How to meet a new organ.

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Binders, paperwork, medical devices laid all around and on me as I said goodbye to my mother. Scrubbed up medical personal scurried about and they wheeled me across the hallway to MY operating room.

Being in dozens of "procedural" rooms and seeing television O.R.'s didn't prepare me for what I saw. This place was huge, bright, off white subway tiled, so many pieces of machinery blinking, beeting and hissing, large and small attached to walls, hanging from ceilings, arranged neatly on carts. Bodies moving in different directions, Reassuringly it reminded me of a kitchen. I felt the room had a life of its own, it felt like it was breathing heavy, slowly inhaling and exhaling. Organized chaos a spastic dance. 

I wasn't fazed or panicked in the least, rather at peace. At peace with my maker, at peace with possibly not leaving this room alive. I was resigned to whatever God had in store for me. Laying there with all those anonymous people floating around me I was so, so thankful. My only regret... that I might not be there to see my children grow up. The one small tinge of occasional panic was that. Please let me witness my children's milestones. Please let me be there to help them, pick them up when they fall, offer councel when they're lost. Please, please, please.

With those thoughts running through my head, I was strapped down, my gear was exposed, I was shaved and the "going under" procedure was explained to me. As the doctors and nurses where tidying up their last minute details everything around me slowed down to super slo-mo allowing me to take everything in. The anesthesiologist looking at vials of liquids and reading numbers on charts, docs conferring with each other in a corner, someone asking me what sort of music I want; does it make a difference, I won't be awake to enjoy it, he smiled a big toothy grin. Then I cocked my head and looked behind me and over my shoulder and I saw it.

Two people in scrubs where sitting on opposite sides of a table, in between them a stainless steel bowl sat filled with a slurry of water and ice. I smiled to myself, it was they same sort of bowled I made hollandaise in thousands of times. They seemed to be wearing special gloves. One reached into the ice water and pulled out a sealed plastic bag with a tag and bar code on it. The other cut the bag and spilled the contents out into his hands hovering just above the ice. The two men took turns inspecting it, rolling it over, treating it ever so gently, examining every inch of it. What they were looking for I didn't know. But they seemed to be giving it the same care and tenderness of a new born baby or a rare archeological find.

I knew it was my new liver. With the exception of my children I'd never seen anything so beautiful. It was a warm, soft rosy pink. Looking at it I felt it radiated a soft pink light, it seemed to have an internal light all its own. It was as if I could feel the warmth spilling off it. There was my chance at a second chance. There was a gift. I could feel a tear running down my face.

My chin was gently forces upright, a mask was lowered over my face and I was told to count backwards from ten. Instead, I started saying a Hail Mary for the person that lost their life, the family that lost a loved one.

And I went to sleep

Still waiting.

December 8th, 2011

Of course I answered the phone, there was no question. I was tired, the timing was horrible, the odds of an actual transplant happening in my mind where slim but I had to make one more trip. Worse yet, I had to wake my mother to drive me. I figured it be two trips up and back to Indie in one day. But I was lucky enough to be on a list, someone lost their life and many people lost someone they loved and I'd potentially get a gift from them. It wasn't even a choice.

I didn't call anyone on the way up to the hospital. Previously I was called up twice and sent home twice, the disappointment was smothering, I knew my time would come, but when. Driving two to three hours anticipating the knife, going to sleep with the possibility of never waking up or waking up with renewed hope! Wow. What a mind fuck to be turned away. The first time I was called up I couldn't contain myself. I called everyone I knew... "Guess what? I'm on my way! I'm getting a new liver! I'll be back to my old self in a matter of weeks!!"  I ate my words. I was sent home. My wife got on a flight only to turn back at her lay over after I was told they wouldn't be cutting me open. At the time, I thought it was selfless of her, keeping OUR interest and the interest of our children at heart. Now, I know differently.

I didn't feel sorry for myself through this whole ordeal. I felt blessed. I was thankful. Lucky, presented with a fight, something that would make me stronger. Never backing down from a fight or a challenge I was ready to meet this one head on. Remembering the day Doctor Chueh told me I was sick it was sort of a relief. Oh, this is how I'll die I thought to myself. Old age, a motorcycle accident, a drug overdose won't be my end after all, liver failure, cancer will be my demise. Of course that's only the musing of a romantic mind and when you fall in love, have children and fall in love with them everything changes.

I prayed and pled feverently that I might make it through this ordeal just for them. Personally, I pretty much desevered anything that came my way. Those that were close to me didn't deserve any of the pain, suffering, tears or drives and sitting by my bed side that they endured. My family and friends are filled with grace. I'm one lucky bastard. My best friend from high school, who I hadn't seen in years made the drive up with his son just to "look at my scar". He also held my hand and told me I was an ass hole, prophasized that I'd "still throw a foot ball like a girl" and that my left wing polotical slant was pussyesque. I saw love and compassion in his eys and was thankful and sorry he was there. That all came a few weeks from now, I wanted to share about the night of the seventh.

