Part Fifty-Four: Eight Month Check-Up

Last week I begrudgingly made an appointment for the kidney doctor.

I say begrudgingly because... well... I really didn't wanna go.

But if I complained about my incisions one more time, I think Carrie might've handcuffed me, thrown me in the car and drove me down to the doctor herself.

I had a few main reasons that I needed to make the (short) trip down to the hospital.

The Never Healing Incision

You remember this from the previous post, back in January. That darned incision near my ribs just wouldn't close up. It would seem to close up... but then a shower would reveal that it wasn't scar tissue, but crust that was closing up the hole. I went through a few cycles of scraping the crust out of the inside of the hole, getting it to bleed a little, then watching it heal up a little bit more. A few weeks ago I think it finally almost closed up completely. It hardly leaks any fluid now... even when pinched. But it still doesn't look the greatest, and it hurts a little bit too. Here is a newer picture which you can compare with the one from the last post.



A Pain in the Side

Besides my annoying little unhealing incision, things were looking pretty good for the first six or seven months after my donation. That is, until I noticed I was starting to get an occasional sharp stabbing pain in my abdominal muscles, just above the biggest incision. Here's an oddly proportioned picture to give you an idea of the spot (marked with an X).



The stabbing pain would hit me when I rolled a certain way in bed or if I moved a certain way at work. I started probing around with my fingers to find the spot in question and discovered a small (pea sized) bump there. When I pressed on the bump with my fingers it hurt... a lot.

I also found that the area around the bump was getting pretty sore after a long day of leaning over a drawing table at Six Flags.

I had been warned that my incisions could take up to a year to heal and that it might be a while before I felt right. But the little bump (and stabbing pain that accompanied it) concerned me somewhat. I've been schlepping around 60-70 pound boxes at my other job and wouldn't be surprised if I'd overdone it a little bit. Supposedly, incisional hernias in kidney donors are rare, but I guess I'd be just as good a candidate as any.

The Doctor's Visit

I scheduled my visit for Tuesday morning and arrived at the Doctors Office Building armed with a book and fully expecting to wait a good two or three hours.

On Tuesdays and Thursdays, the Surgery waiting room in the DOB is filled with people meeting with the transplant team. I don't mind that part of the wait, as there are lots of kidney donors and recipients hanging around and I enjoy eavesdropping on their conversations. Eventually, I'm whisked away to get my vitals taken and then plopped back out into the waiting room for a little while longer. I finish the book that I brought and soon am called into an exam room where I wait a little while longer for the doctor to come.

My surgeon eventually comes into the room and greets me. Asks me if I'm feeling okay, to which I rudely reply... "Well, there's a reason that I'm here today." (Thinking... "Duh... I didn't just come here for a social visit.) Perhaps it's his accent, or maybe just the way that he is, but he always seems somewhat condescending and I immediately feel stupid for having scheduled this appointment.

First I show him my never-healing incision, which is now almost healed, and he is unimpressed. He says that that area will be more sensitive because it is on the ribs and it will just take a while to heal.

I raise my concerns about the painful spot and he has me lie back while he asks a few questions. He takes both of his hands and pushes down on my muscle while he has me *cough* *cough* *cough*. And then he tells me that he doesn't think I have a hernia but maybe the bump I'm feeling is just a "knot". He says I'm just going to have to put up with it. He then gives me a lecture on scar tissue and how it doesn't move the same as the other tissue so it's always going to feel weird and maybe a little bit painful.

Of course, if the bump gets bigger or any more painful, I'm supposed to come back in and see him again. And he definitely wants to see me in four months for my one-year check-up.

I left the DOB, somewhat irritated that I'd wasted my morning but also grateful to know that I supposedly don't have a hernia. I guess I'll let you know if anything comes of it. Otherwise, I'll see you in four months!

Part Fifty Three: Kidney Pants

Meghan inquired about my stupid little incision so I thought I'd provide some pictorial progress.

This picture was taken at least a week or so ago (10 weeks after surgery), but I'd say it probably still looks about like that. It's still pretty much completely healed except for that one spot. It is still a little leaky and it will temporarily scab over from the ooze but then as soon as I touch it or shower it opens up again.



I promised a long, long time ago that I would post a picture of the kidney pants that my buddy Beth brought me the day of my surgery. I was seen wearing them home from the hospital, but you never got a close up of the fine puff-paint decorations. Way to go Beth!



In other news, I slipped on some ice on my front steps yesterday morning and landed on my thigh. The bruise that developed was awful but I am still grateful that I bruised my thigh and not my one remaining kidney. Take a look!



After the new year, my Dad joined a gym and claims to have been working out every day! He still gets fatigued very easily and took a recent trip to the cardiologist to determine if this is a heart related problem. Hopefully within the next week or so he'll have some answers. Otherwise, I think he's looking pretty darn good. Keep up the good work Dad!

Part Fifty Two: Seven Week Update

You asked for an update... you got it.

I'm feeling pretty good seven weeks after donation.

For the most part, I wouldn't even know that I'd gone through such a major surgery. My energy level is fine. I'm back at work more than full time right now. Work is pretty intense with the holiday packing/shipping season and I haven't felt restricted in any way by my recent donation. The doctors had suggested I refrain from lifting anything "heavier than a phonebook" for at least 6 weeks. But as soon as I felt ready, I quickly worked my way up to 15... 20... 25 pounds. I've moved several that were in the thirties and a couple in the forties. Only when I moved a forty pound box, did I really notice anything weird going on with my abdomen. My co-workers are still quick to help move bigger boxes and I'll often ask customers to move their boxes around if I have any hesitation at all.

I still have slight tenderness on my left side when pressure is applied. I continue to have the most discomfort after sleeping on my stomach for long periods of time. The only other major issue I've had is with my incisions. Seven weeks out, one of my incisions has still not completely healed up and it is driving me crazy. And NO... I'm not picking at it! It's slowly closing up but there's one section of it that just reopens a little bit every time I shower. It doesn't bleed or anything... and it's not very deep. But it's a hole nonetheless and it freaks me out.

I even had a dream the other night that I had this huge gaping hole near my ribs that wouldn't close up and the doctors kept telling me it was fine but it clearly wasn't. *grumble*

For now, I'm just trying to avoid getting it wet so that it can heal up better. I even went without my usual morning shower today to see if that would help at all.

So that's what I've been up to. As for my dad, I guess he's doing okay. He lives a couple of hours away from me so I really don't get to see him that often to evaluate his progress. He still comes up here for doctors visits once a week and he is now able to drive himself, which is good for everyone. My parents stopped by my work the other day and I thought my dad looked pretty good. Seems like he's managed to keep from gaining much weight back. His color was good. We didn't get to really discuss how he was feeling though, although I'm sure he's gradually improving.

I know my Dad reads this blog from time to time now so maybe he will comment on his improvement.

Part Fifty One: Final Visit

Of course, it would happen that the day after I act as though I am done regularly updating this blog, I would have something of importance to say.

This morning I had my one month doctor's visit at the DOB. My Dad also happened to have an appointment around the same time and my parents ended up spending the night at my house the night before.

