Photo: This is me the week before the transplant. The one with the roses was taken on Valentine's Day. My sister-in-law gave the roses Ryan had brought her to me.
To be honest, I don’t remember much about the time I spent in the hospital before my transplant. I’m not sure if that’s because it was pretty boring and routine, so there’s just not much to say – or if it is some kind of self-preservation maneuver my brain has done to shield me somehow.
After the big rush to get to the clinic early, we spent several hours in the waiting room with my luggage as if we were waiting for an airplane at the airport. It turns out the big rush was due to a hospital policy that the clinic couldn’t request a bed for me until I was actually there. The hotel Inova Fairfax Medical Center was packed to the gills, and they wanted my name on the waiting list. It was late afternoon before a bed became available. Looking back, I’m amazed at how calm we were sitting there. Perhaps we were compartmentalizing things. I remember knitting some. I remember watching some cooking show on TV and talking about it with my mom. I remember watching the other patients in the waiting room and wondering who was pre-transplant and who was post-transplant. I hoped the ones with oxygen tanks were pre-transplant.
Finally, a room opened up, and we went upstairs to report to the third floor cardiac telemetry unit nurses’ station. Every other time I’d ever been admitted to the hospital (except the NIH for research) I’d come in because of an emergency situation. It seemed so strange to just show up at the nurses’ station and say, we’re here!
We were shown to my room, and I started to figure out how I wanted to organize my new office. These plans were rather abruptly interrupted by the hospital’s plans for my new office.
This was a telemetry floor, something I’d never experienced in most of my previous hospital stays. It is the heart surgeons who perform lung transplants. Lungs and hearts work closely together – problems with one can lead to big trouble with the other. So, it wasn’t illogical that I was in a cardiac unit. But, my heart is one organ in my body with an excellent track record. The ticker was tick tocking just fine. Even so, the nurse had me change into a hospital gown and wired me up. If you’ve ever had an EKG, this is similar, minus the connections on the legs. The wires all connected to a little box that fit into a special pocket on the gown. The pocket was clever, but still, the box had a habit of falling out anyway. It gets on the nerves quickly.
This meant that the clothes I’d packed and brought were now mostly useless. I’d brought comfortable clothes and was told I’d be able to wear clothes if I wanted. Maybe that was true, but certainly not practical nor encouraged. I was stuck in the hospital gown.
I hate hospital gowns. I understand the need for access for IVs etc. but you’d think with all the wonders of medical technology; we’d have gowns that preserve a little more dignity. I know I’m not the smallest person, but it would be nice to have a gown that didn’t show off my butt so easily. By the time the transplant was over, I’m not sure there was anyone left whom I hadn’t mooned accidently.
Visitors were much appreciated. My friend Julie brought me Lebanese food one night, and it was a very welcome break from the bland hospital food.
After a few days working became harder because of the IV. When I’d bend my arms to type on the computer, it would keep the IV from flowing correctly, and it would get really sore.
After a few days, lungs became available once more. The procedure from Thanksgiving was repeated – clean sheets, a special pre-surgical shower, down to pre-op, lines put in etc. It was easier this time because I’d been through the entire process, right up to the operating room, before. I didn’t feel anxious at all. I even took several naps. It was such a different feeling than at Thanksgiving when Ryan and I had stayed awake all night because we were just too anxious to sleep.
Once again, however, the lungs turned out to be unusable. I’m not sure what was wrong with them. I do know that the surgeon said it would be criminal to try to use them. Everyone was so deflated – not just me and the family, but the surgeon, the nurses, the nurses back on the floor. I know this must get routine for them, so I really appreciate the genuine sincerity everyone seemed to have. I took it pretty well. After all, what good would those lungs have done me if they were in such bad shape? It was the first time, however, back in my room that I started to feel truly anxious about whether a new lung would come through.
I can’t explain that. I know the statistics and I’ve seen many friends go through this and not get a lung. For some reason, however, I just felt it would happen. Was it a coping response? I don’t know, but whatever it was, no matter how illogical it seemed, it was working for me.
A few more days went by. Thankfully my oxygen demands remained about the same. Yet I knew that wasn’t going to last. Then, I got a phone call from Dr. Nathan, head of Inova’s lung transplant program. There was a possible single lung, but it was a high-risk lung. Would I be willing to accept it? I didn’t even have to think about it. Yes!
I had already researched high risk lungs, and what that really meant. I wanted to make that decision ahead of time so I wasn’t in a crisis considering my answer. I knew the docs wouldn’t give me a lung they thought wouldn’t work. High risk had more to do with unknown medical history or a history of things that could make the lung higher risk for infections. I knew lungs were tested for things like HIV or hepatitis C before they would be transplanted. So, yes, knowing another lung or lungs might not come along in time, and knowing if there was anything wrong with the lung they wouldn’t use it for transplant unless they felt the problem was treatable, it was a grateful, and emphatic YES!
To be continued…
Comments