Dad, Mom and Kevin

My folks are in town!  Some noteworthy updates: my mom 'accidently' shaved my dad's head without a guard and my father is now bald, my mom did bring banana bread (but Kevin if you are reading this I ate the whole loaf.  Judith if you reading this, Kevin ate the whole loaf.)

Last night we were washing dishes at their friends house where they reside when they visit, Connie and Jerry's.  I told my mom that I dont know what to say when people say certain things to me about the transplant.  Friends of Andrea and Mikie are very generous with their support and kind words, but I dont know how to respond.  My mom suggested I just say thank you.   And I do.  People have called me brave, and I appreciate their vote of confidence.  But I think about the transplant this way:  I was tested in January, after my mom had said I was an A, because I love those three.  And even if my blood type wasnt right, I was damn well going to get tested anyway.  Maybe I was in the 20% of A types that did not have the offending enzyme.  But I passed, I'm an O, I dont even know if I'm a positive or negative.  And then I passed the cell destruction test where they put my cranky New York Italian cells and poor old Mikie's cells in a tube together to see if they fight.  I thought for sure my cells would be little pissers just to spite me.  But they werent; they were friendly and sweet.  Those must have been my Buddhist cells.

Speaking of which I have to run to a Buddhist meeting and must finish this entry later.  I would like to end on this note.  I'm nervous, afraid, tentative...all these things.  But I feel like this surgery is alot like having a baby.  You're nine months pregnant and you know if it is going to hurt like hell to give birth (lots of needles involved, not a fav of mine) and it must be terrifying.  Sure people do it everyday, but YOU dont do it everyday so it is natural to want to try to ride out a 12 month pregnancy.  Same with the kidney.  I have two fabulous kidneys, and Mikie's kidneys are not doing so hot.  He needs it, so mine comes out.  It makes sense.  That was how I was raised.  If anyone wants to thank me, perhaps they should first hug the folks in the photo.  They did a great job.

posted by Amy