At the end of October, and just days after a good friend of mine had a full on seizure in my living room, I was back in the hospital for another Cholangiogram. My labs over the past few weeks had shown in increase in my key liver enzymes, which meant possible blockages. They had already done another liver biopsy, ruled out rejection and given me a dose of steroids for good measure. The Cholangiogram went fine, though it did show blockages, which the doctors relieved through ballooning the bile ducts as usual. After each cholangiogram, it is standard to be monitored for an additional two hours. For me, this was usually an uneventful two hours. However, this time, my temperature spiked, tremors came over me, and I began to vomit. I think I remember asking, "what the hell did they do to me?"
I was admitted to the hospital, submitted blood work, and waited for the doctor's conclusion. The next day, a Tuesday, Dr. Tzakis informed me that he was going to surgically fix my bile ducts, since simply ballooning them was not working. This surgery would take place the next day. I was nervous, a little upset about having my nicely healed incision cut open a second time, but all around optimistic that this surgery, which was minor and the doctors could do in their sleep, would put an end to waking up in the middle of the night with fevers, sweats and stomach pains. My state of mind was much improved over my last hospital stay.
It is interesting to hear Trine's viewpoint regarding this last surgery. She was terrified that this surgery would be like my original Kasai procedure when I was a baby in that it would be a temporary fix and a bridge to a second liver transplant. She asked the doctor point blank what my chances were, post op, and he was confident that it would work out just fine.
The surgery went well, and they removed a lot of scar tissue from around my bile ducts, which is said to be the cause of the strictures. Even my aforementioned hepatic artery (see Part 3) had good flow, so the scar tissue may have been responsible for that was well. I was incredibly sore and the pain associated with recovery seemed more intense and vivid than with my transplant. They gave me morphine, which caused me to vomit and did not do much for the pain. So, I was reacquainted with my good friend, dilaudid, but only for a few days until his well meaning, but annoying cousin percocet showed up. Soon, I was all but off pain meds.
Walking is one thing the docs always bugged me about after abdominal surgery. It was imperative that I get out of bed and walk around to heal, prevent sores, and it is good for mental health as well. They also ask a lot about farting. Seriously. They needed to make sure that my bowels were in check so every once in a while a doc would pop in and ask the status of my ass. I had not eaten for almost five days, so I did not exactly have a whole lot of fuel to burn. By the end of the week, I was walking laps around the Transplant floor and farting away. Life was good…until—actually, it's still pretty good.
Life has been nice since the surgery, with a few minor hiccups. My liver enzymes peaked a bit so the docs put me on a higher dose of anti-rejection medication and reinstated the steroid. The anti-rejection meds were causing major stomach irritation for a while, so I had to make some adjustments regarding the acid reducing medication I was on, but otherwise, it's all good.
I am seven months post transplant.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
Transplant Blog Part 3: 30 Days at Jackson
In July, I decided to attend my friend Derek's wedding. He was one of 5 friends who were married this year and his wedding was the only one that I was able to attend. I flew to Connecticut, even though I had just began experiencing stomach pains and did not know what to attribute them to. I fought threw the stomach aches and actually managed to have a great time at Derek's wedding.
That Sunday, I flew to Pittsburgh to join Trine, who was participating as an athlete in the Transplant Games. As soon as I arrived, things began to seriously go downhill. I began spiking high fevers at night and waking up with profuse sweating. During the day, my stomach was settled enough for me to enjoy the events, though I was beginning to take on a slight yellow tinge again. We were scheduled to leave on Wednesday evening, but I could not wait that long. My stomach was killing me, my temperature was soaring and I knew something was terribly wrong, though I was not sure exactly what. A couple we met at the Games was kind enough to change our flights so that Trine and I could fly home to Miami together, and from there we went straight to Jackson Memorial Hospital, despite my fever breaking on the trip home.
When I arrived, my health got worse. I was still getting fevers every night, despite the antibiotics. I had almost daily ultrasounds and through these we got the news that one of my hepatic arteries had collapsed and there was next to no flow through it. The doctor said there were a few possible ways things could play out: 1) the other arteries would pick up the slack, 2) surgery would needed to repair the down artery or (and this is what really took it's toll on my mental health during this stay) 3) I would have to be re- transplanted or possibly die. Oops.
