I thought things were going to be different...

But it is looking like I was wrong.  After nearly 6 hours of appointments today, I am left with a disturbing feeling of deja vu; we are repeating events from the postponed surgery, and it's becoming very scary.  First, family that had planned on coming down last time had to cancel the trip due to unforeseen circumstances; same thing this time.  Last time, the hospital PREP center confused me with another donor by the same last name.  We straightened it out right then and there, but it shook my confidence a little bit.  Before we went today, Joe and I were told that our paperwork from the last visit would just need to be updated.  Not only did they not have mine (not sure about Joe's), but they had the other lady's in my place!!!  Talk about making my heart stop!  After all we have been through over the last couple of months, after the letters that were written and the phone calls that were made regarding the completely inexcusable botch job of the previously scheduled surgery, you would have thought that every effort humanly possible would be made for this thing to go off without a damn hitch.  I guess not.  I guess that things like this really aren't as serious a matter as the layperson believes.

Make no mistake, I am still unwavering in my commitment to donate this kidney to Joe.  If anything, my resolve is stronger.  We have done every damn thing that has been asked of both of us; imaging studies ad nauseum, more labwork than anybody should have to have done in a lifetime (7 tubes for me just today, just like the last pre-op appointment), lots of time off work for appointments (Joe), and major lifestyle changes (for both of us).  While these things aren't uncommon for many pre-transplant patients, the events that precipitated them could have been avoided like the plague.  Hell, they never should have happened to begin with.

So, we're just over two days out.  We are both ready for this to be a thing that happened, not something we are waiting to do.  I am ready for the anticipation, anxiety, and stress to be over, as is Joe.  He is ready to not feel like crap every day.  I don't blame him one bit.  We are ready to move on from The Surgery That Wasn't to the Successful Transplant That Was.  I am ready to look at both (or all 3, depending on circumstances) and all 6 (or 7) of Joe's surgeons and say thank you for doing everything you did to make my husband's and my friend, my son's Unca, better.  

And that, my friends, is all that we have been busting our asses for for all these months.      

I haven't forgotten about you...

Yes, I'm well aware that it has been 23 days since my last post.  Not much has happened in regards to the actual transplant.  There has been a minor development with the complaint Joe and I filed in regards to the shenanigans from the surgery that wasn't, however.  Joe's surgeon sent him and I a letter of apology, which in short stated, that because of the events that took place the morning of our postponed surgery, pre-transplant policies will be changed to include more thorough face-to-face communication amongst the different practices involved in transplant surgery.  SCORE ONE FOR FUTURE TRANSPLANT PATIENTS AND THEIR DONORS!   And to think that all I was doing was giving away a measly kidney!  Who knew that Joe and I would be effectively changing the way transplant cases are handled.  I knew my flawed anatomy was good for more than just subjecting me to more imaging studies than most people have in a lifetime.  :-)

So, we are just over 8 days away from Leftie's Moving Day, Redux.  Last time, I wasn't really nervous until I was in pre-op, and that didn't even happen until the tech started stabbing blindly at my arm.  This time, I've had that horrible morning eating away at the back of my mind.  For the most part, I've been pretty successful at stifling the gnawing thought of repeat performance.  As the days draw ever closer, it's getting harder.  Add to that the fact that the patient representative from the hospital has yet to return any phone calls or emails explaining how the rest of our issues have been and/or are going to be handled.   This inattention is not for lack of trying on our part; I left a voicemail for the woman just today and fully intend on doing the same tomorrow.  I am quickly losing my patience with the woman to whom our case was given. 

8 days.  8 days that will surely pass in the blink of an eye.  Of those 8 days, I will work 3, try to have a family fun day on a rare Saturday off, go to the gym a few times, go back to the surgical prep center for another pre-op appointment, and hope to hell that the hospital doesn't royally screw the proverbial pooch again.  In those 8 days, I will once again make sure my house is ready for family to help while I'm recovering, go grocery shopping so there's enough food for my ever-hungry hubby and kiddo, and all the other little nit-picky things that need to be done on a regular basis.  At least I'm not waiting for furniture this time! 

Okay kids, time for bed.  I will make an effort to update if/when I hear back from the patient rep.  It damn well better be before May 2nd.  Otherwise, see you next Friday! 

Gadolinium, anyone?

So today, I had the distinct pleasure of being shoved inside an MRI machine for nearly two freaking hours.  I had an MRV (MRI of my veins, the renal veins to be more specific).  From what I was told by the radiology tech, and from the information I read, this test should have taken about 45 minutes at most.  Guess this process just can't go smoothly at any step of the way, can it?  The garage I normally park in was closed for permit parking only when I got there, only to open when I walked past it to my appointment (I parked 3 blocks away), I was sent to the wrong radiology office by both the transplant clinic and radiology admitting (I asked twice where I was supposed to go) which cause me to be late for my appointment.  I was fortunate enough to get a tech who knew how to place my I.V.  No bruises or blown veins for me!  Hell, I barely have a mark on my arm!!!  She saw the remnants of the bruises that Wonder Tech left more than a month ago, and asked what happened.  I vaguely explained, and she just shook her head.  After the I.V. was in, I almost hugged her.  Just the fact that she didn't try to install a garden hose into the crook of my elbow was the highlight of the whole experience.  I was led into the MRI suite and brought over to the machine.  I laid on the ridiculously skinny table, got hooked up to the contrast injection machine, swaddled in a sheet to keep my arms next to me, and covered with the MRI antennae.  These are the grids that they place over the area being examined.  I had two; one over my chest, one over my abdomen and pelvis.  The tech set me up with headphones and then we were off.  I was placed in the machine and shortly after, the test began.  I swear, an MRI of any region between your chin and thighs should be considered a cardio workout; there are lots of "Take a deep breath and hold it" and "Okay breathe".  Holding your breath for 20 seconds at a stretch, for multiple images.  This becomes difficult with approximately 10 pounds of stuff laying across your chest and belly.  This went on for about 40 minutes before there was an abrupt halt to the activity.  Apparently the radiologist decided to briefly review my films mid-exam.  When the scan resumed, I was given the contrast.  Ladies and gentlemen, if you've never had the contrast for and MRI, it is a freaking weird experience.  With a CT scan, the contrast makes you feel incredibly warm for a few seconds, and then you feel like you've peed your pants.  The MRI contrast, however, made me feel so weird, it scared me for a hot second.  I got the tell-tale metallic taste in my mouth, right before it got a tingly feeling in the back of my throat, all the way down my spine and in parts better left undescribed.  It went away after a minute or two (kind of hard to judge time when your face is 3 inches from the inside of the tube).  The test went on, and I then I felt a hand on my foot.  The tech pulled me out of the machine and told me that the radiologist wanted to review the new scans before he let me go.  A few minutes later, the tech came back and released me from my swaddling.  He removed my I.V., said that the scans would be officially read by the end of the day.  I thanked him and beat feet out of there.  Got home, snuggled my baby boy, and shared a turkey sandwich with him.

I was hoping that the scans would be posted online to my imaging account tonight, but alas they aren't.  I also haven't heard from the Transplant team as to the results; I'm quite sure they will be going over these scans with a very fine-toothed comb, lest they miss something like they did last time.  We are on our one-month countdown again.  I really hope that there are no major hiccups this time around.

All for now.  Goodnight!