I’m on the home stretch of making it to a year post transplant. The first year feels like such a big mile stone! So much has happened! I tell people it has been a roller coaster ride, and I’m not kidding.
I’m at a stage where I think I’m experiencing post transplant PTSD. Actually, I wonder if the psychological world needs to come up with another term for the emotional fallout from traumatic medical events. For me, at least, it isn’t the same as what I read about in people who have experienced PTSD from combat, assault or other types of trauma. I don’t startle easily. I’m not worried about what might be around a corner. What I am is emotional. I know some of that could be the medications. I can cry at the drop of a hat. Little things bring back memories and the waterworks just starts flowing.
This time last year I had the transplant clinic appointment where they told me I should start thinking about coming into the hospital. It was one of those mile stones I had prayed I’d never reach. I really, really had hoped my lungs would come while I was still at home. Last January was such a tough month, but at the time, I didn’t get emotional very often. I had to get business done and I couldn’t afford to fall apart at every task.
I took Finley to the vet even though it wasn’t yet time for his checkup. I wanted to make sure everything was okay with him, that his vaccines were up to date etc. so that no one would have to deal with that stuff while I was sick or if I died.
My sister-in-law and I went to see an attorney to get my legal world in order…living will/advanced directives and power of attorney. My health issues have pretty much drained away any assets, but I wanted to know if I needed any type of will? It was a strange place between planning to do battle to live, and getting ready to die.
The really crazy thing is at the time, I felt so strongly I’d get my transplant. That is crazy because so many, many people don’t. It was crazy because it was a coping mechanism completely out of character for me. I usually envision the worst case scenario, deal and process that, and then everything that happens is better than expected. But this time, even though I was preparing for the worst case scenario, I wasn’t in that head space. The human brain is capable of amazing things. This sort of compartmentalizing got me through.
What I really feared was sitting in the hospital with nothing to do but sit around and think. While I was at home, I had my routine, my Finley and my work. I could live in the moment without as many reminders about how dire things were getting. I know that might seem strange to anyone who saw me then. I was on so much oxygen and struggled to do simple things, but from my point of view, it was a process that happened gradually. Every change just sort of got adopted as my new normal. What really scared me was getting to the point that I was in the hospital. You can’t pretend everything is okay when you need so much oxygen you can’t live in your own house. I knew that once I was in the hospital, there would be a progression of things that would happen as I got worse and I knew what they would mean as they happened.
Waiting for a transplant is a mental game, and I knew I was about to enter the toughest round. I knew that once I went into the hospital, chances are I wouldn’t be coming out.
So, this time last year these were all the things going on in my head. I didn’t want to talk about them much because I know family and friends had their own things to cope with regarding me. I remember one day the sun was coming in the window and everything in the apartment was quiet and peaceful. Finley was sitting in a sun spot. It all seemed so normal, and yet, everything was about to be turned on its head. It was coming. It was only a few weeks away, if I didn’t get the call.
I’m seeing the photos that come up on Facebook as memories, and sometimes, they make me just break down and cry because I remember what was really going through my head when I posted them.
Last year I took Finley to get his photo taken with Santa Clause at PetSmart. I knew everyone thought I was being silly and it was a dumb thing to do. In my head, however, there weren’t many pictures of both of us together. Finley is like my little family, and I wanted a good photo of us together. (The only other good ones I had were the ones Frankie took – thank you Frankie!) The PetSmart photo didn’t turn out to be that great. It ended up being a sales person taking photos in terrible lighting with her phone. If I’d known that, I probably wouldn’t have done it…but that was the method behind the madness.
As frustrated as I feel with my lack of progress in my recovery in some areas, things sure are different than they were this time last year.
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