After several miserable visits to the DOB, I was prepared for an unnecessarily long wait. What I wasn't quite prepared for was a jam-packed waiting room. There were probably about 50 people crammed in the little waiting room when I got there. There were so many people that a few unlucky souls had to stand. As if waiting an hour for your appointment isn't bad enough, try waiting for an hour standing up!

As mentioned previously, the magazine selection at the DOB isn't the best and I remembered to bring a book this trip. I settled in for the long wait and was thrilled when my name was called 45 minutes later. The nurse asked how I was doing and I told her that I was excellent. I tried to be chipper, even though I knew inside that I was about to be tossed in an exam room and forgotten about for another hour or so.

To my surprise, it only took 5 or 10 minutes for the first doctor to arrive. He remembered me from my last visit, one week out, and asked if I was still picking at my scabs. He took a quick look, prodded around some, and asked how I was feeling. I told him that I was fine and he promised to send one of the surgeons in to talk to me. Of course, I'd heard that song and dance before and knew that when he said someone would be "right in", that actually meant that someone would be with me in another 45 minutes. I had barely settled back into my book when Dr. M came strolling in.

I'd seen Dr. M before but this was the first time we'd actually spoken. He seemed a little confused and was struggling to remember if he'd been involved in my surgery. He said something like, "Did I do your Dad's or..."

Then I smiled and said, "I don't know... but I DO know that I have a picture of you holding my kidney." (Maybe I should send him a copy for his collection.)

After a little laugh, he looked at my incisions and he asked if I had any problems. I said I had none and then he gave me some shocking news. He said that they didn't need to see me again!

That's right. He said they didn't need to see me ever again... unless I wanted to come and see them for any reason (even if it wasn't kidney related).

I was a little confused by this information, as I'd been previously told that I would have to return at 1, 3, 6, 9 and 12 months after my surgery. Of course, we've already established that these visits are a waste of my time... so I wasn't one to question or argue with the doctor about it. If he says, I don't have to come back... then I don't really feel a need to go back.

So that's that.

Meanwhile, my Dad continues to improve. His heart doctor saw him yesterday for the first time since the surgery and was amazed at how much "younger" he looked. Apparently he still looks a lot older than my mom though. As we were leaving the DOB an older man with a walker was coming up the sidewalk toward us. He struggled to move to one side as we passed and my dad came waddling behind us. For some reason, the man decided to ask my dad if my mother and I were his daughters. My dad gently corrected him but the man just laughed and accused my dad of "robbing the cradle." Funny.

I've gotten a few responses regarding my request for other stories and I hope to bring some of those to you soon. If anyone else is interested in sharing anything at all, please email me at: porkchoppress@gmail.com

Part Fifty: New Directions

You may have noticed that more and more time has been passing between posts. I apologize for being so neglectful, but I really would've written if there had been anything to say. The increasing silence between updates is probably a pretty good indicator that my kidney adventures are drawing to a close.

My experiences have ceased to be fascinating or informative and instead are beginning to come across as just plain boring. I'm starting to think that I've done all that I can do here.

It has been nearly four months now since I first started this blog. And one month since I went through with my kidney donation.

I've enjoyed writing about my experiences. Mostly, I just wanted a record of what happened over the last four months. But I also wanted to provide the one thing that was lacking when I was making the decision to donate. Sure, there are plenty of "donor experiences" out there but most of them would barely break a printed page. What you generally come across is the, "I donated a kidney to my brother because I love him and it wasn't so bad and it made me feel great" sorta stories. When I started researching kidney donation, the stories I enjoyed the most were the more substantial accounts. Getting a "play-by-play" account of someone's kidney donation really helps you to imagine yourself doing it and enables you to prepare for each step along the way. Judging by the many comments I've received, it seems like I've been able to accomplish this and have been a help (and a source of amusement) to many potential donors.

I know that there are many out there who are just now discovering the Take My Kidney archive. I intend to leave the blog up indefinitely so that as many new readers as possible might stumble upon it and take something away from the account. I also intend to update it with new and incredibly exciting personal information as the need arises.

As my own kidney story winds down, I'd really like to turn my attention to others out there who have recently donated or are in the beginning stages of the donation process. I would be honored to share your stories with my readers... even if it's one of those half-page-feel-good sorta stories. If you think you'd be interested in being a featured donor on my blog, drop me a line at: porkchoppress@gmail.com

Part Forty Nine: Sadness all Around

This weekend turned out to be a pretty emotional one for me, my family, and my friends.

Sunday, I returned home for my Aunt's memorial service. I was able to see many cousins and friends that I haven't seen in years and enjoyed dinner afterward with my parents, my brothers, and their families.

My dad's suit hung on him awkwardly at the memorial service, and the surgical mask he's still required to wear in public added thirty years to his face.

Thankfully, when we returned to the house and he removed his mask, he looked a lot better than he had in a while.

I was glad to see my family and so many who came and offered hugs and praise and congratulations on the success of the kidney transplant. At the same time, it was difficult to be there with my father, knowing I'd given him a new lease on life, while my dear friend Suzi sat at her own father's bedside, waiting for cancer to squeeze his final breath from his body.

Sometimes I feel guilty that I am applauded for doing something that was so incredibly easy to do. There was no decision to make when it came to making my dad better. Sure, I had to face that GoLytely and some minor discomfort. But the worst pain of this whole ordeal comes from knowing that there are so many others out there who would do anything to save their loved ones... and they'll never have the opportunity to do so.

Please give your thoughts and prayers to Suzi and her family in this incredibly difficult time.

Also, keep our friend Elizabeth in mind tomorrow as she and her father get ready for their big kidney day! Elizabeth, You're gonna be fine! Keep us updated on how things went.

Part Forty Eight: Dad Update

Here's just a quick Dad update for you.

I had reported earlier that Dad would be having surgery to get his dialysis port removed tomorrow, but it turns out the surgery was this morning. Apparently, I wasn't the only one who had made this mistake. I was wondering why I was confused, but it seems as though the Friday surgery rumor originated with my parents. Thank goodness the hospital called my dad to remind him what time to be at the hospital in the morning!!

It seems crazy that you could be confused about which day you're having surgery... but then again, he's been in and out of that hospital so much over the past few weeks that I can see how it might happen.

Since I volunteered to open the store this morning, I wasn't able to hang out during the surgery. I did get up a little bit earlier and stop down at the hospital to see my mom. When I arrived, I ran into her near the elevators. Turns out, they'd just taken my dad into surgery right before I got there. If only I hadn't hit the snooze button this morning! Oh well. The surgery sounded like it would be fairly quick and routine. My mom said that some of the nurses and other folks up in the surgery area were asking about me. I'm not sure how much of that was really true and how much of that was just my mom trying to make me feel good.

I was able to visit with Mom for about a half an hour before I had to run off to work. During the visit, I learned that:

1) My dad gets to go home for good!
2) His creatinine level had dropped again to 1.6
3) They still haven't started him on his last anti-rejection drug
4) His "blood level" is up to "36" (Mom said 40-45 is normal for a guy? I don't know much about this.)