We drove up in silence to Indie, we nearly always did. My mom drove me up mostly and today wasn't any different. She had a tape of the Rosary that she played a lot in the car. I found it annoying after awhile but I do Love the Rosary. It was so often monochromatic in it's prayer. Sister "without any inflection" in her voice needed a little Black Southern Baptist thrown in everyonceinawhile. Sounded like a loop.

We made the drive and I wasn't very hopeful about a new liver. I couldn't allow myself to think I'd actually go into the O.R. my short history being as it was. So, I got checked in and went through the procedures... vitals taken, chest x-ray, i-v implanted, showered, shaved. Lie in bed and wait. The anxiety was, well, I can't describe it. You're in a bed, with curtains drawn slightly, maybe one person and their family are waiting too. Are we waiting for the same organ? Is this a competation?! Cuz I'll kick that old ladies ass laying across the hallway if I have too!! Actually, she could probably take me down in the shape I'm in. There are no updates, three in the morning? Is the organ here, where is it coming from? How often does a patient get sent home? Can I get something to calm me down? Yeah, I look calm but I'm freaking out on the inside... my heart is beat'n a mile a minute. Oh... words with friends... good idea... I'll focus on that for 15 seconds.. can you send that nurse back in that likes to talk about food? Where she from again? Cuba? No, Trinadad. Cool, I'll have some curried goat.

The anesesaogist arrives... eventually. This didn't happen the last two times, must be a good sign. Hi... Yes. I'm ready, I'll sign those and anything else... What? It's still not a go? No worries, I'll just lay here. Happily. Yes, for weeks. It's not a match, no worries, take the bad one out, give me the new one, I'll test drive it, we'll make it work! Many more binders arrive with requested signitures... Does this mean I'm going in? Is it going to work.... No Mr. Fathman, we've actually put people under and pulled them out after we realized it wasn't a match or a good organ. Oh....

So I lay there waiting patiently, trying to play words with friends, thinking about how great my future will be when all this is over and praying.

I encourged my mother to leave, she doesn't. It's cliche but the minutes seemed like hours and the hours seemed like days, but the days, well, they seemed like days. Okay, I'm getting dramatic. It felt like a long fucking time. Around 9 am they said we're going to give this one a shot, I was dumbfounded, emotionless. it was happeneing. I suppose I was to tired to really sort of cared. It all seemed automatic at this point. Relief. Finally an ending of one sort or another in sight, at least so I thought.

Passed futuresque looking machinery, tanks of gas keeping people alive, carts backed with medical devices, medicines and shlelves of sterile looking hospital linens. My grandmother's rosary in hand I was wheeled through a maze of hallways. It felt like I was below ground, but I could of been anywhere, the windowless rooms gave no clue as to where or when I was.

Wheeled into a small O.R. prep room the medical staff went over me again, tried to explain the process to me, again. My mother sat on a chair, in the corner, smiling reassuringly. Again, I asked, are we going to do this? And again, I was told, We're going to try.

"Mom. Go home." I said.

"When your brother gets here I'll think about."

Well then. Take a picture for posterity's sake." I said smiling.

What a difference a year makes.

In the words of Joey Shithead of Doa and William Ernest Henley I've come out Bloodied but unbowed. A year ago today I was yellow, bloated, stiff jointed and hazy. Everything hurt from shuffling across the room to taking a dump, taking a piss felt like thick noxious liquid. Unfiltered from my failing liver. My body was slowly shutting down, I could feel the roots of my teeth screaming. My prognosis didn't look good from where other folks where standing. I think everyone around me knew my time was limited. I didn't. My decline was very gradual and slow, a trickle. I lived with it so it wasn't as shocking as it was to those that hadn't seen me in a year or two. I could sense the hidden shock and horror of my appearance on the faces of those who hadn't seen me in months and months.

As I was saying many folks had written me off including my wife. Last rights where given to me while I spend five days in hospital with amonia on the brain. My liver doc's in India said I had 8 to 12 weeks to live if I didn't get a new liver. I think everyone knew but me, thankfully. I was blindly optomistic.

A year ago today my Mom and I made the drive from Cincinnati to Indianapolis to sit in my doctor's office and hear him say "It'll be soon, it'll be soon. You're in bad shape, we know that. You've been called up twice and sent home twice. That tell's us you're very high on the list. Your turn will come." Is there anything you can give me for the pain I asked? I feel like shit, will I ever feel any better? "...everyone is different, I can't give you anything for the pain. Your time will come." The day was grey, all days where grey. Talking didn't come easy on that long ride back to Cincinnati.It was quite, my mother occasionally reading the signs we've passed a dozen or so times out loud. It was annoyingly reassuring. I could close my eyes and know exactly where we were and how long it'd be before we pulled into her drive way by the frequencey of her sign readings.

We got home around six o'clock. I spent the evening shuffling around the room. Wearing baggy fitting flannel pajama bottoms, drinking ensures and channel surfing from the food network to c-span. I was tired, but couldn't sleep. I lied down, it was 12:36 am, my phone rang, I picked it up and saw that it was a blocked caller. I almost didn't answer.

