Two weeks ago today …..

I got the call for the new liver at 6:00 in the evening, just after I’d eaten. There *might* be a liver for me, how did I feel, had I been sick or running any temperature recently, was I interested? Uh, excuse me? Am I interested?????? The guy on the other end, whose name was Andrew and who was obviously calling on a wireless phone from home where he had small, boisterous children, told me to stand by my phone as they were still confirming the match, and he’d call back soon.

He called back at 6:30. We were out of the house by 6:50. I spent the trip down to the hospital making calls from my cell phone, contacting everyone I could think of to let them know what was happening. It was not only time well spent, but it kept me from getting too nervous.

My instructions were to report to Emergency and someone would escort me up to where I needed to go. So I went to where the big emergency sign was and reported in. They had no clue I was coming. After long frustrating lost minutes, it turns out I reported to the Children’s Hospital Emergency, which adjoins the regular hospital. They walked me over to where I was supposed to go, and this time they were ready to make things happen. They popped me in a wheel chair and I got lost in the maze of corridors and elevators until we eventually reached a floor where there were a mess of people all waiting for little ol’ me. This is no lie: I was simultaneously answering the questions from three different people (surgeons, anesthesiologist, and transplant coordinator) while attempting to get undressed while a nurse got blood samples from me. Never before have I been the center of such a whirlwind of activity. Then, abruptly, it was get on a stretcher and be wheeled down to the operating room, while the three different people still threw questions at me.

Once we got to the operating suites, I was actually left by myself in the hallway for a few minutes. Before I really had a chance to think about things though, a nurse came out with a bonnet and I lifted my head so she could put it over my hair. “I see you’ve done this before,” she said. I didn’t see any point in telling her that the last time I’d done it, I was the surgeon and not the patient!

I was then wheeled into the OR on my back. My best view of the OR was of the ceiling tiles. There were perhaps six or eight people already in there, all quiet, all intent on their work. I cracked “I guess now isn’t a good time to ask about the stains on the ceiling,” and six or eight heads all went up in unison. It was really quite funny. You could tell that none of them never actually looked at the ceiling in there before. The assistant surgeon (the surgeon wasn’t there yet) said “No, now is not a good time,” and went back to work, but you could hear a couple of the nurses giggle. (Yes, there were a few stains on the ceiling.) My work there was done.

They put a mask over my face, telling me it was just oxygen, and to breathe and relax. One of the nurses came over and asked if I wanted to hold her hand. I told her I knew it sounded silly, but I really did want to. They told me soon after that that they were going to start the anesthesia, and the last thing I remember seeing was that kind nurse’s face.

Nights are the worst right now. I can’t get comfortable in bed. The incision pulls, and I have some areas of collapsed lungs from the surgery (that will eventually reopen if I keep up with my exercises) so it’s had to breath if I’m lying completely flat. I have yet to find a way to prop myself up so I’m comfortable enough to sleep. I get the staples out one week from Tuesday. Not that I’m counting the days or anything, but I’m willing to bet things will be easier once they’re gone.

I still have no stamina to speak of, and that is the most frustrating of all my restrictions at the moment. I don’t think I appreciated that I’d come out of surgery weaker than I entered it. I can managed the apartment stairs a couple times a day, but that’s about it. Making myself a meal has become exercise, and despite prednisone’s (a steroid’s) famous reputation about making people be hungry and put on weight, I still really don’t have much of an appetite.

If having no stamina is the most frustrating thing right now, then the remaining fluid in my belly is the most disappointing. Turns out that this is to be expected for six to eight weeks post op. *grumble* For some reason I was really hoping it would just go away with my bad liver. My new liver is still trying to get protein balances back up to normal though, so until I can get the serum albumin up there, ascites is to be my lot in life. I’m currently drinking three Boosts a day, and three yogurts a day with protein supplement along with my regular meals, so I’m hoping things will get moving soon there. Most of my other liver values are good.

The O’Beast and the Kitten do not leave me. When I’m at the computer, as I am now, they both share the cat sling at the window. When I go downstairs and sit on the sofa, O’Beast sits on the back of the sofa behind me or at my side, and Kitten sits at my side or tries to nestle into my lap. She doen’t understand incisions, but also doesn’t seem to care if I keep repositioning her until she is safely situated away from all the tender places. Kitten also keep bringing me a grey fuzzy mouse to play fetch with her; she’s not yet figured out that I can’t bend down and pick it up off the floor, poor thing. Just now Cattitude has joined our merry little band, but that’s because breakfast is late and she wants to know what the heck I’m playing at up here. Best I go feed them, and myself.

Thanks again for all the comments. They have been incredible morale boosters during all this. It’s hard to lose faith in yourself when so many others have faith in you.