My mom called me later in the morning to tell me that the surgery went well. My parents were able to leave the hospital by 10am. Dad has a couple of new incisions... one below his belly button and another at the port location.

Although I didn't get to see my dad this morning, it sounded like he's doing better. I'm sure that going home will give him a real boost. Unfortunately, there will also be some sadness waiting back home for my dad. His sister passed away on Monday and the memorial service is this weekend. I'll be going home for the service, which will undoubtedly give me a chance to get a better assessment of my dad's condition and time to catch up with long lost family.

I will keep a tally of how many times I am referred to as a "brave little girl".

Part Forty Seven: Three Week Update

At some point early this morning, I realized that it was Wednesday... which in turn made me realize that it has been three weeks now since Kidney Day.

I wonder if I will always associate Wednesday with kidneys and the day that I gave up one of mine.

I can almost see myself, many years from now, on a Wednesday... sitting in my rocking chair on the porch and musing to myself, "Well, it's been 2728 weeks now since Kidney Day."

Three weeks out, I feel pretty good. I know that I am lucky to have recovered so fast and I am grateful for this.

My biggest complaint these days is fatigue. I get tired a lot more easily than normal, but I'm not sure if it's the surgery or just my lack of activity. Sitting in a chair all day really does suck the life out of you.

My incisions are still healing up. The larger one is doing well, the crusty scabby parts are all pretty much gone and now it's just sort of a raised red/pink line. The smaller ones are taking a little bit longer to heal. They are still somewhat scabby and oozy but they are slowly closing up. I'm still having problems with the one under the fat roll, but it is making progress as well. They don't itch quite as much as they used to, which is a relief.

My biggest accomplishment lately is being able to sneeze without thinking I'm going to die or that my insides are ripping open. I can't even describe how frightening and painful sneezing can be when you've just had surgery. I got to the point where I was trying my hardest to avoid sneezing. Eventually the old stick-the-finger-under-the-nose trick quit working and I just had to let it out. It's been a lot better though, the past few days. I just make sure that I grab my belly and hold it tight before I sneeze.

I still feel swollen and sore on the left side of my abdomen, but each day it gets better. For quite a while, my stomach felt so numb and tingly. Then it started "waking up" and I had a lot more discomfort, especially down below my belly button. I still don't feel normal, but I am more mobile and less guarded. I don't even really notice the soreness unless you poke me or if I try to turn or bend a funny way.

The first day back at work went fine and I ended up picking up a few hours yesterday afternoon as well. I seem to be fine carrying boxes around, as long as I don't have to bend over to pick them up. I generally only feel a little bit tight on my side when I'm doing it. I'm working about 15 hours this week and next week and then will be taking on a lot more hours toward the end of the month and into December. The UPS Store gets pretty busy during the holiday season, but I am feel up to the task.

Meanwhile, my Dad is doing well. He was able to score a month's supply of EPOGEN, which should help with his anemia. They think his creatinine level has gotten almost as low as it is going to go, but are waiting to start him on his last anti-rejection drug until it does. Mostly, I think he is just getting bored with being stuck in an unfamiliar house and having to sleep in a different bed. If he is going to sit around, he wants to do it at his own house. He's hoping that if he shows enough improvement, he can go home to stay soon. In other news, Dad gets his peritoneal dialysis catheter removed on Friday! I can only imagine what a relief it will be to get rid of that thing! It's gotta be kind of annoying/scary to have that tube hanging out of you. We'll all be glad to see it gone!

Update: Reader Sheila from OH asked if my dad had lost any weight. Actually, last I heard he'd lost nearly 20 pounds since the surgery. It's kind of weird because they had told him the new drugs would cause him to gain about 20 pounds. But being off that high-calorie peritoneal dialysis and a smaller appetite has got him down to about 185 pounds.

I will leave you with a picture of me and my pretty cat, Keetah. It was quite an accomplishment to pick her up. Just don't tell the doctor. I think she might weight more than 15 pounds. Note: She really does have two big ol' eyes. One of them is shut and the other is squinty here. I swear!

Part Forty Six: "Don't Try to be the Hero"

Dear Readers:

I must say that I was more than a little surprised at the lack of interest in my kidney photos! My hardcore readers have managed to comment on the most mundane of my daily activities. But I finally give you the coveted kidney pictures and you hardly bat an eyelash. Shame on you! Has the excitement finally worn off? Have you moved onto other kidney blogs? Are you too busy dealing with your own kidney donation to comment on what some might consider "yesterday's news"? I know that you are out there. I can see you on my stat counter. Of course, I'm mostly kidding here, but where's the love? I'm getting lonely.

My grandparents finally went back to Florida sometime around the middle of last week, but I had the opportunity to speak with my Grandma via telephone on Sunday. I happened to mention that I was going back to work today and my Grandma got very serious. "Be careful," she cautioned. "Don't try to be the hero."

While I appreciate my Grandma's concern, I don't really see how going back to work is heroic. First of all, I would absolutely LOVE to never have to go back to work again. Contrary to what some might think, being a bloggin' celebrity superstar is not the most lucrative position. Not everyone can afford to take off nearly a month from work, without pay. I'm not trying to be a hero, I'm just trying to pay my rent.

Furthermore, it's not like my work is really that strenuous. I work at a UPS Store, not at UPS. It would be one thing if my job were to load heavy boxes into the backs of UPS trucks all day. Instead, I either stand around, leaning on a counter and doing nothing, or I sit on a stool and stare at a computer. Sometimes this activity is interrupted by someone who needs to drop off a prepaid return shipment, or mail a few first class letters. Granted, even this small amount of activity is more strenuous than my usual routine of sitting in chairs and playing video games. I would hardly call it heroic.

Thanks to the warnings of my doctors, my family, and you, my beloved readers, I was aware that I should probably take it easy at work the first week or so. Despite the lack of actual activity at my work, there was a good chance that I would get easily fatigued. Fortunately, I didn't really find this to be much of a problem.

I spent most of the morning sitting in my chair and relaxing before my five hours of work. My boss wasn't there when I arrived and I spent a few minutes catching up with my co-worker before I settled into my favorite leaning position. My first challenge came with the mail delivery. The veteran's day holiday on Saturday made for heavier than usual mail today, and I had to carry a rather heavy bin of mail from the counter to the mailroom. Fortunately, there was no bending over involved, and I was able to easily navigate into the back room with the heavy load. I only felt a mild strain on my abdomen as I carried the bin, but not really any pain or discomfort.

Shortly after the mail arrived, my boss returned to the store and surprised me with a cookie bouquet! YAYAYAYAYAY!!! Here is a picture of it (minus one of the cookies):



This is the second time that I have received a cookie bouquet while working at a UPS Store. The last time was in Madison, when C sent me a bouquet with dinosaur cookies. This time, the cookies were in the shapes of flowers, with the message "To Brighten Your Day!" My boss apologized that the sentiments weren't more kidney specific and we mused about what the message might've said instead. I guess they had one that said something about a "speedy recovery" but since I've been gone for quite a while, he didn't think that really applied. I suggested perhaps it should have said, "Thank you for not being off work for more than a month!" We got a good laugh out of that.

