Transplant Day, Sunday May 13, 2012

Sunday, May 13, 2012. Mother's Day Not a day I usually celebrate, but today was different. This is the first day of the rest of my life. How trite that saying is, and yet how true. No matter the outcome, the rest of my life will be different. If the transplant takes place, I will forever be on antirejection meds, and have a whole new set of health concerns. If the transplant doesn't take place, I will be extremely let down, and it will be hard to leave here after all this hoopla. I refuse to contemplate that the transplant could take place and then be rejected or fail to work. Dr. Rice, a nephrologist, came to talk to me. She told me what would happen in the operating room, and asked if I had any questions. I asked what I would feel once I came out of surgery. She said I would be extremely bloated and swollen from the waist down. She said this was done on purpose, by pumping IV fluids into me at a fast rate, so that the new kidney would be well flushed as it started to establish itself in my body. Because the toxin concentrations (creatine, Blood Urea Nitrogen (BUN)) and other waste products are in large concentrations in my blood stream right now, the extra fluids help to dilute them so that they don't overwhelm the kidney. She said the bloating would be very uncomfortable, and my skin would feel tight and I wouldnt feel right. Also, she said that they would insert a lage IV in my neck once I was sedated, and that would be the line through which the large volume of fluid would be introduced. Also, that line would serve as the access port for any medications and blood draws, so it would stay in my neck the whole time I was in the hospital. They kept referring to the neck IV as being large, and I had visions of a hose sticking out of my neck. She said something that made me think that although the surgery was scheduled, that it might not take place, and so I asked her when I would know that it was a "GO." She said "it's not a go until the kidney is attached to you and you get sewn up. If the surgeon opens you up, and your anatomy doesn't look like right to him, he an cancel. If he starts to place the kidney in you, and something doesn't look right, he can cancel, if there's anything he doesn't like about what's going on, he can cancel." Great, I might be sedated, wake up thinking I have a new kidney, and find out it was all for nothing! Ramiro returned around 6:15, which meant he ust have left Dallas around 5:30. Not much sleep for hiim either. He said he was troubled wit leg cramps all night, and got up at least once an hour to walk. I figure it was the stress. Around 6:45 a.m., I was wheeled to the operating room. Ramiro and I met with Dr. Nicholas Onaca, the transplant surgeon. He again explained the procedure--the large IV, the incision in the lower right side of my belly, and said that it usually takes about 4 hours, but it could go faster. I learned something about the donor for the first time. He said that the donor was a 27 year old man with no known health problems. However, he had fainted for reasons unknown and had fallen, hitting his head. The man had sustained irreversible brain injury. He didn't say it, but I've been told that that kind of injury makes for the ideal donation because the organs are alive the whole time. Dr. Onaca said that once he knew the organ was so top notch, he thought it should go to me, as a reward for myself having donated. And when the match was good, he said he knew it was the right way to go. I kissed Ramiro goodbye, and told him he was the best husband ever, and thanked him for coming this far with me. I felt teary eyed, but didn't cry. I knew they were waiting to sedate me.