The idea of being re-transplanted began to eat away at my mental stability. The thought of having to repeat all the necessary tests to be placed back on the transplant list was overwhelming, not to mention the waiting. I began to withdraw from friends and family. I would avoid taking phone calls because either nothing was changing or things had gotten worse, and I was tired of telling everyone that. I cut way back on eating and drinking and did not get out of bed and walk nearly enough. The few times I did, it was after heavy cajoling by Trine or my mother. The doctors suggested some psychiatric help, including medication, and I consulted with Trine and my family, but concluded that adding more medication to the mix was not a good idea and I could tough this out. Eventually, my mental health would improve, but that wouldn't be until weeks after my release.
The Infectious Diseases doctors began to brainstorm what could be causing my symptoms. They did a battery of tests and concluded that I may have a rare disease caused by tick bites, and they backed this theory up with my recent visit to Connecticut. I never for a second believed that they were on the right track. I had lived in Connecticut for 26 years and never once was bitten by a tick. The blood tests were not supporting their theories, either, though they did reveal bacteria in my blood. This theory was later dismissed.
The cause of my illness turned out to be very simple: Cholangitis, or strictures in the bile ducts, which limited the flow of bile and caused back up. It was the same issue that I had been having for over a year, on and off. Once the doctors began treating me for Cholangitis, then things improved quickly. I went to Radiology and they preformed a minor procedure called a Cholangiogram. They injected dye into my abdomen to visualize the path of flow and then ballooned the bile ducts so that the bile would be able to flow freely. I was sent home with a long catheter sticking out of my abdomen attached to a bag to catch the excess bile drainage. It was not pretty, but it was necessary, and effective. I also had a follow up appointment to get another Cholangiogram. I ended up having weekly Cholangiograms and the catheter for about 5 weeks.
I was in the hospital for a month…from July 16 through August 14. I watched Michael Phelps win 8 gold medals, Manny Ramirez leave the Red Sox for the LA Dodgers and the Dark Knight blow up at the box office. I was released on August 14 around 8:30pm and the first thing Trine and I did was grab some frozen yogurt and go see the 10:15 showing of The Dark Knight. Surely, this would be the end of the insanity and I could finally begin to enjoy my new liver and get back to good health. Close, but not quite.
That Sunday, I flew to Pittsburgh to join Trine, who was participating as an athlete in the Transplant Games. As soon as I arrived, things began to seriously go downhill. I began spiking high fevers at night and waking up with profuse sweating. During the day, my stomach was settled enough for me to enjoy the events, though I was beginning to take on a slight yellow tinge again. We were scheduled to leave on Wednesday evening, but I could not wait that long. My stomach was killing me, my temperature was soaring and I knew something was terribly wrong, though I was not sure exactly what. A couple we met at the Games was kind enough to change our flights so that Trine and I could fly home to Miami together, and from there we went straight to Jackson Memorial Hospital, despite my fever breaking on the trip home.
When I arrived, my health got worse. I was still getting fevers every night, despite the antibiotics. I had almost daily ultrasounds and through these we got the news that one of my hepatic arteries had collapsed and there was next to no flow through it. The doctor said there were a few possible ways things could play out: 1) the other arteries would pick up the slack, 2) surgery would needed to repair the down artery or (and this is what really took it's toll on my mental health during this stay) 3) I would have to be re- transplanted or possibly die. Oops.
The idea of being re-transplanted began to eat away at my mental stability. The thought of having to repeat all the necessary tests to be placed back on the transplant list was overwhelming, not to mention the waiting. I began to withdraw from friends and family. I would avoid taking phone calls because either nothing was changing or things had gotten worse, and I was tired of telling everyone that. I cut way back on eating and drinking and did not get out of bed and walk nearly enough. The few times I did, it was after heavy cajoling by Trine or my mother. The doctors suggested some psychiatric help, including medication, and I consulted with Trine and my family, but concluded that adding more medication to the mix was not a good idea and I could tough this out. Eventually, my mental health would improve, but that wouldn't be until weeks after my release.
The Infectious Diseases doctors began to brainstorm what could be causing my symptoms. They did a battery of tests and concluded that I may have a rare disease caused by tick bites, and they backed this theory up with my recent visit to Connecticut. I never for a second believed that they were on the right track. I had lived in Connecticut for 26 years and never once was bitten by a tick. The blood tests were not supporting their theories, either, though they did reveal bacteria in my blood. This theory was later dismissed.