Invictus

Out of the night that covers me,
 Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
 For my unconquerable soul.

  In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

  Beyond this place of wrath and tears
 Looms but the Horror of the shade,
 And yet the menace of the years
Finds and shall find me unafraid.

  It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll.
 I am the master of my fate:
 I am the captain of my soul

One Year Later

Wow... weee.... Creeping up on a year and still wondering what the fuck just happened. I'm blesses, confused and swimming up in an eddy, catching my breath on what a lucky bastard I am. Nearly to the date it was a year ago that I went under the knife, mu old liver, since described as a rotting dried out gourd was pulled from my body and replaced with a younger, stronger, much more riper gourd that could do the job it needed to do. Bascially, detoxing me body. Unforuntetly, part of the detox was trying to get rid of the hep c, hvc, and it couldn't happen. A new liver is a new lease on life, not quite the mortgage and down payment. Maybe, if I'm lucky, another 10-13 years, if I'm not, less. But.... I am blessed so I'm expecting another 20 minium. Sorry to the folks that live with and around me, interact with me on a daily basis. But I suspect I will be a pain in your arse for a wee bit longer. Happily. A lot has happened, in the last 12 minonths... lame but true.... so much.. December 8th... My liverversary. a year ago. I don't think about it much really. Just pray pretty much every day, giving thatnks. My favorite pray..... ThankyouwhoeverthefuckYOUare.... my second most favorist is the hail mary, archaic, beautiful, poetic. Everything so many prayers in The Catholic Church have to offer... this is so much the opposite. I love the virg and whether she is real or not, she, her idea, ideal, idol and icons helped me through the fire i got walk through. Waiting for the liver I sort of thought was the hardest part. It really wasn't that hard. I didn't have the strength to make it hard. I hurt. My body was pretty much in constant pain. So, I really didn't have to dwell on when it would stop. I knew it wouldnt. Until the end. New organ or worm fodder. It was easy. "Shit.... Will I feel better to mary.... ""hopehopepraypray"" nope, chances are I'll feel worse. Things were easy once that thought was accepted. I have more to share and don't know where to start or end. I'll just say as my Liverversary creeps neary, I'll do more praying, allow myself to be intrespective, hopefully more forgiving, but I will always be seeing my cup half full if not over flowing. I'm one luck mother fuckers and always have been. Good Bless and writeat you later. Liverserum

the Judgement of Cruelty

As a child and a young man I didn't really participate in the "normal" aspects of cruelty that my peers were partaking in. Magno-burning ants (the practice of hitting ants with the concentrated sun ray of a magnifying glass until they spontaneously burst into flames) pouring salt on pill bugs, de-winging a beetle and pulling the legs off of the daddy-long legs. It was creepy but I accepted it, wasn't my cup of tea, even the lightning bug smear was a bit tough to handle and made me squeamish. If you don't know it, it goes like this... catch a light

ning bug, clasp it in your hand until you find an unsuspecting victim, quickly open you hand and smash it against your target. Preferably a cute girl a couple of years older than you, mash and smear the bug and glow bulb up and down her arm. Run and howl like a wolf into the darkness. Wooing girls old school, like nineteen seventy twoish. Then every neighborhood had that idiot whose mom only fed him popsicles and thawed out TV dinners. In our neighborhood that kid was called the turtle killer. He was even too cruel for the most seasoned insect inquisitor. Sweet and smiley when the grown-ups where around but the first to throw a cat into a bucket of water or tie m-80's to the tail of a dog. I used to tell the kid to treat the animals the way he'd want to be treated... so did Fritzie, Steve and Foley, he'd never listen. The golden rule. I only think of this now because isn't that the way we all want to be treated? Treat me the same as you'd like me to treat you. In hind sight I suspect the turtle killer was only acting out on abuse that he'd been exposed to or witnessed. Possibly it was from neglect or abandonment. Or maybe it was just all those cold, partially frozen TV dinners.

A favorite from Dylan Thomas

Do not go gentle into that good night, A father's love is strong, an iron bond; Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Worth any price, worth any fight, What came from you is yours, must not be gone. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

familiarity breeds contempt

Seven days and it will be exactly six months since my transplant day. Wow, what a ride. So, so much has happened in my life. New liver, recovery, new lease on life, getting reacquainted with old friends, finding faith and the ultimate betrayal. With every cloud comes a silver lining, does that imply with every silver lining comes a cloud. Welcome to the vicious circle and the mortal coil. What I find the most interesting is how people who openly profess their love and loyalty can spin 180 degrees with multiple acts of duplicity. How every minute of every day is criticized and examined for flaws with microscopic exactness. Every small infraction is over blown to epic proportions. The meanings of forgiveness, compassion, understanding and empathy are lost. Does anyone have the answers? I suppose familiarity breeds contempt. Postings of my trasnplant and early life experiences as well as current events will follow shortly.