August 1, 2014
Yesterday was my 31st birthday, on the 31st
of July, which makes it my Golden Birthday.
I didn’t know Golden Birthdays were even a thing until Ashley Yourkowski
explained them to me in hair school. But
I love any reason to make things special, so this year I decided to use my 31st
birthday as the start of my new journey as an altruistic (aka non-directed, or
anonymous) kidney donor. As of
yesterday, I am taking better care of myself to make sure that if I don’t
qualify, it’s not because I drink too much coffee or soda or because I don’t
eat enough.
I woke up yesterday eager to make the first phone call to
the Mayo Clinic in Phoenix. Within a
couple of hours I received a follow-up phone call. I was in the bathtub, which is funny and kind
of appropriate, since I always picture kidney donation as a person waking up in
a bathtub full of ice (did that actually ever happen to anyone?).
I got two more phone calls this morning from other women,
all of them wanting to know why I want to do this. I guess the answers I gave them were okay,
because we are going to start the testing process soon. The first meeting, they said, is a long one
where we all go over the surgery, the risks, the follow-up, etc. They have to make sure I’m not crazy, which
is funny because, really, you have to be at least a little bit crazy to let a
perfect stranger have one of your organs.
I’m sure there will be moments of doubt, or maybe I’ll even
back out. That is always an option. But I don’t think I will. It’s not really in my nature. I’m honestly more worried that they will find
a reason that I’m not a candidate. I’m
not sure why I wouldn’t be, but there are a shit ton of reasons that people are
turned down, things they weren’t aware of when they started testing.
God, I’m not sure what reasons I gave today when asked
“why”. Why DO I want to complicate
things and risk my life for someone I don’t know? I guess, basically, it’s just something I’m
compelled to do. It feels right. It’s the next thing in my life. When I think about it, I am aware of the
seriousness of the whole thing. The idea
of another human being waking up, wondering if she (I’m assuming my match is a
female) will get news about a new life before the sun goes down. It’s not that I feel like I’m saving a life,
even though that could be said, but it’s more that I’m helping with the quality
of the life they already have. People
can live years on drugs and dialysis machines without a kidney donor, but that
is a limited, painful, frightening way to live.
If I could help someone take back the spontaneity of adventure, why
would I ever want to say no? Adding
years to someone’s life is nothing for me to turn my nose up to, but giving
someone the opportunity to life the life they want along with that time? That’s the kind of person I want to be. It’s who I am, I guess, already. I can be moody, overbearing, impatient, loud,
and annoying. But I am also loving and
giving so humbled by the fact that my atoms came together by chance to form a
healthy, happy human being. And not only
that, but I was fortunate enough to be born in this country during this time. The fact that I can read and write and
consider the fact that I am a jumble of atoms in the first place blows my
fucking mind!
Surely this isn’t the
most scatterbrained journal I’ve ever started.
Hopefully I will actually keep up with this one. I’m not the best at journaling- they always
end up getting read and I get all weird.
But this one is more specific than most.
I have no idea if I will do anything with it, but it should help me sort
through my thoughts and keep me organized.
August 29, 2014
Day of All the Interviews….
It’s been a month since I called to make the
arrangements. I mean, that’s GOOD, since
it takes me a month to piss clean, and I will admit, I’m gonna miss the
weed. In that month, I had a ton of
phone interviews with the ladies at the Mayo Clinic Transplant Center. Waiting for a month has not been easy. At least I talked to everyone in one day- the
social worker, case manager, nurse, psychiatrist, and a doctor.
I was at the hospital
from 7 am until 2:30 pm. Most of it was
just me explaining over and over again what I thought the process would be like
and why I wanted to donate. They also
asked me about my family- so my dad came up.
And they asked about my own medical history- so my abortion came up. But, I mean, I’m not the only person who’s
had to deal with either of those things.
The nurse said that people donating to strangers is very uncommon so
they need to make sure I’m in this for the right reasons. I totally agree with that. Obviously, if I were battling with that kind
of shit still, donating and organ would not be the healthiest way of
dealing. I guess I thought anonymous
donation happened all the time. It
definitely makes me appreciate what I’m doing.
Talking to all those women made it more real, in a good
way. I don’t feel as awkward and
embarrassed telling people about it now.
It’s more like I want people to see what it’s like going through
this. And if there’s someone out there
like me who thinks, I’m the kind of person who could do that, then it could be
a catalyst to change someone else’s life.
After all, if Danielle hadn’t tried to donate her kidney and if Amy
Donahue hadn’t mentioned her kidney donation onstage, it would never have
crossed my mind.