The cause of my illness turned out to be very simple: Cholangitis, or strictures in the bile ducts, which limited the flow of bile and caused back up. It was the same issue that I had been having for over a year, on and off. Once the doctors began treating me for Cholangitis, then things improved quickly. I went to Radiology and they preformed a minor procedure called a Cholangiogram. They injected dye into my abdomen to visualize the path of flow and then ballooned the bile ducts so that the bile would be able to flow freely. I was sent home with a long catheter sticking out of my abdomen attached to a bag to catch the excess bile drainage. It was not pretty, but it was necessary, and effective. I also had a follow up appointment to get another Cholangiogram. I ended up having weekly Cholangiograms and the catheter for about 5 weeks.
I was in the hospital for a month…from July 16 through August 14. I watched Michael Phelps win 8 gold medals, Manny Ramirez leave the Red Sox for the LA Dodgers and the Dark Knight blow up at the box office. I was released on August 14 around 8:30pm and the first thing Trine and I did was grab some frozen yogurt and go see the 10:15 showing of The Dark Knight. Surely, this would be the end of the insanity and I could finally begin to enjoy my new liver and get back to good health. Close, but not quite.
Looking Back, Looking Forward: New Year's Eve 2009
Today is December 31, 2008. This is my bittersweet goodbye to a year that has changed my life forever. I spent a good portion of 2008 (just about 10 months) either sick, in the hospital, or at home recovering from surgery, my head swimming in a mix of pain medication and uncertainty. I got my liver transplant, my new chance at a healthy life, only to have severe rejection, ongoing bile duct issues, fevers, vomiting, and finally a second surgery which seems to have quieted the chaos. All told, I spent over two months in the hospital. Before I was transplanted, I was months away from dying from liver failure, much sicker than my seemingly healthy exterior belied.
In February, weeks after being released from my first hospital stay of 2008, and during a period of relative health, I proposed to girlfriend, Trine, on the beach in Miami. It was sunset proposal without any sun (oops…sun doesn't set over here) and stubborn candles that refused to stay lit, but amidst the warm breeze and palm tree dotted white sand, Trine said she would be my wife. We celebrated on the beach with music and a bottle of sparkling cider.
Now the hard part: planning a wedding. Then the harder part: paying for it. Our saving grace was a casting call for a new reality show that was looking for a couple tied to organ donation & transplantation that were deserving of their dream wedding. I was in the hospital when we first heard about this contest. Trine convinced me to suck it up, put off pain medication for a few hours, and make a couple videos talking about why WE should be that deserving couple. You would think that me just being in the hospital, sick and bordering on depression, would make us a natural pick, but ironically, the show wanted to be sure that my health would NOT be an issue and prevent us from getting married should we actually get picked. It was a long shot, and I'd be lying if I said that I was excited about making the videos in the condition I was in, but I knew that I would regret not giving it a try. So I tried to look as healthy as possible and we made a series of videos. Little known fact: Trine totaled her car trying to get our video to Fed Ex by 5 p.m. (not her fault).
So we made our videos, including an update a few weeks later once I was released from the hospital, just to assure the casting director that I was in tip-top shape should we be the lucky couple. Then….nothing. A few months went by with no word.
In October (just shortly after my second surgery), we got a call from the producers of Wedding Day, the new reality show from TNT. We were one of the top 3 couples in line to win a dream wedding! We spent hours filling out surveys and questionnaires, speaking on the phone, making our guest list, and contacting our friends and family about our 33% chance of getting picked to be married on national television. Sometimes, we were really positive about our chances, while other times the producer would use the word "if" and we would get discouraged and wonder if something this good could happen to us.
In mid-December, we got the news! We had won our dream wedding!!! Trine and I embraced, and shed a few tears of happiness. Then….well, I cannot really divulge much else due to confidentiality agreements. I would love to post pictures and give all the amazing details of the week leading up to our incredible wedding, I cannot do so until our show airs in summer 2009. Those who were attendance know what a great time the wedding was. Mr. and Mrs. Ryan and Trine Labbe cannot wait for all our episode to air so we can relive the experience. I would also like to thank all our friends and family who worked their asses off to make our wedding happen.
Liver Transplant
In May 2008, I received the gift of life from an unknown donor. Throughout the past seven months it has been a lot easier to focus on my health issues than to sit and really think about how I came to receive my transplant. Unfortunately, a young man had to die. I know very little about my donor, as is standard. All I know is it was a local man whose family made a tough decision in the face of their tragedy. I want to take this opportunity to thank them, even though we do not know each other. Perhaps one day we will know each other and I can thank them in person, like Trine got the opportunity to do with her donor family earlier this year. Her donor sister, Keisha, was a bridesmaid in our wedding. For now, as cheesy as it sounds, I feel as if I owe it to my donor family to make a good life for myself, a life that I would not have if it were not for their generosity. I need to show them, and myself, that their son's death was not in vain.