Although I had only been working at the store for a few months before my surgery, I must admit that I was a bit surprised that I hadn't already received some sort of acknowledgement from my boss. Okay... this will probably sound awful but...

I know some people only get married for the presents... and maybe some people only give kidneys for the presents... but I swear that wasn't the case! I mean, I may have fantasized that my boss would surprise me with a paid leave of absence or a hospital room full of roses... but at the very least I figured he might drop a card in the mail. Is that so much to ask for? After a few weeks of nothing, I gave up on the thought. So it was a complete surprise to see him walk in with cookies. He totally redeemed himself with sugar.

Now I feel kind of guilty for expecting something from him in the first place. Was that wrong of me? I think I need to write Miss Manners and see what she says. I know you other donors out there probably have something to say about this. Surely, I'm not the only one who imagined she would wake up from surgery in a room full of balloons, presents, and wall to wall flower arrangements. Surely, there would be groups of children gathered around my bed, singing of my bravery and heroicism while a Mariachi band played in the background and confetti rained from the ceiling. My visitors would be lined up down the hall, and the hospital would have to extend their visiting hour policy to accommodate everyone. While I drifted in and out of consciousness, drugged up but beaming from the attention, the mayor of Saint Louis would read a proclamation declaring October 25th, "SUPER-AMANDA-THE-KIDNEY-DONOR-HERO-DAY".

Maybe Grandma was right in warning me not to "try to be the Hero." She just warned me about a year too late.

Part Forty Five: Pretty as a Picture

At some point yesterday, between Disney planning and video games, I got up the nerve to drop off my kidney camera at the nearby Walgreens.

I know that many of you out there have been biting your nails in anticipation of these photos. I apologize for taking so long to get them developed. I guess there was a part of me that was kind of creeped out at the thought of the photos. It was like I enjoyed knowing that they were there... that I had them... but I didn't necessarily want to see them.

My other concern was that the people at Walgreens would either:

A) Screw up the disposable camera somehow and lose my pictures forever.

OR

B) Be grossed out by the pictures and refuse to give them to me.

I brushed all of these fears aside and dropped the camera off for a Next Day pickup. This afternoon I anxiously made my way to the Walgreens photo lab and requested the photos.

Originally, I'd intended to wait to look at them until after I picked up C from work. Instead, I hardly made it back out to the car before I was tearing into the package.

I was pleased with what I got. The surgery pictures were satisfactory and there were a lot of funny pictures taken with the camera after the surgery. I was so out of it I don't even remember a lot of the stuff. It's kind of like when people leave disposable cameras on the tables at their wedding reception so that guests can document the experience from all angles. Usually the bride and groom get the cameras developed and find the most ridiculous pictures. I had to scan these into the computer, so I'm only giving you the highlights. Plus, they got kind of repetitive after awhile. You can only look at so many pictures of me looking drugged up with only one eye open. Here's what I got for you:

The physician's assistant came in and drew this circled K on me before surgery so they would make sure to get the right one out.



I'm assuming this is what things would've looked like from my viewpoint if I'd been awake. Thank God I wasn't awake! The guy on the right looking at the camera is my surgeon, Dr. S.



This is a picture of my kidney on ice right after it was removed. There's lots of other interesting things stuck on my kidney... but don't worry... they get all of that off.



Here's another shot of the kidney as it is being cleaned up.



And this is one of the other surgeons, Dr. M, holding my kidney after it's ready to go.



Next they put the kidney in this little container with some sort of solution in it. I'm assuming that this is what it was transported to the other room in?



This picture is from Thursday when I took a trip to see my dad at his room. I like how we are both wearing hats. There's not a lot of ways to accessorize a hospital gown.



And this was later in the evening during World Series Game 4. The funny thing about these next two pictures is that I don't remember this AT ALL! As you might recall, I was really in and out of it during that baseball game and ended up turning it off pretty early on. I was having trouble focusing and there's no telling at which point my Mom decided it would be funny to lay this Cardinals shirt on me and take my picture while I was watching the game. Carrie thinks I look like I'm in a vegetable state.



Apparently, I wasn't the only one who fell prey to my Mom's little games. My Dad seems a little more alert than me, though.



Well, I hope those were worth the wait. Sorry for the poor quality of the photos, but I didn't really feel comfortable handing over my digital camera to a complete stranger... even if I was trusting them to remove my kidney.

Part Forty Four: "Hi-Ho, Hi-Ho, it's off to work I go!"

Did I mention how that one of my smaller incisions fell directly in one of my fat-roll creases? It is kind of annoying because if I sit forward, or even straight for too long, the incision gets squashed in the crack and gets moist.

Did you ever have some sort of a scab when you were a kid... and then take a bath? You know how scabs get all kind of yellowy-white and oozy looking when they're too wet? That's kind of how that incision is because of its unfortunate location. I don't think it's ever going to heal up.

I know that you must be thinking to yourself, "But surely Amanda must be joking. How could she possibly have a fat roll?" For your reference, here is a picture of my slowly healing incisions.



And here is a picture of the aforementioned fat roll. Notice the incision on the far right. Where'd the other one go?!? Oh wait... it's under my fat roll.



*grumble*

Because of my exhausting weekend and the above information, I'm trying to sit in a reclined position as much as possible. I don't like sitting in a chair all day long... especially when it is 70 degrees out in November! It looks so pretty outside but I can't even summon the willpower to pull on a pair of pants and step outside. (Look how pretty it is!!!)



Oh yeah. That's my other news for the day. I decided not to wear pants today because they hurt me. So I'm shuffling around in a t-shirt and my slippers and a pair of boxer-briefs. Woo-Hoo! This is the life.



In addition to walking around in my underwear, I've also:

1) Made significant advancements on my Disney trip itinerary.
2) Ate lunch
3) Logged more time on my now-overdue video games.
4) Baked Apple Spice Bars using apples mom gave me.
5) Called work about paycheck and getting back on the schedule.

Yes, that's right folks! Your little Porkchop is going back to work next week. I called my boss and let him know that I was ready to get on the schedule on a limited basis. He's gonna start me for 5 hours on Monday afternoon and then another 5 hours on Thursday afternoon. Then we're gonna go from there.

The nice thing about it was that he told me if I didn't feel like I could stay all afternoon on Monday, that was fine. If I decided after Monday that it was too much, too soon... I don't have to come back for a while. It's good to have a nice boss who offers such flexibility. I'm sure that things will be fine though.

If I have enough energy to parade around in my underpants, surely I'll have enough energy to make it through an afternoon of sitting on a stool at my mostly-boring job. I guess we'll see.

Part Forty Three: Three Nights on a Couch

While we were waiting for our doctor appointments last Thursday, my dad mentioned that he might try to go home to visit his sister Billie. Aunt Billie was diagnosed with cancer about three or four years ago and has been on and off chemotherapy for much of that time. She has fought hard, but time is running out for her, I'm afraid. She had a recent stay in the hospital up here in STL, where they put a drain tube down her nose and started feeding her through an IV. They attempted to do more chemo and also surgery, but with little hope given and little time left, she decided to return home and go under hospice care.

