Thursday February 23, 2012

Three months ago, today, I received a call at 1:13 in the morning that I could never in my wildest dreams imagine would come: the call to start my new life.


Getting the Call
Correction, at 1:13 am I heard the sound of my voicemail alert -- instantly I knew something was off-kilter. Having climbed in bed two hours previous, it was quite unbelievable that this barely audible 'beep' woke me up from a dead sleep (and those who know me well, know that I can sleep through anything -- including various pumps alerting in the night and even fire alarms). The fact that my phone had no service, and usually would not alert me of a voicemail until I returned to a service area, was even more miraculous. So at 1:13 in the morning, my heavy eyelids opened, I momentarily considered waiting until the morning to check my messages, but my gut highly objected to this procrastination. For the next 10 minutes I attempted to check my voicemail several times (service kept cutting out) then after hearing the voice on the other end say "This is Toronto General, we're trying to reach Lindsay Bishop, please page this number when you get this message," I took another few minutes to scramble down the rushed number, confuse myself thoroughly while calling back, then finally connected to the Charge Nurse who told me what I expected, "we have lungs for you and you are first choice." I responded with "Are you kidding?" and of course she wasn't, TGH doesn't prank call you, but I felt compelled to verify that for some reason. After writing her instructions down (where to go, nothing to eat or drink, bring list of medications, get there within a reasonable amount of time, etc.) and hanging up the phone, I took a moment to think of NOT physically vomiting, then proceeding to mentally vomit a concoction of dead fear, pure excitement, anticipation, relief, and reserved optimism. After all that, I tapped on the door to my Dad's room (he'd already heard me on the phone and knew what I was about to say), he then phoned my Mom who was in Brampton, I phoned my cystic sister Hattie, texted a few people, updated FB, and packed in about 10 minutes -- hacking the entire time.



The Signs
Looking back, there were signs leading up to 'the call'. For one, a few days prior, a lady saw me in the elevator with my oxygen on, gave me the one-over, and asked if I was on the transplant list. After confirming her suspicion, she revealed that she had received a double lung transplant at 7 months -- at this point I had been on the list for just over 7 months -- and she said "well, maybe this is a sign". I inwardly scoffed at the suggestion, since I fully expected I'd be waiting until February, I was always sickest in February so it seemed fitting.
The second sign came on the following weekend, I had been procrastinating about signing my power of attorney papers (silly, I know... and definitely not suggested). I held onto them all summer and just put it on the back burner because I felt like once I signed them the process was more final. So that weekend, while my grandparents were down for a visit, I had them witness my papers. Finally, after 7 months of unsigned papers, there they were hanging on our makeshift pinboard.
The last sign my mom calls her "mother's intuition". On the Tuesday night she was leaving to our home in Brampton, but for some reason felt very upset and resistant. I urged her to go, since I was scheduled to speak at U of T the next day to medical students about life on the transplant list and I didn't really need her to stick around. Also, I reasoned, it made no sense to go home for her hair appointment at rush hour the next morning. So off she went, and wouldn't you know we had our very first freezing rain storm of the year and wouldn't you know I got my call that night.

Arriving at TGH
Getting there seemed to take FOREVER. I remember panicking that I'd arrive too late, even though I'm just up the street -- we were waiting for my mom to arrive (I wanted to go ahead... but my dad didn't think that was a great idea). In the end, we got there around 2:30 in the morning and from there on it was hurry up and wait -- x-rays, bloodwork, vitals (my blood pressure took a climb, but no surprise there). My sister and her boyfriend arrived from Parry Sound around 3 am, Starbucks in hand, and slowly my room filled up: Dad, Mom, Aunt, Boyfriend, Sister, Sister's Boyfriend. My surgery was scheduled for 10 am, so by 7 am, when I hadn't heard much -- I was pretty convinced it was a false alarm or "dry run". Then suddenly things went from snail's pace to warp speed, one moment the surgical fellow told me it would be "a few hours" and 10 minutes later I was being gowned, socked (special surgical socks), saying goodbyes and transported to the OR. Then something unexpected happened: I thought I'd be hella nervous, or upset or awkward when it came time to roll into those doors of uncertainty but all I felt was absolute calm -- I felt ready and this felt right -- like a missing puzzle piece I was finally being united with. It's one of those rare, unwavering moments of clarity in your life when you know you're in the right place at the right time.

Waiting in ER for X-rays

I'm thankful I had this frame of mind going into those doors because I laid on the OR table, alert and waiting for 2 full hours before anything happened. Sure they inserted my IV and arterial line but after that I started at a screen, clock and not much else. I talked to all my nurses and the anesthetic fellow, then started getting BORED (I know... really?), to the point where the nurses took pity on me and actually tried to put on music. But there was no need for a soundtrack, by the time they had figured it out, Dr. P came in (my surgeon) looked at me from afar (I think I half-waved), asked that the room be warmed up to 26 degrees, then clapped his hands together (which I found amusing) and said "Ok, let's go". I felt like there should be a rally for such an introduction. The nurse closest to me leaned over and gave me a hug and after that I don't really remember when I was knocked out... they had been putting the oxygen mask on me for the full two hours so I wasn't really tipped of by it at that point. All I know is I had a good solid 12+ hours of sleep, save for the hour I woke up slightly about 2 hours after my surgery.

Being rolled down to the OR

Supposedly these dear lungs traveled a long distance to be with me, they came via airplane and then ambulance -- hence the long wait -- and I'm very, very flattered that they came such a long way for little ol' me.

Waking Up

I heard and felt the machine breathing with these new lungs. I felt relieved and happy -- it's always a big relief to know you survived a major surgery. The lungs and me felt disconnected, but not in a bad way, just like we didn't know each other yet. Before transplant I had feared that my overactive imagination would make my adaption to transplant difficult. I was always freaked out by the sci-fi aspect of it and wondered how these lungs would ever feel like they belonged to me. But it wasn't like that at all, yes I was acutely aware that these lungs were different -- for a long time I had to relearn how to breath, and I felt like the lungs kind of marched to their own beat -- but over time we grew together. Now, at month 3, we are happily jogging together, going for 6 km snowshoe hikes up escarpments together, and learning to live a new life without all the restrictions and coughing fits. An unfamiliar life, but a better one too.

So here's to the improved, less blogged about but very lived-in, unfamiliar life!

Happy 3 months Lungs! Thank you donor, wherever you are, whatever you're doing, thanks for leaving me a piece of life behind.