Please read my Transplant blogs (parts 1 through 4) for my account of the past year and half.
Wilson
One day, while at the dog park with our puggle Niles, Trine and I got to talking about how happy Niles would be if he had a friend to play with all the time. He was so good with other dogs, and we knew that having another dog would give Niles a regular outlet for his energy, alongside our daily walks and trips to the dog park . "I would not get another puggle," Trine said. So, Trine got online and began looking for medium sized dogs, perhaps a Boston Terrier. I heard an "awww" from the other room and saw the face of a tiny little puggle on the computer screen. We both agreed he was adorable and still available for purchase. We scooped up Niles and headed to the pet store with the outward intention of "just looking" but we both knew that this dog was ours, assuming he hit it off with Niles.
When we got to the pet store, the puggle was there waiting for us. We had the clerk put us all in a little play area and the little puggle, who we named Wilson per our discussion in the car, began wagging his curly little tail and licking my face. Niles gave little Wilson kisses and then tried to mount him. Wilson snapped and barked at him. Niles would not trying mounting Wilson again for months. Little Wilson did not take any crap from Niles, but the two got along great. We took Wilson home and welcomed him into our family. Today, the two dogs wrestle constantly, make a lot of noise, eat at our carpets sometimes and chew the crap out of any stuffed toys they get their paws on. But they are the greatest dogs and I love them very much.
Goals for 2009
I have high hopes for the coming year. I just joined a gym, have worked out twice, but know that to accomplish my goals and get back in the shape I was two years ago, it is going to take a lot of work, and certainly more than going to the gym a couple times a month.
My music has suffered throughout the year, as well. Before I moved to Miami, I had played my first two solo acoustic shows and it was thrilling. In 2009, I aim to get back to writing, recording, and playing music.
Being out on disability was hard on all fronts, including financial. In 2009, I aim to improve my money management skills and chip away my credit card debt. I also aim to borrow more money than I need from a major money lending institution, with no real means to pay it back, and send our economy into a downward spiral hahaha…wait…oh, right.
I am a husband now, and though Trine and I do not have children, we consider our dogs part of the family. Trine's dream to go to medical school may be realized very soon and it will be a happy, yet challenging part of our lives. In my vows to her, I promised to help her "shoulder our challenges" and will do that. I want our first year of marriage to be amazing. We've already outlasted Britney Spears' first marriage and, in just three days, we will have outlasted Eddie Murphy's recent nuptials.
Now, I have a new wife, new puppy, new liver and finally…a new year. Here's to hoping 2009 holds all the joy of 2008 with none of the pain, hospitalizations or Sarah Palin.
In February, weeks after being released from my first hospital stay of 2008, and during a period of relative health, I proposed to girlfriend, Trine, on the beach in Miami. It was sunset proposal without any sun (oops…sun doesn't set over here) and stubborn candles that refused to stay lit, but amidst the warm breeze and palm tree dotted white sand, Trine said she would be my wife. We celebrated on the beach with music and a bottle of sparkling cider.
Now the hard part: planning a wedding. Then the harder part: paying for it. Our saving grace was a casting call for a new reality show that was looking for a couple tied to organ donation & transplantation that were deserving of their dream wedding. I was in the hospital when we first heard about this contest. Trine convinced me to suck it up, put off pain medication for a few hours, and make a couple videos talking about why WE should be that deserving couple. You would think that me just being in the hospital, sick and bordering on depression, would make us a natural pick, but ironically, the show wanted to be sure that my health would NOT be an issue and prevent us from getting married should we actually get picked. It was a long shot, and I'd be lying if I said that I was excited about making the videos in the condition I was in, but I knew that I would regret not giving it a try. So I tried to look as healthy as possible and we made a series of videos. Little known fact: Trine totaled her car trying to get our video to Fed Ex by 5 p.m. (not her fault).
So we made our videos, including an update a few weeks later once I was released from the hospital, just to assure the casting director that I was in tip-top shape should we be the lucky couple. Then….nothing. A few months went by with no word.
In October (just shortly after my second surgery), we got a call from the producers of Wedding Day, the new reality show from TNT. We were one of the top 3 couples in line to win a dream wedding! We spent hours filling out surveys and questionnaires, speaking on the phone, making our guest list, and contacting our friends and family about our 33% chance of getting picked to be married on national television. Sometimes, we were really positive about our chances, while other times the producer would use the word "if" and we would get discouraged and wonder if something this good could happen to us.