My dad hadn't been home since his transplant and had to seek special permission to make the trip back to see his sister. Originally, he acted as though he might just sneak away for Saturday afternoon. But then Saturday turned into the weekend, and then the weekend turned into Monday morning, and the next thing I know, he's not coming back until Tuesday morning when he had his next appointment scheduled.

I had seen my Aunt Billie the night before my surgery, but decided that if my dad was returning home, I would go with him. Saturday morning my mom called me up and told me that they'd given Dad the OK to go home... and the next thing I knew I was throwing together an overnight bag and running out the door to catch a ride with them. At this point, I thought I might be gone for one night... I had no idea that I would end up staying there until this morning.

My dad has eight brothers and sisters and they are a pretty tight bunch. When there is cause for mourning or celebration or any need for support, they all seem to swoop in at the same time. With my aunt back at home and her days numbered, the family came out in full force. It was nice to see everyone and I'm sure that my aunt was comforted by their presence. But I couldn't help but feel bad for her, laying there helpless and confused while so many visitors paraded in and out of the room. Aunt Billie's grandchildren were there and I felt bad for them as well. They just wanted to run and play and didn't quite understand the need to be quiet and respectful of their grandma in the other room.

Many of the same family members made the trip to the hospital to visit me and my dad during our surgeries. A lot of the friends who came to visit also made a stop to see my dad next door. So many of them were so excited to see me and to offer thanks and praise for what I did for my dad. People said they were proud of me... that I was a "brave little girl"... some confided that they would have donated, if only they'd been a little bit healthier.

After more than a week and half had passed since the surgery, I was starting to come down a little bit from the excitement and euphoria of donation. It was nice for to hear people reminding me of what a wonderful thing I did... but it also started to get irritating on some level. Probably because the only thanks that I want to hear is from my Dad.

The trip home gave me plenty of time to visit with my grandparents, who had made the trip up from Florida for the kidney transplant. It was nice to spend some time with them and with my mom. I also got to see my younger brother a couple of times while I was there. We played a lot of Scrabble (I let my dad win a few times), and on Sunday morning I helped my dad get his pills sorted out for the week.



I had been looking forward to a restful mini-vacation at my parents house, but ended up getting quite exhausted with all of the family coming in and out. I was tired and my back was hurting me quite a bit, but I think that's mostly because I slept on the couch for three nights. My incisions are continuing to heal, although I've gotten a little carried away with picking at the scabs. I finally put a band-aid over one of the smaller ones so that I couldn't touch it any more. I don't want them to heal funny or super-ugly, so I'm trying to keep my hands off.

I'm still fairly sore on my side and abdominal area. I've been wearing jeans regularly now, but notice that I usually have to unbutton or change out of them by the evening because they really start to hurt my tender belly. I've also noticed that my abdomen will start to hurt a little bit when I sit forward or straight for long periods of time. Between the ride to and from my parents house and the rest of the running around we did, I logged lots of time in the car. I think this added to my discomfort quite a bit. I was really starting to miss my comfortable chair and heating pad after a while.

Other than that, I'm fine. I'm very glad to be home now... back in the land of high-speed internet, and non-fattening foods, and my own bed. I plan to call my boss soon, to make arrangements for coming back to work. I think I'm going to start out with just a few hours and day and we'll see how that goes. I don't really want to go back, but I can't afford to just sit around for much longer.

Part Forty Two: Thirty Pounds of Fun

After the usual start to my day, I showered and pulled on a pair of blue jeans for the first time since the surgery. I guess I really shouldn't say "the first time"... since there was one other attempt to put on blue jeans. Let's try this again.

After the usual start to my day, I showered and sucessfully pulled on a pair of blue jeans for the first time since the surgery. I had previously been forced to wear pajama pants around the house and my Six Flags work khakis when I ventured outside. The khakis were pretty loose and fairly low cut, which allowed my swollen bloated belly to hang out with no danger of the waistband irritating my largest incision. It felt good to have another pant option, though... and with the addition of a snug little t-shirt, I felt like I had passed some sort of milestone in my recovery period. No more sweat pants for me.

With the doctors permission to do whatever I feel comfortable doing, I set out to accomplish a few tasks which have been waiting patiently while I've been sitting around playing video games and eating bon-bons. First of all, I cleaned up my room... which has become a dumping ground over the past week and a half. With me spending most of my time camped out in the comfy chair in the living room, I've been able to ignore the growing piles of dirty laundry and miscellaneous items that get thrown in there every time company arrives.

Our laundry area is two floors down in the creepy basement and I felt fairly comfortable maneuvering my hamper down the steep stairs. Luckily, I've been wearing the same outfits for days on end, so my load was a little lighter than normal.

My next task was to pack up a pair of hockey shoulder pads that I sold on eBay a few weeks back (and just finally received payment for). Packing the box was a good test for my inevitable return to the UPS Store, and I was surprised by how taxing it turned out to be. Even though the item was light, I had to cut a box down to size. Crawling around on the floor with a measuring tape and razor blade seemed a little bit trickier than normal... and I never realized how much you use your stomach muscles when drawing a tape gun across a box repeatedly.

With the box packed and the shipping label applied, I set out to complete my next task- getting groceries. In the past, Carrie and I always shared grocery duty. But lately, there have been many times where my work schedule afforded me time during the day to get the grocery shopping out of the way. Before my surgery, C made a special trip to the store to get things that I would be able to enjoy during my recovery period (Jell-O, instant breakfast, smoothies, etc...). The supply has all but vanished and Carrie had a sudden craving for a pork chop dinner, so I volunteered to venture out and get groceries today.

C warned that the trip to the grocery might turn out to be more exhausting than I expected, and I found this to be true. Just pushing the cart around the store seemed more difficult than normal. And I noted that I am currently unable to walk with my usual cart-pushing-swagger. Instead, I was walking like a bow-legged-little-old-lady. How embarrassing.

I hadn't planned on buying much because I knew I would be faced with carrying all these groceries up the steps to my second floor apartment. The last item on my list was a 12-pack of Mountain Dew. I rolled up to the heaping pile of soda and questioned whether or not I really really needed to have that Mountain Dew right now. My answer: HELL YEAH!

With the Mountain Dew in the cart along with the pork chops and Cap'n Crunch and other necessary items, I strategically loaded up my items into three plastic bags and returned home to face that daunting flight of stairs. My first goal was to make it from the garage, in the back of the house, to the front door. My usual strategy is to thread as many plastic grocery bags onto my arms, and hobble as quickly as possible to the front door, hopefully arriving before the bags break or cut off my circulation. For this outing, I briefly thought about making two trips, then loaded up the three grocery bags and Mountain Dew and jetted out of the garage and to the front door. The whole way I was thinking that my doctor would probably kill me if he saw me doing this.

