I stress a lot about laundry. I stress about it because I share one washer and dryer with nine families in my building. I can’t always do my laundry when it’s convenient for me. I also stress about it because I have this nightmare scenario in my head that something will happen, I’ll get admitted to the hospital again, and I won’t have any clean clothes to have anyone pick up. People I don’t know well enough to be aquainted with my underwear might have to get it from my apartment, wash it, and bring it to me. Over these past few years my brother, for example, has been in my panty drawer way more often than any brother should. And so it was the day before Halloween this year. In Sept I was doing the best I’ve done so far post transplant. I could go into the city, or anywhere, and not worry that I wouldn’t have the stamina to do what I needed to do. I was still getting easily out of breath with stairs and hills, but I was doing great. In Oct. it seemed like there was a slow decline, so sl