In mid-December, we got the news! We had won our dream wedding!!! Trine and I embraced, and shed a few tears of happiness. Then….well, I cannot really divulge much else due to confidentiality agreements. I would love to post pictures and give all the amazing details of the week leading up to our incredible wedding, I cannot do so until our show airs in summer 2009. Those who were attendance know what a great time the wedding was. Mr. and Mrs. Ryan and Trine Labbe cannot wait for all our episode to air so we can relive the experience. I would also like to thank all our friends and family who worked their asses off to make our wedding happen.
Liver Transplant
In May 2008, I received the gift of life from an unknown donor. Throughout the past seven months it has been a lot easier to focus on my health issues than to sit and really think about how I came to receive my transplant. Unfortunately, a young man had to die. I know very little about my donor, as is standard. All I know is it was a local man whose family made a tough decision in the face of their tragedy. I want to take this opportunity to thank them, even though we do not know each other. Perhaps one day we will know each other and I can thank them in person, like Trine got the opportunity to do with her donor family earlier this year. Her donor sister, Keisha, was a bridesmaid in our wedding. For now, as cheesy as it sounds, I feel as if I owe it to my donor family to make a good life for myself, a life that I would not have if it were not for their generosity. I need to show them, and myself, that their son's death was not in vain.
Please read my Transplant blogs (parts 1 through 4) for my account of the past year and half.
Wilson
One day, while at the dog park with our puggle Niles, Trine and I got to talking about how happy Niles would be if he had a friend to play with all the time. He was so good with other dogs, and we knew that having another dog would give Niles a regular outlet for his energy, alongside our daily walks and trips to the dog park . "I would not get another puggle," Trine said. So, Trine got online and began looking for medium sized dogs, perhaps a Boston Terrier. I heard an "awww" from the other room and saw the face of a tiny little puggle on the computer screen. We both agreed he was adorable and still available for purchase. We scooped up Niles and headed to the pet store with the outward intention of "just looking" but we both knew that this dog was ours, assuming he hit it off with Niles.
When we got to the pet store, the puggle was there waiting for us. We had the clerk put us all in a little play area and the little puggle, who we named Wilson per our discussion in the car, began wagging his curly little tail and licking my face. Niles gave little Wilson kisses and then tried to mount him. Wilson snapped and barked at him. Niles would not trying mounting Wilson again for months. Little Wilson did not take any crap from Niles, but the two got along great. We took Wilson home and welcomed him into our family. Today, the two dogs wrestle constantly, make a lot of noise, eat at our carpets sometimes and chew the crap out of any stuffed toys they get their paws on. But they are the greatest dogs and I love them very much.
Goals for 2009
I have high hopes for the coming year. I just joined a gym, have worked out twice, but know that to accomplish my goals and get back in the shape I was two years ago, it is going to take a lot of work, and certainly more than going to the gym a couple times a month.
My music has suffered throughout the year, as well. Before I moved to Miami, I had played my first two solo acoustic shows and it was thrilling. In 2009, I aim to get back to writing, recording, and playing music.
Being out on disability was hard on all fronts, including financial. In 2009, I aim to improve my money management skills and chip away my credit card debt. I also aim to borrow more money than I need from a major money lending institution, with no real means to pay it back, and send our economy into a downward spiral hahaha…wait…oh, right.
I am a husband now, and though Trine and I do not have children, we consider our dogs part of the family. Trine's dream to go to medical school may be realized very soon and it will be a happy, yet challenging part of our lives. In my vows to her, I promised to help her "shoulder our challenges" and will do that. I want our first year of marriage to be amazing. We've already outlasted Britney Spears' first marriage and, in just three days, we will have outlasted Eddie Murphy's recent nuptials.
Now, I have a new wife, new puppy, new liver and finally…a new year. Here's to hoping 2009 holds all the joy of 2008 with none of the pain, hospitalizations or Sarah Palin.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
Cell phone or Vibrator?
Hey all,
Is it just me or are cell phone names sounding a little dirtier these days. Perhaps it is just my mind being half in the gutter at any given time, but I can't help chuckle when I see cell phone commercials days. I mean, it is no secret that cell phone companies fuck you...So, please play my little game below.
CELL PHONE? OR VIBRATOR?
Glyde
Dare
Blue Dolpin
Misty
Curve
Sea Horse
Instinct
Pearl
Rabbit
Anal Slider (ok, this one's a free bee)
Touch
Duo
Happy chatting!
