internal bleeding that can’t be stopped, incompatible kidney that my body immediately attacks, heart attack, trauma to the system, problems with oxygen flow to the brain. I could go on and on. Sure, some of these things are probably possibilities due to the inherent risks with general anesthesia and major surgery, but the probabilities of any of them happening is (hopefully) probably extremely low.
That never stopped an active imagination though.
After a few months of really feeling like a transplant would be the end, I started having a recurring dream wherein I started writing letters to people I care about to let them know what they mean, and meant, to me and my life.
Anytime I had the dream I was always writing the letter to someone new. I would finish one and start another and then I would wake up. Surprisingly, I was never disturbed by the dream. I always woke up with a sense of peacefulness and sadness. Sadness because I felt like these letters would be the last chance I’d ever get to say something to most of the people in my dreams.
The last time I had the dream was about a month ago. I’m glad I haven’t had it since.
As we’re getting closer and closer to October 7, my fear of dying has thankfully been replaced by a fear of what life has in store for me on the other side. I am planning on having things get much better with a new kidney. Even though the transplant nephrologist told me that my IgA nephropathy will recur (the disease that killed my kidneys) and the surgeon said I’ll probably have more rejection episodes than if I were to get a blood-compatible kidney, I don’t want to believe any of that. I see myself on the other side living a long, healthy life with only minor side effects from the drugs I’ll be taking. I’m getting tired of people trying to thwart my positive outlook for my future. It’s a common theme among healthcare professionals – they want to temper the positive with the reality so I won’t be shocked or dismayed if and when bad things happen. I totally understand that. I do – I get it. But at the same time, I think that the secret to a fast and healthy recovery is hope. Hope that everything will work out in the end. And right now I’m full of lots of hope.
Because what are the other options? If you expect the bad things, they will happen. That self-fulfilling prophecy thing again.
Right now I’m scared of the surgery. Apprehensive, nervous, anxious. And yet also excited and happy and lots of other positive emotions. Tomorrow is a turning point for me. A big one.
In some ways, after tomorrow I’ll be a new person. Literally and figuratively. I know I’m only getting a new kidney, but that’s going to make a lot of parts of me function in ways that I’ve forgotten about. I’m very excited by that prospect. How good can I feel? I’m willing to find out.
And since I’m not having dreams about writing my “last letters” to everyone, I’m guessing I’m going to wake up tomorrow with some pain and grogginess, the morphine pump at the ready, but ready to tackle the recovery and get back to my life.
Let’s leave those last letter dreams to another 40 or 50 years from now. Maybe in that time I’ll figure out how to say what I want to say without ever having to write it down in the first place.
When I started dating my wife in 2006, she did a complete make-over of me - my wardrobe, my hairstyle (thank goodness she didn't mind the hair loss - then or now), my career. A lot of the successes I've had since 2006 are a clear reflection of having her in my life. At the time, we called it Tim 2.0 - I think it's time for an upgrade.
Tomorrow starts Tim 3.0. Bring it!