At this point, it’s just me waiting again for everyone who
interviewed me today to decide if I should proceed to the physical
testing. More waiting. But at least we are going to the ocean for
Labor Day. That makes everything in my
head peaceful, at least until we get back.
September 12, 2014
Things are starting to move a lot faster. That’s a good thing. I feel like until now, it was more waiting
than anything else.
On Monday, Amy D. drove me back to Mayo- SO awesome of her
to do, by the way. She donated three
years ago and has started a non-profit to help mentor other donors. Having her for support was really great, and
I’m hoping the other people in the waiting room enjoy her humor as much as I
do.
I went in first for
my EKG. My heart is super healthy (I’d
like to credit my vegetarian diet and my sense of romanticism). Then we had a blood draw (ugh), urine sample
(fun!) and my chest x-rays. All on
Monday. After dragging shit out for
almost 2 months, I am so thankful we are getting this show on the road. The best part of Monday’s visit was when they
gave me my pee jug! I know it’s gross
and immature, but I was so excited to get it.
I had this whole photo series planned out of me and my pee pee container
on the bus, at the movies, at the park.
But then the nurse informed me that I had to keep it refrigerated. So I got a few shots of it at home and that
was it. I ended up filling it halfway
and the online “Patient Portal” showed that she clocked in at half a
gallon! I was pretty proud.
That Patient Portal, by the way, is a blessing and a
curse. My itinerary is on there, so I
can easily keep track of my schedule. Any changes to it by the staff are given to me
on my phone in real time. So are my lab
results…which is what makes me CRAZY.
Anytime something shows up abnormal (2 things on my small urine sample
the other day), I can’t quit thinking about it.
I try googling the results, but it’s not pulling up any useful
info. I have no idea how big of a deal
these abnormalities are. I’m trying to
practice mindfulness and living in the present, but it’s really fucking hard
when you can feel somebody else somewhere in the world counting on you this
much.
Today I had more tests.
I drove myself this time. I
figure I did okay with Amy and I had a backup ride home in case I passed out,
which almost happened. I am so bad when
they take blood. I donate blood 3-4
times a year. I had it drawn all
throughout my pregnancy. I don’t know
why I don’t get better at it. The poor
girl today, she had me leaned back with ice packs on my neck, she kept me in
conversation, she was quick. I could
feel the blood draining from my head, but I stayed conscious. When she was finished, I sat there, still
kind of blue-lipped, when she turned to me and said, “You’re going to kill me,
but I forgot a vial”. So she just dove
into the other arm, and now I have bandages on both of my elbow ditches. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t a
big deal, and I am proud that I didn’t completely ghost out.
I went back into the waiting room from there. I read for a bit, and then I closed the book
and tried to juts be present, in the moment.
I noticed for the first time that not all of the chairs match. The cushions all have different colors and
patterns. Also, the trash cans, the ones
built into the walls are super modern-looking.
And I wonder why that is what I notice.
I try to take in the energy of the other patients, but I don’t want to
stare or invade their space. There are
so many different people, different illnesses, different emotions- it’s a lot
to feel at once when the waiting room is full.
Many of them are older, but not all of them. There are quite a few in paper masks, some in
wheelchairs, some bald from treatments.
The spouses are usually being strong and supportive, often pushing the
wheelchairs and cracking jokes. The
parents pushing their children are the ones that seem to be having harder times
holding back tears. The patients
themselves, they change by the minute.
Understandably so. There’s a lot
of fear, anger, sadness, but there’s also hope and acceptance and trust. It’s strange to sit with them and know that
I’m going into this as a healthy human and how quickly that can change.
It was the first really emotional moment I had so far, and I
was glad I went by myself today, with no distractions. This was also not the only emotional moment
of the day…
My last test at Mayo was a CT Scan. Basically, my body was on a tray that was
pushed through a Stargate repica while dye was injected into an IV port in my
arm. The dye makes you feel high for
about 3 seconds, which is just fantastic. For the CT Scan, I had to change out of my clothes and put
on a hospital gown and white pants that remind me of my middle school karate
uniform. They gave me a bag for my
clothes so I could put them in a locker.
The bag was white plastic, drawstring, with the words “Personal
Belongings” written in bold blue letters.
I recognized it as the same bag they had handed to my family when my
aunt Angela had died in a car crash when I was nineteen. It was such a terrible feeling, I remember,
seeing my uncle with that bag of bloody clothes, unsure about what to do with
him when he left the hospital. And
suddenly, there I was, with my own bag, perfectly healthy ( I hope, anyway) and
putting my own clothes in there.
It was
a big feeling. It was symbolic, but I
can’t tell what it represented exactly.
I just know I’m going to come out of this a lot different…
