I plan a trip. Now I’ve got to find a convincing argument for my husband who hates to let me venture out alone. I tell him I’m all better now. Got my wits about me. I’m a caged butterfly here. Could drive if he let me. Whoops left the water on in the bath and it almost overflowed. Now the phone’s outside in the rain. Oh, was I cooking again? Hmph. Well, no biggie, just a case of bad luck. I’m sure my journey will be uneventful. Silently I write my destination on my hand and tell myself I will pick a seat on the ferry and stay there. How much trouble can I get into that way? I feel like Curious George telling myself not to be so curious.
I made it! The unfamiliar feeling of autonomy settles in as I sit in my corner of the ship. No one knows me here. No one will ask me how I’m feeling. No one cares. Around me sits a couple of teenagers with gum and one of their dad’s who over imbibed at a family wedding. The 3 of them talk like buddies. They laugh and chide him for getting so carried away. He tells them to go for a walk but not to do anything stupid. They wander off. There is a genuine appreciation of each other. I imagine my life with my toddler as a teen. I can see us lounging and laughing too. How the dynamic changes as life goes on!
The ferry docks and Miss M is waiting there to pick me up. Her long blonde hair and her warm arms wrap themselves around me. We bustle to her car and begin the 72 hours of non-stop chatting. Every story is ½ finished because the next one can’t wait. We are hungry for the confidence of a close friend, eager to close the gap of time between us and sort through our next herculean effort... live liver transplant surgery! We got down to the nitty gritty, the dollars and cents, tits on the table (as my mom would say). We are approaching this with resolve, strength and a keen eye on the big picture. Life after transplant!!! There is much life left to be shared. It took me until today to cry and then I couldn’t stop.
After the two days of assessment at the transplant centre Miss M and I wrote back and forth to each other. There were some deeply personal, very real questions we had to answer before moving forward. I needed to feel okay with receiving her gift of life and she needed to feel okay with giving it, even if her efforts fail in one way or another. I have asked her to let me share a portion of one of her emails because it shows why she is doing this. I was understandably moved and humbled by her message.
So, firstly, don't feel terrible, as I certainly don't think it's too much. What I have gone through to date is so insignificant in comparison to what you have had to endure. It is not too much.
As for the pain, scar, etc...really, I would rather have a scar and a best friend than perfect skin and no friend. Yes, it is going to hurt; yes, it will leave a scar; yes, recovery is going to suck. Is all that more important than more time having you as my best friend? NO. Is that all more important than you having a chance to raise your beautiful son? NO.
So, please know that if I think the sacrifice is too great, if I can't bear the scar, the pain, the recovery, I will put a halt to the whole thing; but, while I am motivated by my love for you and your baby and my selfish need to keep my best ever friend alive, I doubt that will happen!
So, it is not costing me too much. It's a few weeks of my life, for years of yours. It's a scar on my body to save yours. Please don't worry about what I am doing, worry about staying as healthy as you can until you get your new liver (or piece of mine) and then focus on recovery. I love you and want you to be around for years to come, healthy and happy.
So, please, focus on what is important for now and we will hope that a cadaver liver comes through before any of this even comes to fruition, but if it does, we will have to pick out our matching jammies and enjoy a new lease on life!
Love you!
M
Miss M She tells me she is uncomfortable with the title she keeps hearing, “hero”. She’s not saving my life in an effort to be heroic. I’m sorry Miss M, you are a hero. But, I promise never to call you one again because your friendship means more to me then your sacrifice. I know we both want it that way.
On other fronts, my mama’s off to Fiji for a month and my step-dad returns their next week. There’s a tinge of fear as they sail off to seas unknown but I have an inkling that I’m going to be okay for awhile longer here. My mom has been there for me through all my health ups and downs over the last 13 years. She has put mine before her own needs time and time again. It is a darkness in my heart and a guilty spot in my soul. I need her to be free as I want to be. I know she’ll be back. May your journey be safe, your retreat restorative and the island air healing. I love you dear mama. I will miss your confidence, your closeness and your protection but I am relieved and happy your are finally making this journey. We will be fine here! Don’t worry about us- please!
Michelle
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