but behind the lilac facade, there's more door slamming, heart slamming than a latin daytime soap opera. just call ours "caliente tropics!", after our favorite, refurbished motel in palm springs; frequented by another jam-packed, loosey-goosey boweled drug addict, one 50's rock star who had a penchant for singin' 'bout hound dogs...
[hot tropics!]
hot, thick rain.
often we are drenched in unexpected downpours. when a passing thought can send me to the edge, cliff; gawking, hungering over our hill at the blurry, snotty, early morning lights, wondering how many people are using tonight. waking the neighbors' roosters, waking the dead. sending him onto the couch and myself fetal, as the plates below us crack and seismic shift into a new order.
drenched by dawn, we rise and shed. hug and release. usually.
strap on your boots. caffeine chug. get on your knees.
[do it. " i feel like a fucking idiot." just do it. ]
there are no pills to pick up today. no 5 o' clock somewhere. no-one to yell at in this state of gratitude.
nope. you're normal.
so, cedars was fun.
it's always empowering when i can halt the head of transplantation's rambling train of statistics in her tracks. and by rambling, i mean freaking runaway train.
[no, daddy. even you couldn't trainspot this one.]
cut to: ME.
"i understand your generalized studies completely. but i am an individual. and it's only been in the last 2 and a half weeks since we reduced cell cept (now myfortic) that i haven't felt completely toxic. i know i rejected, but i also cannot. stress. enough. how much i abused drugs and alcohol."
pause. fantastic silence. pursing of the lips synced with conceding tilt of the head.
"that's true."
[she shoots, she scores!]
but in the remains of the data, they are less likely to reduce cell cept any further than switch me over to an older drug called imuran. a drug that my canadian doctor couldn't get me off fast enough because of the increased risk of lymphoma. a drug that they are reluctant to prescribe in the first year because of greater risk of rejection. a drug that i was discontinued from in '94 when this fantastic new immunosuppressive came on the market. cell cept.
[oh, the irony.]
so, like i said. cedars was fun.
waiting on my creatinine, my head yammered away louder and lustier than the month i was on hold for the role of "a young diane sawyer" in "frost/nixon".
"envision 0.7.". "better than last month's 0.9.". "typical addict.". "more. more. more.". "wait!". "was that the phone?". "drink some more water.". "what did she say about imuran again?". "0.9 would be fine, though.". "just let it go.". "yes. just let go and let god.". "oh, shut up!" "shit. where's my cell?". "but, 0.7 would be better...". "OMG! PICK UP THE PHONE!!!".
with one hard, sharp flip my expectations were shut down faster than the '08 economy.
and with it's javelin shape, the 1.0 result slickly pricked my fantasmic for the big orgasmic, zero point-something. its searing backdraft and piercing landing scoring my bluesy wail; rivaling the most heroin-drenched ballad ever to ooze from holiday's lips.
["you're a little pitchy..."]
wah!!! but, i want to be the most successful second-transplanted woman in history!!!
[normal creatinine values for women 0.5 to 1.1.]
nope. you're normal.
but, as i sat next to my friend, t., at our regular monday night aa meeting, listening to an ex-catholic, ex-nun-in-training, irish lesbian with 19 years of sobriety talk about prayer, meditation and conscious contact with god, it occurred to me.
there is nothing normal about my life. and i love it.
1.0.
normal creatinine values (f): 0.5 to 1.1
normal creatinine values (f) with one kidney: 1.8
damn, mcintyre. you give good kidney.
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