Somehow, I made the trip without busting a gut or otherwise injuring myself. For the haul up the stairs, I resigned myself to two trips. Because I like to amuse myself with such details, I was sure to weigh my groceries once I got them upstairs. In all, my groceries weighed thirty pounds, which is about twenty pounds more than the doctor recommended I lift. Oooops.

The groceries now unloaded, I think I'm going to be kicking back in my chair here for a while. It felt good, though, to get out and do some driving and actually accomplish a few things. There's also a devilishly good feeling that comes from disobeying your doctor's orders and getting away with it. In case you're interested, a 12-pack of Mt. Dew weighs about ten pounds. Was it worth the exhaustion? Totally!

Part Forty One: One Week Check-up

Today was my first appointment following my kidney donation and I was all geared up to be poked and prodded and questioned about how I was feeling. I was anxious for this appointment because it meant the surgeon would be able to see how good I'm doing. I was hopeful that he would lift a few of my restrictions.

C couldn't take any more time off work, and I only live a mile or so away from the hospital, so I decided to take the bus this afternoon. I arrived at the DOB exactly twenty minutes before my appointment and was quickly registered and sent on down to the designated waiting area for my surgeon. When I walked in, I was surprised to see my Dad and his friend Tom sitting there. My dad has to wear a mask out in public and I think it makes him look very much like Donald Duck. Though a bit muffled by the mask, we greeted each other with hugs and livened up the somber waiting room with some spirited conversation and complaints about waiting much too long.

My dad is having to visit the doctor every other day for check-ups and to try and get his anti-rejection medicine at the appropriate levels. His appointment was scheduled for 2:15, but at 2:45 when I arrived, he was still waiting to go in. I resigned myself to a long long afternoon at the doctors office and settled in with the October 2004 issue of Missouri Conservationist.

Shortly after 3pm, I was called back to get my vitals checked (temperature, pulse, weight, blood pressure). I was pleased to find that I weighed in at 122.8 pounds with my clothes and shoes on. This means that I've lost a little bit of weight since the surgery. (Side note: Before surgery, I weighed in at 124. The night of the surgery, I weighed around 130! The nurse assured me that was because of the IV fluids they'd given me and because I was retaining a lot of water. But it was still a little shocking.) I'm still a little swollen on my left side and I've been avoiding wearing my regular pants because of the bloat, but it's good to see that my weight is back down to what it was pre-surgery. Hopefully all these bon-bons I've been eating won't mess that up too much.

After the nurse took down my weight and stuff she sent me back out to the waiting room to sit for a little while longer. At first I was glad that she sent me back out there, rather than throwing me in an exam room and forgetting about me. But as soon as an exam room opened up, that's exactly what they did.

Waiting in those rooms drives me crazy, folks. You have the option of either sitting in an uncomfortable chair or sitting on the bed (or laying on the bed if you are so bold). I tried out both options, but found neither to be very comfortable for someone who just donated a kidney a week ago. I've gotten used to having a pillow behind my back and a heating pad on my lap. I guess I'm spoiled.

After another forty minutes of waiting, an unfamiliar doctor came in and asked if he could see my incisions. I stood up and lifted my shirt and he starts PICKING AT MY SCABS! I was like, "What the?" Because over the past few days, I've gotten yelled at so many times for picking at my incision sites. And here this guy starts peeling away bits of the glue and parts of my scabs. I asked him if that was okay, and he said it was fine to pull the glue off if it was ready. He said it helped to do it in the shower when it was wet. I was completely blown away by this new information. You guys don't even know how irritating that glue has been. The skin underneath has been screaming to breath and it's all red and irritated. *grumble*

The scab-picking exchange only lasted a minute or two and the doctor disappeared with promises to send my surgeon along soon. I stopped looking at my watch after that... but am sure it must have been another half hour before Dr. S showed up to talk to me. I was expecting a much more in-depth inspection of my incision sites and abdomen. If nothing else, they could have at least made me pee in a cup to make my trip over there worthwhile. But no. He just talked to me for a couple of minutes and then was out the door to the next patient.

During his short visit, the surgeon asked me how I was doing. I told him I felt great and was no longer on pain medication and he responded that I could start driving and working again if I wanted. He cautioned that a lot of people got a little overwhelmed when they first return to work and that I might want to start out with just a few hours or days a week if I could afford to do so. He basically told me that I could do any activities that I felt comfortable with, as long as I didn't lift anything from a bent over position. He also recommended that I didn't try to lift anything over 10-15 pounds for the next couple of months. He asked if I was a swimmer, and said if I was, not to swim for at least a month. And he also felt like I should avoid the "bath tube" for the next month... unless I absolutely couldn't stand it anymore.

Dr. S wants me to return for check-ups at 1, 3, 6 and 12 months following the surgery and I stopped at the desk on my way out to make my next appointment. When I returned to the waiting area, I was surprised to find my Dad's friend Tom still sitting there. He offered me a ride home and we waited together for my dad to come shuffling through the exit door. And we waited and waited and waited some more. Eventually my dad came out only to tell us that he hadn't been seen yet and to get some medicine he needed to take. Finally, THREE HOURS after my dad got there for his appointment, he was able to leave. It turns out, after all that waiting, the doctor NEVER came to see my dad and he was eventually visited by a nurse instead. He was a little irritated but happy to be getting out of there. (He wasn't the only one.)

So, YAY for driving and working and being able to get back into the swing of things. I'll probably start back on a limited basis next week, but I need to talk to my boss about the schedule.

One commenter, RaChelle, asked how my moods were and if I'd been feeling a little down. I'd have to say no. I feel pretty good mentally. If anything, I just feel a little restless. I don't like being stuck in the house all of the time. Even though I have lots of quality things I could be doing, I've mostly just been wasting away the hours.

I didn't know what to expect after the surgery. Some people consider it a spiritual experience. I know others sometimes feel a little let down somehow. I would say that I am happy, because my dad is feeling better. And I like knowing that I contributed to that. But for the most part, I feel as though nothing happened... I don't feel different or changed. But I feel good.

Part Forty: Bon-Bons and Romance Novels

I've been trying to think of a way that I could possibly top yesterday's Badges of Honor photo update. But I still don't have my kidney pictures developed and not too much has been happening around here.

My morning routine, as of late, is to get up early when C goes to work and plop down in my chair with a blanket and the laptop. This morning was no different, and after C left, I was nestled in my chair for quite a while checking my email and blog and the news.

My only goal for the day was to walk one block away to my landlord's to drop off the November rent check. But outside seemed so cold and my chair was so comfortable that it took me awhile to pull myself away from eBay and planning my next Disney vacation. I feel guilty for wasting my mornings like this... but I've been scolded for cleaning the house and trying to do too much too soon. I'm assuming that I am almost expected to just lay on the couch and eat bon-bons and read romance novels or something.

A few hours later, I finally got up and put the laptop to sleep, determined to shower and get down to business. But somewhere between my chair and the bathroom, I took a detour and ended up back in bed. I was tired today, but never really intended to go back to sleep. My body decided otherwise.

