Stitches and Salt

  He saw her at a distance, the one - the only one- who that broke his heart so many years ago.  She had always been beautiful.  Now, there was an aura of maturity and refinement that seemed to flow from her.  On top of that, there was that radiance that belongs solely to new mothers.
  Just seeing her was enough to cause heavy sweating.
  She hadn't noticed him yet.  Maybe she wouldn't.  That would be for the best, really.
  But fate had different intentions.
  Their eyes met and he felt his stomach turn inside out.  The sweating intensified.
  "John?" she called out with a grin on her face.  The sound of her voice was like having stitches pulled out.  "Oh my gosh, it's been so long!"
  Any hope of escape vanished.  There was no avoiding it, he'd have to talk to her now.
  "Er, wow Jess, you look great," he managed to stammer out.  What a stupid thing to say.  Now she was going to know for sure that he still wasn't over her.  He became aware of the waves of sweat flowing from him.  Which, incidentally, caused him to sweat even more.  If Hell exists, this must be it.
  Jess had pulled her shopping cart closer.  She let out a laugh, the kind that John had always suspected was forced.  Stitches pulled, salt added to the wound.
  "You don't look too bad yourself," she said, looking him up and down. Great, now she was lying to make him feel better.  He caught a whiff of vanilla.  Even after all these years, she still used the same brand of lotion.  It was like reliving the Original Heartbreak all over again.  Stitches ripped, salt rubbed in vigorously, stabbed with knife, repeat.
  The baby, presumably a girl given the red ribbon wrapped around her bald little head, turned to face John.  There was a look that conveyed pity and disgust.  She had looked into the depths of his soul and knew him for the failure he was.
  "How old is she?" John asked.  Anything to get out of that tractor beam gaze of judgment.
  "My little angel just had her first birthday last week." Jess was looking at the baby, who was still quiet and fixated on John, with pride.  He couldn't deny that it was a cute baby, even if it unsettled him with that all knowing stare.  "What about you?  What have you been up to?"
  "Oh, you know, life," he answered.  There was no way he could tell her the truth.  That he was an antisocial loser working minimum wage odd jobs while still living with his parents.  That multiple nights a week he had dreams about the two of them living the life they were destined to live.  That he had crafted a shrine made entirely out of objects he had kept from their relationship hidden in the back of his closet.  That he actually believed one day she would come to the realization that they were meant for each other.  That he had a sincere belief that she could never be happy if he wasn't in her life.  That the sight of her with a baby was enough to send him plunging into suicidal depression.  That hers were the only pair of breasts he had ever seen in real life.  That they were burned forever into his memory.  That he hadn't even held another girl's hand, let alone be intimate with one, since she had "lost the spark."  What was that supposed to mean anyway?  How the hell do you lose a spark at eighteen years of age?
  "Can you believe our reunion is just a couple of months away?"  Jess asked.
  John wiped some of the sweat from his forehead.  There was a sense of imminent vomiting coming.  "That's crazy," he said.
  "My husband is going to Chicago for a business trip that weekend, so it looks like I'll be going by myself."  She still had that graceful way of running her hand through her hair.  Though this time John got the impression she was just showing off that huge rock on her finger.  "Are you bringing your significant other?"  Innocent enough question, but the casualness with which she assumed he had a partner was unsettling.
  Stitches.  Salt.  Knife.
  Fuck.  What was he going to do now?  He couldn't tell her how he really felt.  Not here in the dairy aisle.  Not when he was sweating enough to fill a small lake.  How could she be so oblivious to it?  There was no choice but to lie.

Where I was six years ago

It's hard to imagine what the nurse could have been thinking when I shot up out of bed, grabbing her arms and screaming frantically at her, "I have to go back.  I wasn't supposed to leave.  Take me back to the island."  As my mother related later, the nurse calmly told me that I had just had a kidney transplant and was in the hospital and needed to relax.  After some more back and forth, I eventually passed out again.

What a crazy day the first of April, 2008 was for me and my family.  It had started with a simple phone call around 10 that morning.  It was a number I didn't recognize, but knew from the area code that is was local.  Imagine my surprise when it was the transplant team, telling me there was a kidney and I was up as a backup.  Being April Fool's Day, my parents were skeptical, to put it nicely.  But after handing Mom the phone so she could hear for herself it was the transplant team, it didn't take long before we were off.  

First stop was at the hospital's lab.  There's a large amount of blood tests needed to ensure that you're a match.  And some of them take a few hours, so we spent a lot of the day waiting.  After getting blood drawn, I went to see one of the nephrologists (kidney specialist)  for a physical.  While I was here, I noticed that one of my fellow dialysis patients had also received the call.  She had been waiting for this moment for longer than I had and it felt weird and wrong to be up for this before her.  So during the physical, I told the doctor that I'd rather she get it for the aforementioned reason.  The doctor broke out in a huge grin and was silent for a few seconds before saying, "You didn't hear?  There are two kidneys and both of you are getting one."

The year and a half prior to this had been the most difficult, trying time of my life.  Few things could be worse than a kidney failure diagnosis.  Especially if you had been completely healthy beforehand.  I think I've written about this period in a different blog, but it's probably something I'll revisit later.  So hearing the doctor say that was like nothing I'd ever felt before.  I'm not eloquent enough to give it proper form.

After getting the all clear from the doctor, it was back to the waiting game.  I had called a few close friends to tell them about it.  (Incidentally, one such friend I had talked to the previous night about how frustrating it all had been.  There's a process involved with getting on the transplant list, but once that's done, it's all waiting.  Seriously, all you can do is wait.)  We -meaning my family- were taken to my room and told that my surgery would happen immediately after my other dialysis patient had had hers.

In the meantime, I decided to watch the last few episodes of season three of Lost.  Funny enough, the very instant the finale was finished, they came for me.  Emotionally, I was still somewhat in shock.  Things were rapidly changing and my life would once again get flipped over.  I went through a myriad of emotions as they were wheeling my bed through to the operating room.  The OR itself was cold and full of personnel garbed in white.  They moved me to the operating table and one of the individuals introduced himself as the anesthesiologist and tried to tell me about what drugs he was going to be pumping through me, but I was distracted.  On a counter against one of the walls, there was a styrofoam container and the surgeon was pulling something out of it.  From my vantage point, it looked like a large plastic sandwich bag filled with fluid that could have been blood and a roughly fist sized mass of tissue.  Which was, of course, a kidney.  That was the last thing I saw before they placed a mask over my mouth.

Some hours later, back in my room, I woke up and made a somewhat hilarious scene with my nurse, as was chronicled in the first paragraph.  What a crazy end to a crazy day.  Here I am, six years later, and with no complications from the transplant.  There have been some hiccups here and there, but any potential issue was caught and addressed early by an extremely talented and dedicated team of doctors and nurses.  To say they have my gratitude would be the understatement of the year.