Is it just me or are cell phone names sounding a little dirtier these days. Perhaps it is just my mind being half in the gutter at any given time, but I can't help chuckle when I see cell phone commercials days. I mean, it is no secret that cell phone companies fuck you...So, please play my little game below.
CELL PHONE? OR VIBRATOR?
Glyde
Dare
Blue Dolpin
Misty
Curve
Sea Horse
Instinct
Pearl
Rabbit
Anal Slider (ok, this one's a free bee)
Touch
Duo
Happy chatting!
Sunday, September 21, 2008
Liver Transplant 2008: Part 2: Rejection Blues!
Rejection Blues! (May 29, 2008 to July 13, 2008)
To provide a little perspective, in 1984, my fiancee Trine was transplanted and was released from the hospital in Pittsburgh three months later. I was transplanted in May of 2008 and was released in three days. That was not a record, but close to it. Also, I was released with the least amount of medication that the nurse had ever seen. I thought that maybe I would pull through this liver transplant as easily as the doctors had predicted. Wrong.
My first night at home was incredibly rough. It was near impossible to find a comfortable position to sit or lay in. The closest I got to acceptable comfort was reclining back on our sofa. Because the muscles in my abdomen were shredded due to the surgery, my back had to pick up a lot of slack. Because of that, the pain in my back was pretty intense during those first few weeks following my transplant. The first night home, I slept four hours, had horrible nightmares, awoke frequently covered in sweat and kept Trine up a good portion of the night with my moans of pain and discomfort. Admittedly, I do not deal with pain very well and can be, for lack of a better word, whiny.
Upon taking my temperature, I confirmed that I had a fever. I was prescribed an antibiotic and told to contact my transplant coordinator if things did not improve. The next night was better, but that was not saying much. Just a day and a half later, on Thursday, I was rushed to the ER with a temperature of 104 degrees. Jackson Hospital is a fine facility and their transplant program is amazing; however, if you have ever had to go to their ER….I am sorry. It is awful. There I was, on a gurney, in a three feet (maybe) wide space, breathing 104 degree air back onto my face because I still had to wear a protective mask at that point. Finally, they drew blood, had me piss into a cup and rushed me off to get an ultrasound.
I was rushed to my ultrasound by one of the most obnoxious nurses I have encountered yet. First off, she bossed Trine around. Secondly, she tapped my stomach and incision fairly hard before even asking what I was in the hospital for. Lastly, she preached at me. It is no secret that I am not keen on having people talk religion at me, but if ever there was a worse time. She told me that some guy was hosting a healing retreat somewhere in central Florida and "there was a whole lot of healing going on" and I should go. My first thought was that if having money in my wallet was considered an illness, I am sure he would heal me very quickly. Then I thought about how my transplant surgeons would feel about me opting for some quack healing ceremony versus life saving surgery. I am not trying to shit on anyone’s beliefs, but I could not think of a more inappropriate time to be pushing her views on me. Plus, the hospital had not even let me take my anti-rejection meds and I was due over an hour ago. Needless to say, I was in a foul mood.
Later that night, things began to improve. The fever broke and I was given a bolus of steroids that made me feel a lot better. However, it was also made everything I ate or drank that night taste like metal. Nasty. I was treated for a mild case of rejection. When Dr. Tzakis came in, he spoke of the possibility of another surgery if it turned out o be my bile ducts that were the issue. Thankfully, no such surgery was necessary. I was released on Saturday after daily doses of anti rejection medication. Certainly this would be the last hurdle on my road to recovery, or perhaps my last hurdle on my track to recovery. Best not to mix metaphors, even when they suck. You get the idea, though.
Saturday night, I noticed a lighter reddish-orange stain on my shirt. My incision was leaking a little bit. I did not think much of it and changed my shirt. The leaking worsened. I piled gauze and/or small towels over my incision to absorb the fluid, but it was of little help. Thankfully the fluid remained reddish-orange, not green, which would indicate an infection. I called my transplant coordinator and she advised me to go to the transplant floor and see the doctor. By the time I got over there, the leaking was so bad that it was soaking through my shirts in minutes. The doctor (with Trine’s assistance) applied an external ostomy bag to catch the drainage.
I had labs Monday morning and was feeling pretty good. I was sore, but began packing up my clothes for our big move to our new apartment which was set for the next week. I got a call mid afternoon from my transplant coordinator. As good as I felt, my labs showed a different picture and I was advised to check into the Transplant floor ASAP where a bed would be waiting. This is when things got bad.
