Close call

The Drs. from FL finally called to let us know that there was nothing wrong. They said that as long as he didn't have any protein in his urine there was nothing to worry about. I was relieved, yet wary at the same time. I don't trust doctors anymore, and I wish I could trust that these doctors are right. I always feel like I'm waiting for something to go wrong with my husband. I wonder if I will ever be able to relax again.

Is the nightmare coming true?

Hubby went to have his first annual follow up lab work done this week. No worries, right? He feels okay, looks okay, is okay. Wrong! His creatinine level is elevated. He called and spoke with the transplant folks in Florida, and they are concerned. They will be meeting this Monday to discuss it and decide what needs to be done. Until then, we sit on pins and needles, hoping and praying that nothing has gone wrong. You would think, a year after the donation, this would all be behind us. Even for me, the professional Queen on Impending Doom, this was a surprise. I honestly thought that once we were through all of the recovery process and the complications, well, I thought that was the end. Nothing more to remind us other than a scar. I was so very wrong. As soon as we hear from the folks at the Shands, I'll post an update.

I knew this would happen

Before I truly start this post, let me first say that I don't believe that what I am about to type is rational in any way, it is simply a summary of my feelings, a means of venting my frustration.

We are still battling bills from the transplant. I have repeatedly sent billing information, made phone calls, etc., to no avail. Yesterday I got the first notice from a collection agency. We can't get ahold of Fred because he is in Egypt. So, while our receipient is traveling the world and enjoying himself, we are strapped with thousands of dollars in medical bills and can't even afford to go out for dinner. I told my husband this would happen, he didn't care, he wanted to do what he wanted to do. So far, short of death, almost everything I said would happen has happened. In the scheme of things, we saved a life, but damn, this is so frustrating.

I thought this was simple and to the point. Especially the part about talking it over with your family...

The one year mark...ta da

Well, the one year anniversary came and went yesterday, and with no fanfare. We couldn't celebrate ourselves, we have no extra money to go out for dinner or any of the usual things people do to celebrate important milestones. Fred is in Egypt, and he didn't call. I think that was the biggest downer so far. He was supposed to call since we couldn't be together, but not a word. I keep trying to tell myself (and Lonnie) that he may have had trouble calling out from so far away, or some other unforeseen thing may have kept him from calling. Lonnie was very down about it. Not that we think he should call and thank us for saving his life, far from it. We are disappointed because he is our friend, and we had looked forward to talking with him. We miss him, plain and simple. One year later, and still the emotional roller coaster continues...

The anniversary is approaching

August 19th is the one year anniversary of the transplant. Fred is off traveling the world, and here we sit in our dreary little home town, living our dreary little lives. A year ago today we were on our way to the airport, heading off to Florida for the big day. I find myself sitting here wishing that I was once again on that plane heading south. The only difference is that I would want it to be a one way ticket. I think that the excitement of the whole event, followed by a return to banality, sends a constant siren song...it calls me to come to where I feel alive, it calls me to come to where I have friends, but most of all, it calls me to a place where boring isn't an option. I wonder if this is real, or just some part of my psyche that wants relief from "ordinary-ness" at any cost?

Why do I feel guilty?

We are being inundated with medical bills from the transplant. I keep shoving them in a corner to deal with later (maybe) because I can't afford to pay them. Months ago I sent out letters to all of them, letters explaining how to go about getting paid. It seems not one actually read them, because the threat letters are arriving daily. Hubby says I should put them all in a mailer and send them to Fred. I suppose I should, after all, he is alive because of us, a few bills isn't too much to ask, right? Then why do I feel guilty every time I think about asking him to take care of them? It almost seems as if it takes away from the selflessness of the donation, but part of me thinks this is an irrational thought. I am so overwhelmed by it all still, almost a year later.