It's hard to believe that it's already been a year. I still remember when I got what I would later find out was THE call. If my sketchy memory serves me correct, this is a very brief summary of how my life was saved by a hero.
Alex got home from work and it was time to do our usual drive around to find something that sounded appetizing enough for me to eat. Between the sickness and all the drugs that I was on, I really had no appetite, and nothing really tasted good when I was able to eat. To top that off, I was also battling almost constant nausea.
So, off we went for a drive in my POS rental car. Why a rental car? I had only recently dropped off my car for repair after hitting a deer on the way to Vanderbilt for my first call on Christmas Day. Luckily, I saw something that struck my fancy pretty early on in our drive; Steak & Shake. I am not much of a fast food junkie but for some reason a cheeseburger sounded like it would just hit the spot.
After waiting in line for what felt like forever, we finally departed with our bag full of junk food. We pulled out of the parking lot and headed home. I was starving, so I started eating. Alex, on the other hand, decided to test the limits of the rental car by trying to “squeal a tire.”
Post tire squeal fail, me with a mouthful of cheeseburger, my phone rings; it was Vanderbilt. They were calling to let me know that I was number two/the backup candidate for a new liver. The individual who was first in line was very sick, possibly too sick for surgery. This person also needed two organs at once, and Vanderbilt had not yet determined whether the organs that were needed were both viable.
All that being said, I remember being overly calm through the entire conversation. I think this was because I felt like there was little chance that this would be my liver. This feeling was reinforced when the nurse told me I could go ahead and finish my cheeseburger. I thought, there's no way she would let me finish my meal if there was a good chance this liver could be mine.
We arrived home and started packing the car. Luckily, our bags were still packed from first call on Christmas Day. That being the case, I decided that I would take the time to shave my legs. Yes, I'm sure that's TMI, but in retrospect it's so funny that I was so sure it wasn't my liver that I took the time to make sure I had smooth legs.
Much like the last call, Alex and I talked about all the what if's and how much life could potentially change. This was the subject matter of most of our conversation during the drive to Nashville. Well, that and lots of bitching about what a POS of the rental car was. Lol!
We arrived at the emergency room at Vanderbilt and I went to check-in while Alex parked the car. Having just gone through this process at Christmas, I knew exactly what to expect, or at least that's what I thought. Alex met me in the emergency room and we made our way up to the seventh floor where the holding room was for potential liver transplant patients.
Upon our arrival on the seventh floor, things begin to feel different. The first time I went through this process it seem to move at a snail's pace. This time, it felt like everything was moving really fast. In fact, things are moving so quickly that the nurse couldn't keep up with everything else that was going on. Labs, x-rays, patient information; it felt like it was all happening at the same time.
When the nurse began explaining to me how to wash my body with a special soap, I knew something was different. I had not been asked to do this after receiving my first call on Christmas. Shortly thereafter, my surgeon pokes his head around the curtain and says,"I guess you know by now that this is your liver.” He also noted that he had hoped this liver would be mine, because it was perfect. Then, another surgeon came into the room. She had just recovered the liver from my donor. She went on to tell me that the liver was beautiful; it was perfect, shiny and healthy. This was around 11:30 pm on 1/7/2015.
There are no words to adequately express the emotions that I felt in that very moment. I was happy to be given a second chance at life. I was terrified of the surgery to come. I was heartbroken that someone had to die in order for me to live.
Luckily, my surgeon's desire to have me on the operating table as quickly as possible left little time for me to even think or feel. In fact, we were so pressed for time that Alex had to help answer questions for the nurse while I showered. And just to provide a little perspective on what I mean by "shower,” you have to wash each individual body part twice, never with the same washcloth. For example, you wash your left arm once with a washcloth and then you drop it on the ground, not to touch it again. Then you get another washcloth and wash the left arm again, and then you drop that one on the ground as well. And then you repeat this procedure for the right arm, as well as all of your other body parts. By the time I was done, there was a pile of washcloths at least two feet high.
No sooner than I returned to my bed in the holding room, a gentleman shows up with a bed to roll me down to pre-op. Before we could go, I needed to change into a new hospital gown that had what looked like a vacuum attachment on it. Lol. Once changed, we were off.
Upon arrival in preop, I found myself surrounded by a plethora of amazing hospital staff. They definitely knew what to do to help keep me as calm as possible. I also found out what that crazy vacuum attachment thingy on my gown was for. My nurse asked if I would be interested in an instant boob job, while she attached a hose to my gown. Before I could even respond, she flipped a switch and my chest inflated as if I had just been granted a set of double D's from the booby fairy. Nice warm air filled my gown to keep me toasty warm. Apparently, warm blankets are a no-no now.
At this point, we were still waiting on my parents to arrive. I was very worried that they wouldn't make it in time to see me before the surgery. Fortunately, we found out they would have to crossmatch my blood, so that would buy us a little more time. Another member of the staff offered to go wait at the elevators for my parents, so they could direct them to me as quickly as possible. When asked for a description to help them identify my parents, I told the gentleman to look for a tall man wearing camo.
Shortly thereafter, my parents were escorted to my bedside. The gentleman who greeted them at the elevator was impressed by the spot-on description of my dad. I was so glad they were able to make it in time to spend a few moments with me before I was wheeled off to surgery.
It wasn't long before my anesthesiologist came by to talk to me. This gentleman was amazing. His bedside manner and personality were both so calming and reassuring. He was aware that I would need heart valve surgery in the future, and he took the time to share with me that he had had that procedure as well. He exhibited such empathy. Little did I know, he was about to impact my life in a way I could have never imagined.
The blood crossmatch was complete, so it was time to start saying goodbye to my parents. Love and hugs were exchanged, along with a quick picture. I think this was somewhere around 1:00 to 2:00 am on 1/8/2015.
Alex walked beside the bed, holding my hand up until the point that we reached the doors of the operating room. He told me he loved me and then kissed me before I was rolled away. At this point, I was starting to panic and fall apart a bit.
I've been in operating rooms before, but this one was definitely the scariest one yet. So many people, scary medical devices and tools, so much chaos; I felt as if I was about to have a full blown panic attack.
My anesthesiologist had told me that they would have to do a special maneuver where they put pressure on my throat to intubate me. This was because I had had something to eat recently and it was to prevent me from aspirating any of the food. When he saw me so scared and emotional, he instructed one of the other anesthesiologists to perform the maneuver so he could come over and hold my hand and comfort me until I drifted off to sleep. Needless to say, I sent this doctor a long and emotional thank you letter.
I was able to quickly say a thank you to all in the room for what they were about to do, and then I was out.
The next thing I remember was the painful transfer to my hospital room bed, and the even more uncomfortable chest X-ray. Once that was over, and I got settled in, the reality of how much had already changed began to sink-in. The color of my skin and nails had already begun to change. The gift of new life was running through my veins. I will be forever grateful to my donor and their family. I hope to one day be able to meet them, and learn about the hero who saved my life.
