One Day at a Time

Next Steps on the Liver Transplant Journey

It is four days out from liver transplant surgery and Scott is weak but improving daily. As of tomorrow, I will move from the hospitality house which has become a second home, and stay at the hospital now that he is in a room that accommodates having a family member stay with the transplant patient. On Monday, instructional meetings for his care upon leaving the hospital will begin. He could be discharged as early as the end of next week.

We will be staying with relatives close to the hospital for approximately three months as he needs to be checked bi-weekly and the requirement is that he be within half an hour of the hospital in case of a crisis. As the primary caregiver, I am to be with him 24/7 for those three months. I am hopeful Scott's convalescing will give me space to write--I miss writing.

This journey is far from over and not for the faint of heart. I have many who ask how I "really" am. I am grateful for my years of healing that enables me to know when I am not OK and what to do about it. The easiest day was the day of surgery—that probably says a lot. I took a walk and the picture above was taken viewing Lake Washington from the Surgery Pavilion. I was completely at peace that day. All the other days are much harder. I am thankful for the support of another wife of a liver transplant patient who reminds me that though this is hard, it is doable—one day at a time.

Thank you for all of your support, especially to those who are able to access a paid subscription. I will be back to writing and know I left many hanging who were following along with Green Door Antique Store. I am confident there will be long days ahead of me when Scott is more self-sufficient and I can get back to writing. It is difficult to have the story rumbling around in my head with no time to type!

Yesterday on the shuttle bus, four women boarded with me-- two friends caring for someone in the hospital, one who was going for tests, and another who was caring for a friend in the hospital. It was the first shuttle ride for the woman going for tests and she arrived on the shuttle at a second stop and was a bit flustered. The rest of us gathered around her distress like mother hens. We gave her the information she needed and then began to share our stories. I was taken by the moment and shared the play I described in this post. It felt so much the same. We were all actors who arrived on the shuttle bus with roles to play in a one-act play. When we reached our destination we all got off the bus and went our way—helping the new rider to navigate her way to her destination.

That is how life should be. Everyone has a story. There is no need to compare suffering as if it were a contest—we often diminish our own suffering that way. We simply get on the bus and encourage whoever is there. We don’t ask if we agree politically or religiously. Our goal is to make one another’s struggles a bit lighter.

I will miss my rides on the shuttle. The day I got on the bus and told my bus driver friend that the transplant was successful, he smiled and then reached out and held my hand in his. I will miss this kind man’s smile at the end of my very long days.

Yesterday, I told my bus driver friend that I was a kindergarten teacher in my younger days and that navigating a bus across a busy university campus seemed much harder. He laughed and said, ‘They both require patience.” So true! I also mentioned how overwhelming Scott’s care seemed. He said, “But you have already accomplished so much, you can do this too.” I responded, “Yes, I have accomplished a lot. I am not sure if that makes me qualified or tired.”

We laughed as my 20-minute ride came to an end. Yes, I will miss my shuttle rides.

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(Friends of ours have set up a fundraiser to support us. I hesitate to publish this but some have asked if there was a way to help. It can be accessed here.)