I was woken up by the phone ringing a few hours later. It was Carrie.

My instinct when someone calls and wakes me up is to pretend like I wasn't sleeping. I answered in a cheerful voice but quickly dropped the facade once I realize who was on the other end. C laughed at me as I grumbled into the phone and she teased me about going back to bed. After her call, I got up and resumed my mission to pay rent before the end of the day.

I never really felt good after that. It's kind of like during summer vacation when I was a teenager and sometimes I would sleep too long and just wake up feeling awful. I've never been much of a napper and they always leave me feeling groggy. I don't know how much of my crappy feeling today was just too much rest... or because I didn't eat breakfast right away... or if any of it had to do with the fact that I donated a kidney a week ago.

As expected, it was chilly outside and I was glad that I wore my winter coat for my little neighborhood excursion. I dropped the check off for my landlord, then walked down to the post office to mail the postcards from my trip to Texas more than a week ago! (Sorry everyone.) I returned home down Grand South Grand and was lured into the video store by a special on video game rentals (2 for $10). I have a PS2 and lots of games with lots of life left in them... but thought maybe a new game would help pull me out of my early morning rut. I walked out with two game rentals and stopped at St. Louis Bread for a much needed sandwich... then returned home to start logging some serious time on my new games.

This is the part where I must disclose that I get motion sickness really really easily and a lot of video games make me sick. One of the ones that I chose included a skateboarding segment and the next thing I know, I'm not only feeling groggy from my nap but also nauseous. I'm assuming it was the game and not my sandwich that brought on my sickness. I had to shut off the game and get back in bed (AGAIN). So much for video games.

I should have stuck with the bon-bons and romance novels.

Part Thirty Nine: Badges of Honor

My dad had his first post-transplant appointment today down at SLU and he and my mom stopped by my apartment afterward to have lunch.

Dad seemed confident he could make it up my steep stairs, but he was pretty wiped out after the climb. He settled into my couch while my mom and I made the short walk down the street to the bank and nearby restaurants.

The trip to the bank took longer than expected (I was depositing my summer tip money from Six Flags and the teller had to count out $32 worth of coins BY HAND). By the time we returned with the food, my dad was asleep on the couch.

Turns out the appointment went pretty good. The surgeon said the reason dad is so out of breath is because he is anemic. He offered the options of a blood transfusion or some sort of other (iron?) injections. I don't even know why the doctor made the suggestion of a blood transfusion. As one of Jehovah's Witnesses, my father will not accept blood transfusions. The surgeon knew that and had just gotten done telling my dad how little blood he had lost during the surgery and how it wasn't even necessary to think about giving him blood. And then he turns around and offers him a transfusion for his anemia. Weird.

Needless to say, Dad is going without the transfusion... and the doctor expects him to feel quite a bit better within the next week or so. I thought he'd already shown quite a bit of improvement since yesterday afternoon. He even felt well enough to pose for some pictures with me.

Here we are showing off our new scars. (You can see where I get my physique from... although I think we're both still a little bloated and swollen from our respective surgeries.)

Part Thirty Eight: Dishwashers and River Roads

I spent a good part of yesterday waiting for my little brother to show up at my house so that I could ride with him over to see my dad across the river. Alex lives about an hour and a half southwest of St. Louis and is not known for his punctuality. It can be difficult when you have a long drive and a couple of hyper kids to wrangle, so I understood... but he arrived about two hours later than I was expecting him to.

While I was waiting, I busied myself around the house.

There was a bit of a miscommunication between me and C yesterday as she left for work. As she hurried through the house she said something like, "The stuff in the diswasher is clean... just in case..."

Now, pre-kidney donation that would translate to: "I loaded and ran the dishwasher and the stuff in it has been sitting there clean for a few days. Do you think you could take a few minutes of your time to empty it?"

Apparently, post-kidney donation that meant: "The stuff in the dishwasher is clean... so if you need silverware or a plate or something, you can get it out of there. I haven't had time to empty it."

Well, of course I was still operating on the pre-kidney donation verbal cues... and thought she was trying to give me a hint. I took it to mean that if I got bored today, I might want to empty the dishwasher, clean the kitchen, rearrange furniture, straighten the living room, and make the bed. So that's exactly what I did.

C was a little mad at me when she got home for doing so much around the house... but it really wasn't so much. I assured her that I pushed the rocking chair across the house (rather than picking it up) and that the bed was already half-made so I mostly just pulled back the covers and straightened them a little.

I promised I would take it easy today... although secretly I have plans to walk down to the Bosnian grocery store and pick up supplies for pie making. Muahahahahahaha....

When my little brother finally arrived yesterday, we went on a drive over to Alton, IL so that he could show his girlfriend and her kids where we grew up. The kids were bored by the tour and Alex and I were somewhat depressed by our meager beginnings. Everything seems so much smaller when you go back to visit it later in life. After the quick tour of schools and other landmarks, we wound up at the home my dad will be staying at for the next few weeks.

It was shocking to see my dad... he seemed so small and so sick and tired. This is probably the worst I've ever seen him, and he's been in bad shape before.

I think the surgery really took a lot out of him. The doctors were concerned that perhaps there had been some trouble with his heart during surgery... and my dad has been complaining of difficulty breathing. We were showing off our incisions and my dad's abdomen is a mess. He has a footlong gash that is stapled together and oozing out one side... and from his belly all the way down to his groin, he is bruised bright purple and red. (My mom noted, "And that's NOT ALL that's bruised... it keeps going." Wink, Wink...)

I guess I was a little let down by my dad's appearance. It's kind of funny because in all of the message boards and donor experiences and stuff I'd read, it seemed like people were saying that the donor is the one who usually has the rougher end of the bargain. And that it doesn't seem fair that the donor is usually laid up so long but the recipient shows a remarkable improvement in health right away and seems so much better so much quicker.

But my dad had really run himself ragged in the weeks before the surgery. He was up on his roof, leading a group of workers in shingling his house and spent a lot of time finishing carpentry work on his porch. All of this in addition to working as a laborer for a construction company until just a few weeks ago. So he was pretty worn out going into surgery and I'm sure it's going to take quite a while for him to get back to his old self.

He was quick to assure me that he really is feeling better as far as his kidney disease goes. Obviously, he's not on dialysis anymore which is such a relief. And my dad said that he can already tell a difference in that his joints and muscles aren't achy anymore and he doesn't get weird electric shocks through his body like he used to before the transplant. Also, there is an obvious improvement in his urination... the kidney is doing everything it is supposed to do!

Now we just have to worry about him getting healthy everywhere else so that the kidney will last him a long time.

After a quick visit at the house, we hopped into a couple of cars and drove down the Great River Road toward Grafton, Illinois. It was just before sunset and the light was shining down onto the mighty Mississippi. Most of the trees here have now turned colors and beautiful patches of red and yellow and orange flashed by us as we cruised along the river and bluffs. My mom was driving and my dad was in the front seat drifting off. I sat in the back and watched him sleep.