When I was readmitted, I had a liver biopsy. While they were waiting for the results, I turned bright yellow. My bili went from 5 to 19 in one day due to my second bout of organ rejection. They eventually got me on thymoglobulin, an anti-rejection medication normally used for kidney patients but recently approved for trial on liver patients. This was a day and a half later. I began being treated for severe, no longer mild, rejection. I was given many doses of anti-rejection medication. I was pre-medicated with tylenol and benadryl to counteract the rough side effects of the anti-rejection medication, namely Thymoglobulin.
I was hospitalized a total of two weeks and during that time received many doses of pain medication, including one called Dilaudid. One thing you should know about Dilaudid: it is awesome. Another thing you should know is that it has some ugly side effects. During one hospitalization prior to my transplant, immediately upon receiving Dilaudid, I threw up. This would happen a number of times in the future. One time, as soon as I was dosed, I began itching uncontrollably. Another time, I ended up in the ICU, but to be fair it was mostly due to internal bleeding from the doctors accidentally nicking something during a procedure that day. Yet another fun side effect of Dilaudid is that your intestines back up due to your system slowing down from the medication. What particularly sucked about that is that not only was I denied medication, but I was also made NPO, which means no food or drink. Fuckin’A!! I received a lesson in Pain Medication 101 from a doctor one night during my hospitalization. They were trying to wean me off of pain meds, specifically of the IV variety, so naturally I was in a lot of pain. I did not like this, but did my best to understand. She told me that sometimes the body gets so dependent on the pain medication that it creates pain and the best thing to do is tough it out, or at least try a medication of lesser impact. Now, I will not go so far as to my call myself addicted to pain medication, but I will admit there have been moments where I have requested pain meds when I probably could have gone without them. The problem with Dilaudid as that while the calm washes over you and any pain (and lucidity) you have seems to slip away, it does not last very long. In the meantime, it has harmful effects on your body, as described above. It is best not to use over an extended period of time.
I wish I could remember every procedure that I had done over the two weeks. I got three liver biopsies and almost daily ultrasounds to monitor the blood flow in my liver and status of my rejection. I also had a few special procedures, such as chest x-rays and MRIs. The most upsetting occurrence would be when I was given pain meds, started to fall asleep and then would be yanked awake to go to a procedure. Being relaxed in a hospital is relatively rare thing and I tried to take advantage of those moments so it was especially upsetting to have those little moments of peace taken away.
Aside from pain medication and various procedures, another major part of my recovery was (and is) exercise. I began walking laps around the floor, mostly with the help of Trine or my mother. I was not always a wiling participant. I still had the staples in my incision and I tended to list forward, which caused more undue stress on my back. I had to remember to walk with with my head and back straight. By the end of my stay, I was making the rounds alone and with much better speed. I was a walkin' machine.
A little over a week into my stay, I got hold of my mother’s laptop computer. This was a turning point for me mentally. I finally was able to reach out to my friends and let them know I was doing Ok, as well as receive communications. I was able to check my email, listen to new music as well as watch DVDs. Law and Order: SVU kept me sane for those weeks inpatient. It was also during this stay that I received many cards from friends, which also helped to make my recovery more enjoyable. Thank you again to everyone who sent me cards during these months of recovery. They have meant so much. Do not take lack of thank you cards (my hands were, and still are, a bit swollen) as a lack of appreciation.
Now as if going through life-threatening organ rejection is not bad enough, I also had a bad roommate experience. The guy was nice enough (a kidney transplant patient) but he was on the phone all the time. No exaggeration. From dawn to dusk. I could hear his phone conversations more clearly than someone sitting on my side of the room talking to me. He was loud and his voice projected. He was a preacher and apparently called each member of his congregation as well has held prayer meetings via phone. Plus, on his TV, he tuned into all those preaching shows with guys yelling to audiences about the fiery consequences of pre-marital sex and listening to the hip hop. Not to mention, “Wearing Satan’s underpants.” I swear to you, that is an actual quote. I am not sure what he was talking about, but that got my attention.
Anyhow, I was happy when he left and Pedro, another kidney recipient, became my roommate. He was a really nice guy, around my age, and we talked and got to know each other over the few days leading to my discharge on Friday, June 13. I left the hospital weighing 140 lbs, 45 lbs lighter than a year ago at the time I became ill. I was optimistic, looking forward to recovery, thinking that this would surely be my last hospital stay. Wrong again.
