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*