yesterday, maggie decided to consume a package of fire starters. bugger.
although panicked, we had been down this road before. ms. daisy had once inhaled an entire package of laxatives before the rite aid bag even touched the floor.
[you ain't nothing but a hound dog...]
a couple of tablespoons of hydrogen peroxide later and my sweet basset was dry heaving with the committed gusto of a bulimic teen.
as, i crouched next to my convulsing hound, holding back those god-dang-it long ears, stroking her back; i felt love. and i missed it.
i miss feeling needed, valuable. i miss being a good friend. i miss being a good wife.
[although k. still got his valentine's treat...]
i'm emotionally broke. my every penny's spent on the energy required to swallow my pills, get dressed, eat and maybe write a little. swimming in affectional i.o.u.'s, and drowning in debts of disappointment; i want to refinance my soul...
it's confusing to recognize yourself, but no longer know who you are.
yesterday we went to cedars.
i have never been good in the morning. even one of my canuck besties, j, quoted my mother at our wedding; "henriette's really not human in the morning". classic. currently my definition of morning is closer to the blue-rinse crowd's dinner hour, but it's not so bad, really. so much can be accomplished with insomnia.
such are the perks of end stage renal failure.
so, i dozed, sprawled like seaweed, across the backseat. the annihilated los angeles streets a roller coaster ride of cresting bumps and cavernous potholes, tossing me back and forth across the jolting route.
but we laughed the the whole way there.
how none of k's jeans fit ("hi, i'm wearing clown pants"), how it takes me 18 minutes to climb a flight of stairs ("c'mon. c'mon. you can do it"), how dr. dauer comes up as dr."sauerkraut" on k's iphone, about the poster on melrose for "piers morgan tonight". lights...camera...piers! and our version: "lights...camera...douche! anything and everything.
[c'mon. what's the alternative?]
but, surfing the churning streets of l.a. hit me hard, and i could barely walk when we got to cedars. another perk of end stage renal failure, is that you don't give a flying fuck what people think anymore.
[goes along with turning 40]
but, soon enough, dr. dauer arrived and we weighed the legitimacy of nausea with renal failure, but not the cramping and diarrhea. so despite the massive cost, i am being switched back from celexa to sexy lexy (lexapro).
"but, hopefully, come april, you won't be on any of these".
could he have uttered sweeter words?
[oh, dr. dauer. my funny valentine...]
an image of myself wearing a weathered cowboy hat, chaps, packing heat, floated to mind. one by one, knocking off my 20 prescriptions bottles, clint eastwood style. and with a wink and a tip of my hat, i was drug free.
but for now, this is but flesh for fantasy.
i have been immunosuppressed since i was 13. there are no pig's kidneys being transplanted. no-one is drug free.
there is a very risky procedure being attempted in 2 u.s. hospitals (pittsburgh, massachusetts) where the immune system is completely suppressed before surgery. the donor's antibodies are introduced to the recipient's, and because there is no immune system recognized, they create a hybrid immune system, or chimera. in theory, this would mean, one day, you would no longer need medication.
but, today there is still good news. my antibodies are low. very low. which means i don't need the poisonous "anti-antibody treatment", rituximab, most multiple transplant recipients require. kevin is a 3 out of 6 antigen match, as strong a match as a sibling.
[nope. not touching the subject of my doctor brother; except to say, "first do no harm"...]
my hemoglobin was low. very low. 8.2 (low end normal 10.5). when i hit 7 during an inpatient stay, i needed a 6 hour blood transfusion. i am beyond anemic.
[i am ichabod-ette crane.]
so i got the shot. 40,000 units of epogin to be clear. 4 times the usual amount. hmmm...how to explain? getting an epogin shot is like a syringe full of ammonia shot through your veins. it's cold. it cramps. it's BURNS, and it goes on and on and on...
one, from kevin's transplant evaluation team. hopefully, they've all snipped their cuticles (thanks, c!), cushioned their corns, or done whatever the hell was keeping them from showing up last week, and a surgery date can be cemented.
and two, dr. d will be-a-calling with my latest c.b.c (complete blood count), creatinine and clinical abacus of results.
[cut to: frantic gnawing of nails. oh wait, i have no nails.]
never one to shy away from the spotlight; tomorrow i'd prefer to flatline. no off the charts results, please. skyrocketing figures only bring me closer to "d-day"(dialysis). and that's the only day i won't embrace.
like the cure song insists,"thursday, i don't care about you"...
oh, but i do, thursday. i do.