What I've Done Over the Past 11 Years With My Gift

On this date in 2003 I had my second kidney transplant.  The first one failed earlier that year.  Unlike the first time, the second one came from a living donor not related to me.  The date was set and I focused on it with anticipation.  There was no waiting for the phone to ring, no mad dash to the hospital.  It's one aspect of my donor's generosity that is often overlooked--the fact that I didn't have to live with so much uncertainty leading up to the big event.

 Me and my donor, Connie, summer 2003

After six months of hemodialysis, which made my vision worse (long story) and having to stay with family because I was too sick to be on my own, my life in suspended animation was about to end.  It was as if someone had hit the Pause button and on September 4, 2003 someone hit that button again to restart my life. 

Soon after being released from the hospital I fell into a deep depression.  Now I know that it sometimes happens to people after a major surgery.  That may have been part of it, but for me it had more to do with losing a significant part of my vision while on dialysis.  I’d lost vison before and I’d had kidney failure before, but never at the same time.

I was certain that I wouldn’t be able to do much with my life, even with a kidney transplant.  Take a look at the list below and you’ll see just how wrong I was.  Since 2003 I have:

Learned to live with less vision than I had when the latest round of kidney failure/dialysis/transplant began in early 2003.

Moved back to Fayetteville, where I worked at a full-time job for the first time since my vision loss began in the early 90s.

Joined a critique group and started my writing career.

Published my story of life with Type 1 diabetes and how I adjusted to the challenges it caused.

Published a book of humor about Northwest Arkansas—a place I know and love so well.

Survived cancer.

Traveled to Boston, Philadelphia, Los Angeles, and Portland.

Reconnected with dozens of old friends from both high schools I attended, as well as friends I knew in the various places I’ve lived since then, via Facebook.

Found d success in public speaking.

Recovered from a few hernia surgeries and gall bladder removal.

Learned to live with Type 1 diabetes again after my transplanted pancreas failed.  It gave me 14 years of freedom and I still miss it.

Experienced the mental and emotional advantages/intensity of sorting through all my possessions and letting go of a lot of them.

Moved 2,000 miles and 2 time zones away, to Portland, Oregon just in time for my 50^th birthday.

Purchased my first smart phone and learned how to use it.  No simple thing for someone with my eyesight and lack of patience with technology.

Learned how to navigate an unfamiliar but extensive transit system.

Those are all things I couldn’t have (or at least wouldn’t have) done without a working kidney.  It hits the highlights but omits all the little things I have been able to do because of the generosity of another.  I don’t know what the next 11 years will bring, but I know it won’t be dull.

 Me August 20, 2014

10 Years!

Ten years ago right about now I was in surgery and so was my kidney donor.  After months of tests, she was found to be a suitable donor.  Her offer to give me a kidney literally came out of nowhere.  Well, that’s how it seemed.  Actually, it came from God.  Only a few weeks after finding out my first transplanted kidney failed and I started hemodialysis (a date with misery three times a week), someone I’d never met was offering to give me a kidney.

First there was the jolt of losing the kidney.  Then there was the joyful jolt of a possible way out of that nightmare.  My emotions were like a pinball being bounced all over the place.

But, first we had to find out what her blood type was.

Over the next several months, one hurdle after another was cleared.  An infection in the dialysis port under my collarbone delayed the surgery for several weeks.

I’ve been under general anesthesia for more surgeries and procedures than I can (or want to) count.  Coming out of it, reality swims into focus much more gradually than when you wake up in the morning.  It seeps into your head as, one by one, your senses come back to life.  From there, it spreads lower to your arms and legs.  They can feel the blanket covering them and the temperature in the room, but they are too heavy to move.  At this point, you’re not sure you want to wake up further, because the place the surgeon cut and stitched is about to hurt, if it doesn’t already.

Then a post-op nurse says your name and asks how you feel.  All you can do is mumble or groan because your tongue feels thick from all the drugs.  Your throat is scratchy from being intubated for hours.  You want to say, “I feel like I was hit by a freight train.”  They spoon feed you ice chips, which melt on your tongue, waking it up.  The cool water soothes your throat.  

All of that happened that day ten years ago.  But this time, I woke up feeling more joy than I thought anyone could feel when they’re that groggy.  I joked with the nurses—something I’ve never done before or since at that stage of recovery.  Maybe the difference was having an organ from a living donor.  Maybe it had something to do with the lively, spirited nature of my donor.  It’s a question I’ll never be able to answer with any certainty.

In almost every living donor transplant, the kidney starts working immediately.  Somehow, I knew it had this time, even before the doctor confirmed it.