I looked around me at the trees and the water and the sun coming down... and my parents in the front seat. I closed my eyes and thanked God for giving me all of this. And for the first time in a long time, I felt home again.

Part Thirty Seven: Well Wishers and Candy Heaven

The mailman just stopped by with a few more Get Well Soon cards and it reminded me that I wanted to express my thanks for all of you who stopped by the hospital, brought me candy, sent care packages, or simply left encouraging words by email or blogger comment.

I'd been meaning to give a shout out to Carrie's mom and dad for sending me this lovely pepto-bismol pink robe to wear around the hospital. (FYI: The appliqued rabbit says "Let's Focus on Me.")



Note: Hey Y'all! This picture was taken the day after surgery at the hospital! I'm not normally super-vain about my looks but... I must insist that I'm lookin' pretty rough here. Karol is right, if I look like I was double-dippin' the vicodin, it's probably because I was at that point! Ha ha...

In the days before the surgery I also received a squishy package that was bursting with socks socks and more socks from C's sister Annette. I will never ever run out of new socks, I think. I feel like I should donate some of these to sockless children in Bulgaria or somewhere colder and decidedly less fashionable.



You saw the happy Cardinal balloon my grandparents got me in the hospital, but I also have to throw in the giant rainbow balloon that my niece Mina brought me on surgery day.



Another pleasant surprise was the Golden Kidney Award package received from my friend Heather. (Also included in the package was an awesome selection of candy... skittles, nerds, blow-pops, candy-corn? Fantastic!)



I got an unexpected "Thank You" bag and balloon from the Saint Louis University Hospital. It came with a donor bracelet, a certificate of appreciation, crossword puzzles, life-savers candy, a Bluebird of Happiness, and more.

My friends know that I love candy and there was plenty of that received... but I guess they were smart enough NOT to send me my one true love... Mountain Dew. Not a good gift for a kidney donor, I guess... but that would've been awesome!

There were a couple more very special handmade gifts received from BD and my niece Mina that I don't have pictures of yet... so be on the lookout for an update with those later.

THANKS TO YOU ALL!!!! I never could have gone through with this without your support (and candy).

Part Thirty Six: Early Mornings and Attack Dogs

Since the day of my surgery, I've been in the habit of getting up super early. Wednesday, we had to go in to the hospital at 6am, and the next two mornings I was woken up early by nurses who interrupted my slumber with a thermometer in my mouth and a blood pressure cuff on my arm. When I got home, I got up early because I wasn't sleeping too well. And Daylight Savings Time hasn't helped the matter much... Even when I think I'm getting up late(r) the clock still says it's early.

Every day when I wake up I feel a little bit better. Unfortunately for C, the more I am able to move around, the more restless I become at night. I guess she didn't sleep very well last night. Meanwhile, I got up all perky and feeling good at 6:00 this morning. I got my comfy sweatpants on and walked down to St. Louis Bread Co. to get a couple of bagels and a newspaper. I used the bagels to make egg and cheese sandwiches for breakfast.

I encountered a couple of large dogs on my walk. Fortunately, they were on leashes. But I couldn't help but wonder what might happen if one got loose and tried to jump on me. I found myself guarding my incision site with my arms as I passed them on the sidewalk, prepared for any potential attacks.

Today is probably the last beautiful day that we'll have for awhile and I'm glad that I was able to get out and enjoy it early this morning. My younger brother has the day off work and plans to come up to visit me and my dad. I'm hoping that he might be able to swing by and pick me up before he goes to see my dad so that I might surprise him with a visit.

It sucks not being able to drive anywhere. I'd walk but most places are too far and there are too many big dogs roaming the streets that could attack me (and rip open my incisions) at any time. As a young female living in the city, I also have to be on the watch for muggers and rapists and aggressive panhandlers. Sometimes it's easier just to stay home as a simple trip down the block can turn out to be exhausting.

After having the weekend off, and being in and out of work the few days following my surgery, Carrie returned to her first full day of work today. I think she's growing tired of her role as a caregiver. The novelty has worn off. I've gone from being a cute, whiny, heroic, needy little porkchop-head to a lump in the living room who keeps demanding things and is constantly needing help up to go to the bathroom. Hopefully things will return to normal soon, because I don't like burdening people.

Right now the plan is for my brother and his family to stop by later this afternoon, unless I can convince them to take me with them to see my dad. I need to straighten the house some. Then I'll probably just sit a little more.

*sigh*

Part Thirty Five: "Slow Down, You Move Too Fast..."

I was feeling really really unbelievably good this morning. Of course, my abdomen is still achy and at times I just have to stop whatever it is I'm doing because the pain is so intense. But the rest of me was feeling back on track. I figured, Hey... now that I'm poopin' again... there's no stopping me.

The Cardinals World Series victory parade was this afternoon and I was determined that a trip downtown would be my first real outing since the surgery. I got all decked out in my cardinal red and replaced my stuffed green hippo with a stuffed Fredbird doll to hold against my belly.

At first I thought I might be able to go without something pressed up against me. I tried to abandon Fredbird on a couple of occasions. But I didn't make it very far from the vehicle before C had to run back and grab the little guy for me.

We rode downtown and parked in the Union Station parking lot which marked the beginning of the parade route. Lots ands lots of people parked a lot farther away and there were hordes of people walking in from all directions. I decided there was no way that my body could handle such a walk and I decided that we would pay whatever they wanted at Union Station. (Fortunately, it turned out to be only $5 as we left.) I was glad that we parked relatively close... as we were able to go in Union Station and get some food and then walk back out to the parking lot quickly to catch the parade. We never even bothered to leave the U.S. parking lot... and scored a decent viewing spot in their courtyard, just off of 18th street. There were only about three people, a sidewalk, and large bushes between me and the parade route... which was nothing in comparison to the 15-20 person deep masses that lined Market Street the rest of the route. I was grateful to be in an obscured area where I didn't have people bumping into me and my now incredibly throbbing achy belly and shoulders.

I was trying to clap and yell but it was hard. The area on my left wrist where they had placed the IV is now bruised and started to hurt quite a bit after a few minutes of clapping. I found that if I stand too long or walk around too much, my shoulders start to ache from the awkward way that I've been standing. C helped by rubbing my shoulders as the parade went by and by hurrying ahead to get the car after the parade was finished.

At one point, my eyes were burning and there were tears running out of them because I was so tired and sore. I'm sure the people next to me thought I was just really really moved by the Cardinals first World Series win in 24 years. Either way, I'm glad that I went. There's no way I could have been down here so close to the action and in reasonable health and not made it to celebrate. Plus, I wouldn't have gotten to see the Clydesdales in person! Can you blame me?



P.S. Medicine Update
I haven't taken any Vicodin today and don't plan to do so unless I have trouble going to sleep. I also did not take a Pepcid today. I did take one of the Dulcolax lablets because I was so freaked out by my dormant bowels. But, FYI, I've now pooped nearly a half dozen times since this morning. Sure, it may have been from all of the excitement and stress on my body... but I'm gonna shy away from the laxatives for the time being. Long story short... four days after major surgery and I'm nearly drug free. HOORAY!