Aside from weekly and then monthly blood draws, the first few months after my transplant were unremarkable. With the help of Prograf, Cellcept, Prednisone & MANY other meds, my body was “jelling” with Grace. This wasn’t the case for many of the transplantees I follow on Instagram who suffered rejection episodes and other illnesses. Apparently my body only hated its own liver and settled down once she was gone. #drama
After 90 glorious days of paid disability, I received the “ok” to return to work by the Transplant Team. They would have allowed me 6 full months to recover, but I was afraid of losing my income & benefits. I can’t tell you how much I DREADED returning to work! I had just spent 4 years in a toxic and hostile workspace, reporting directly to manager who was both cruel and a bully. Did I mention she despised me? Oh happy day! But fear not, gentle readers – all’s well that ends well.
There is a scripture I love (Genesis 50:20) in which Joseph, who was mistreated by his brothers comes full circle and is triumphant. The terrible way they treated him actually worked out to his advantage. Such is the case with my benefits. My silver lining was a $467,000 surgery for $100. Yes, my out of pocket co-pay for an ER visit was only $100. The rest of the surgery was covered by my insurance. There aren’t enough words of praise to thank God for His provision and Mighty Deliverance in my health and work situation in 2018. When I say He moved mountains in my life, I am sincere. #1Samuel17:37
But I digress. On day 91, I made my triumphal entry back at work only to have emergency abdominal surgery less than 24 hours later. The day started with a wonderful welcome back party, balloons, flowers, green transplant awareness pins and well wishes. However, as the day wore on, I started experiencing pain all throughout my belly. The most alarming part is the pain was concentrated under my ribcage very near my new liver. It was like my worst nightmare coming to pass. I wondered if my body had finally decided to reject it’s newest occupant.
By the evening, my pain level was through the roof, so off we went to the hospital. When we arrived at the ER, it was so bad I was sweating, nauseous and literally writhing in pain on the triage treatment chair. The ER was packed so I waited at the nurses station for a while; mercifully I was given a shot of Fentanyl for the pain once I began squatting/kneeling on the floor, hanging on to the edge of the chair.
Can we talk about Fentanyl for a minute? This drug that is powerful enough to kill people instantly on the streets (who take it illegally) worked for approximately 20 seconds. In other words, it did NOTHING for my pain. I’ve drunk glasses of lemonade that were more soothing than this medication. Hours later, a CT scan was done and my original transplant surgeon was called to review the results. Dr. Pollinger explained that a hole had opened up in my Omentum and my small intestine pushed through it and strangulated. I was told this was a life threatening situation and I’d be having surgery immediately.
It was hard to process having another abdominal surgery 91 days after a transplant. My body was healing nicely and I was starting to feel better. The doctor explained he would be opening the original suture line and most likely wouldn’t have to reopen the entire healing site. I was not thrilled with the prospect of healing that scar again, but was in so much pain I would have said yes to anything. There was a bonus to this though, at least 60 more days of healing on the cellular level, which exponentially increases your caloric need. I’d revert back to 4,000 calories a day within a week. Whooo Hooo!
The surgery went well and Dr. Pollinger was able to access and repair everything only opening the horizontal suture line. When I woke up I realized I wasn’t on a ventilator and didn’t have staples across my belly. I can’t tell you how happy that made me (although you can’t tell from the photos). It was more than a little worrisome to look down at my stomach and realize the huge gash running from one side of my stomach to the other was sealed with superglue and steri-strips. Thankfully it was a LITTLE easier to recover knowing what to expect. But the real silver lining was 30 more days off from a job I really did not like.
From this point on, my recovery has been smooth sailing. My blood-work is great, I’ve had no rejection episodes or recurrence of my original disease. As each year passes, I feel healthier and more vibrant. It’s been a wonderful and curious thing to have more stamina and feel so “alive” as I chronologically age. It took almost two years to get used to having more energy and the ability to accomplish more daily. Nowadays if my house looks like a dump, it’s because I’m lazy, not dying. LOL
The disease has taken it’s toll on me, but most of that is internal and not visible to others. I’m not nearly as strong as I used to be, but that might just be my age and lack of physical exercise. I look older than my peers, but I’ve also walked to the end of my life and peeked over the ledge, so I’ll cut myself some slack on that one. Whenever I feel “old” I remind myself that a lot of people waiting for a liver back in 2018 didn’t make it. The lady who gave this precious gift of life to me didn’t make it either. It’s my hope that every day, I conduct myself in such a way that honors my God and the tremendous sacrifice another family made for me.
So I leave you with this: honor your body, take exceptionally good care of yourself. Your body is your literal “home” on earth and you are the sole steward of it. Drink plenty of water, eat a balanced diet, get enough sleep, protect your skin, don’t pollute your body with drugs and alcohol. Enjoy and appreciate all the beauty around you, laugh as much as you can. Smile and love your fellow man, be merciful and forgiving. Lastly, sign up to be an organ donor and live on as the hero of someone else’s story when yours is over.
As always, thanks for walking this journey with me.
All Hail the Queen!