lucky 13

i am not superstitious.

i think it's a bunch of hooey. black cats crossing your path, walking under ladders, shattered mirrors and friday the 13th...

you manifest your beliefs. period.

yet today was a doozy. still, i refuse to concede that it had anything to do with the date that has spawned a gazillion horror flicks...

["friday the 13th"]

rolling out of bed before 10 am for me, is akin to toothpicks jammed under my fungi-infected nails... i am genetically, through and through, a nocturnal nightingale...

eyes rubbed raw and ass dragged over to my laptop, i scanned, bleary-eyed, my inbox. there it was. a message from my danish cousin, christina. my informative angel; slapping me with cold hard facts like the frigid facial i needed for full awakening...

i wrote about my mother's mother, bedstemor, in a blog entry entitled "around the world in 73 days with bedstemor" way back on september 12th. bedstemor is now permanently hospitalized, riddled with cancer, in agony, and all options have exceeded their expiration date.

christina wanted to know if i could call during the three hours she would be visiting; but i had a post-transplant clinic at cedars and a renal ultrasound scheduled afterwards.

[deep sigh...]

excessive pain has overwhelmed my incision since last sunday. as we piloted the jolting nooks and crannies of the los angeles roadways, my pain intensified concurrently with my plummeting mood; and the deepening silence between these certified night owls made for a hushed and moody, spousal ride...

[not to mention, we had just hit up cedars on wednesday for kmac's follow up tests...]

so jaded by those shiny structures...more tired than lindsay lohan's omnipresent mugshots...

but, upon arrival, my team instantly empathized with my obvious discomfort. instantaneously, an ice pack here. thoughtful, probing questions there. and swiftly, not one, but two, hypodermic attempts to withdraw fluid from the literally, untouchable portion of my renal graft.

"don't worry. we will take care of you"...

"hey, i'm tougher than i look..., but my pain is at a 6"...

[sorry. but how funny can one be under duress?...]

and as the needles thrust in and out of my graft, dr. martinez concurred. "that's for sure. this is no 6. this is a full on 10"...

[validated viking!...]

potential causes: infection, fluid collection and the dreaded proclamation, "you may have to be admitted"...

[no, no, no, no, no....]

after the poking and prodding and needles that i disregarded like trash on the freeway, the doctors swaddled me like a babe in arms and insisted i stay and rest until my renal ultrasound @ 1:30 pm.

and somehow, throughout it all, uberhubby knew how to stand back. permitting me the space i needed to process all this news. quivering, aching organs. an oscillating stream of consciousness...(is there any other kind?). bedstemor...kidney...bedstemor...kidney....

he knew i would cry from the pain.

he knew i would cry because of bedstemor.

and he knew i would cry at the prospect of being admitted.

[this reluctant technophobe, so resistant to admit the following; ah, sometimes smart phones are unintended saviors...]

so, as kmac jabbed and stabbed away at his high-tech, calculable chum, i curled fetal, reminiscing about my powerfully positive, flirtatious, giggly, precious grandmother who was suffering thousands of miles away in a danish hospital...

bedstemor. my single greatest female role model. ever.

despite feeling like a slab of frozen meat in a deep freezer, (what is it with hospital thermostats, anyway?) i was able to briefly drift off, as kmac grabbed a quick snack at the ray charles cafeteria; as opposed to the more upscale clark gable "plaza cafe"...

[sometimes l.a. just makes me laugh...]

[kinda like this...]

bring on the mark taper imaging center. 13:30 pm.

fortunately, this treasured technician was the man who had championed kevin's follow up two days prior; and he probed my body with feather-like gentleness...

and there she lay...in all her robustness...my baby...

and as we drove home, i couldn't help but marvel at the medical miracle i am. i am alive because of someone else's organ. end of story. and that organ used to be inside my husband's body. and we were a match. despite love and loathing, respect and rebuttal, admiration and aggravation....we have love. and my devotion to him runs "river deep, mountain high"...

arriving home, the gun-metal gray, "hamlet-ien" cloud that had hovered over cedars, swiftly evaporated once we arrived home. and then we remembered it was our one year anniversary with one ms. maggie may mcintyre...profound pal, constant companion and heartfelt hound...

no, i am not a mother of the genetic persuasion, but this "you ain't nothin' but a hound dog" has filled my insular, bedridden days and nights with friendship, devotion and unconditional love.

and that was worth celebrating...

numbers, immaterial...13 is just a number. like my creatinine that holds fort at 1.0 (normal range 0.5-1.4) and 12 which is the age of my canine comrade. and 90 which is the age of my magnificent bedstemor; who today wrote me a facebook note (via christina) articulating how all her "girls" were there, except for me. and how much she missed me. and how much she loved me...

so i sobbed. and i sobbed. and i sobbed.

it's not often we are gifted with someone we hold in such high esteem and total admiration. dare i suggest, upon a pedestal?

but, when you do, disregard semantics and hold tight to the vibrations of your heart...