Over the past ten years, I’ve had cancer, gall bladder surgery, a major hernia surgery where they put a big sheet of mesh under all my abdominal muscles, and last year the Type 1 diabetes made an unwelcome return.  

The kidney held up through all of it.  It still works as well as it did in 2003.  At ten years, it has lasted twice as long as the first one from a deceased donor did.  

Just after the transplant, the additional vision loss put a damper on the post-transplant euphoria I normally would have had.  It has made my life much more of a challenge than it’s ever been.  Only recently have I realized that without her stepping forward so quickly to give me a kidney, I would have waited much longer. That means I would have been on dialysis much longer and my eyesight would have kept getting worse.  I might have ended up losing all of it.

I admit that too often, with all the hassles of being a middle-aged, legally blind guy adjusting to diabetes again, I forget that I’ve been given a miracle.

My resolution at this major milestone is to remind myself of that fact more often—especially when life is stressful and scary.  The kidney, in addition to keeping me alive and off a dialysis machine, is living proof that God loves me and wants me to be happy.

Read Jim's other blog ConfessionsOfABornAgainDiabetic.Wordpress.comhttp://confessionsofabornagaindiabetic.wordpress.com/

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Eight Years With Her Kidney

This post is a couple of weeks late.  I was in a funk for a few weeks, feeling pretty overwhelmed by how fast the publishing industry is changing and all the stuff a writer has to do these days to self-promote.  You’d think someone with a degree in advertising wouldn’t be bothered by this, but it’s all online these days.  A visually-impaired, right-brained artistic type can be intimidated pretty quickly by it all.  Worst of all, it can make me feel pretty stupid and inadequate.

But, I’m coming to terms (again) with all that and moving forward (again) at the pace of a snail—one that can’t see where it’s going.

I was also overwhelmed by life in general.  Who?  Me?  If that surprises you, carefully read the subtitle of my blog again.  Just saying it is a mouthful.  Living it is a bit more challenging than that.  I try not to complain about it, but there are times when it’s every bit as hard to do as it sounds.  The problem was, I allowed myself to focus more on how hard it is for me and ended up throwing myself a big ol’ pity party--complete with balloons, a live band (playing only sad songs, of course), a sad clown, and games like Pin the Fail On the Writer.

The other day, I located the Live Strong bracelet my Aunt Judy got for me when I had cancer and have started wearing it again.  Not only does it remind me of how much of stronger I am after surviving that, but it serves as a rubber band I can use to snap my wrist when a negative thought overstays its welcome.  It’s working and I don’t have welts on my wrist, either.

Part of the blues was due to September being a minefield of unpleasant anniversaries.  I’ll spare you the list of disappointments and traumatic events.  Even as a kid, I used to get wistful in September, missing summer and already discontent with the still-new school year.

But, there is one very happy even that took place in this otherwise intense month.  On the 4^th I celebrated eight years with my kidney Connie gave me.  This was one of the rare years when I got to actually spend part of the day with her.  I took her and my parents to lunch at Red Lobster.  I had the coconut shrimp—two great tastes that go great together.  Whoever came up with coconut shrimp is a genius.

As you can imagine, having a live donor is a very different experience than a transplant from a deceased donor.  I know this because my pancreas and first kidney came from a young man who died in a car accident.  There are so many questions about him I wish I could have answered.  That isn’t the case with Connie, who had us laughing at stories about her granddaughter born last year, now at a very cute and sometimes challenging age.  I hope she’s proud of her grandma someday.  She has plenty of reason to be.

Most people who have known me for the past several years will tell you I’m a survivor.  That I’m at times feisty, stubborn, sassy, tenacious, optimistic, driven, ambitious, and creative.  It was that way before 2003.  I may have received a boost in those qualities when I got Connie’s kidney, because all those terms can be used to describe her as well.  Unlike with the pancreas and first kidney transplant, I never had to wonder if part of the donor’s personality was asserting itself in my behavior.

Thank you, Connie.  I’m doing all I can to make you proud of me.  (Not that it was ever a condition of the gift).  I need to remember God wanted you to give me this kidney.  If it’s God’s will, my memoir will be published.

Seeing Connie again has given me the nudge (shove, fire lit under my butt . . . ) to renew my efforts at getting my memoir published.  I have an unusual and inspiring story to tell.  I’ve lived with my odd situation for so long now that I sometimes forget that.  Sometimes I forget (and other times I’m only too aware) that not everyone is a legally blind former diabetic writer with a transplanted kidney and pancreas (from two different people) living in a quirky college town.  Oh yeah, and now I can say cancer survivor, too.  One or two people might be interested in hearing me speak about it.  With any luck, a few more will be interested in reading about it, too.