To provide a little perspective, in 1984, my fiancee Trine was transplanted and was released from the hospital in Pittsburgh three months later. I was transplanted in May of 2008 and was released in three days. That was not a record, but close to it. Also, I was released with the least amount of medication that the nurse had ever seen. I thought that maybe I would pull through this liver transplant as easily as the doctors had predicted. Wrong.
My first night at home was incredibly rough. It was near impossible to find a comfortable position to sit or lay in. The closest I got to acceptable comfort was reclining back on our sofa. Because the muscles in my abdomen were shredded due to the surgery, my back had to pick up a lot of slack. Because of that, the pain in my back was pretty intense during those first few weeks following my transplant. The first night home, I slept four hours, had horrible nightmares, awoke frequently covered in sweat and kept Trine up a good portion of the night with my moans of pain and discomfort. Admittedly, I do not deal with pain very well and can be, for lack of a better word, whiny.
Upon taking my temperature, I confirmed that I had a fever. I was prescribed an antibiotic and told to contact my transplant coordinator if things did not improve. The next night was better, but that was not saying much. Just a day and a half later, on Thursday, I was rushed to the ER with a temperature of 104 degrees. Jackson Hospital is a fine facility and their transplant program is amazing; however, if you have ever had to go to their ER….I am sorry. It is awful. There I was, on a gurney, in a three feet (maybe) wide space, breathing 104 degree air back onto my face because I still had to wear a protective mask at that point. Finally, they drew blood, had me piss into a cup and rushed me off to get an ultrasound.
I was rushed to my ultrasound by one of the most obnoxious nurses I have encountered yet. First off, she bossed Trine around. Secondly, she tapped my stomach and incision fairly hard before even asking what I was in the hospital for. Lastly, she preached at me. It is no secret that I am not keen on having people talk religion at me, but if ever there was a worse time. She told me that some guy was hosting a healing retreat somewhere in central Florida and "there was a whole lot of healing going on" and I should go. My first thought was that if having money in my wallet was considered an illness, I am sure he would heal me very quickly. Then I thought about how my transplant surgeons would feel about me opting for some quack healing ceremony versus life saving surgery. I am not trying to shit on anyone’s beliefs, but I could not think of a more inappropriate time to be pushing her views on me. Plus, the hospital had not even let me take my anti-rejection meds and I was due over an hour ago. Needless to say, I was in a foul mood.
Later that night, things began to improve. The fever broke and I was given a bolus of steroids that made me feel a lot better. However, it was also made everything I ate or drank that night taste like metal. Nasty. I was treated for a mild case of rejection. When Dr. Tzakis came in, he spoke of the possibility of another surgery if it turned out o be my bile ducts that were the issue. Thankfully, no such surgery was necessary. I was released on Saturday after daily doses of anti rejection medication. Certainly this would be the last hurdle on my road to recovery, or perhaps my last hurdle on my track to recovery. Best not to mix metaphors, even when they suck. You get the idea, though.
Saturday night, I noticed a lighter reddish-orange stain on my shirt. My incision was leaking a little bit. I did not think much of it and changed my shirt. The leaking worsened. I piled gauze and/or small towels over my incision to absorb the fluid, but it was of little help. Thankfully the fluid remained reddish-orange, not green, which would indicate an infection. I called my transplant coordinator and she advised me to go to the transplant floor and see the doctor. By the time I got over there, the leaking was so bad that it was soaking through my shirts in minutes. The doctor (with Trine’s assistance) applied an external ostomy bag to catch the drainage.
I had labs Monday morning and was feeling pretty good. I was sore, but began packing up my clothes for our big move to our new apartment which was set for the next week. I got a call mid afternoon from my transplant coordinator. As good as I felt, my labs showed a different picture and I was advised to check into the Transplant floor ASAP where a bed would be waiting. This is when things got bad.
When I was readmitted, I had a liver biopsy. While they were waiting for the results, I turned bright yellow. My bili went from 5 to 19 in one day due to my second bout of organ rejection. They eventually got me on thymoglobulin, an anti-rejection medication normally used for kidney patients but recently approved for trial on liver patients. This was a day and a half later. I began being treated for severe, no longer mild, rejection. I was given many doses of anti-rejection medication. I was pre-medicated with tylenol and benadryl to counteract the rough side effects of the anti-rejection medication, namely Thymoglobulin.
I was hospitalized a total of two weeks and during that time received many doses of pain medication, including one called Dilaudid. One thing you should know about Dilaudid: it is awesome. Another thing you should know is that it has some ugly side effects. During one hospitalization prior to my transplant, immediately upon receiving Dilaudid, I threw up. This would happen a number of times in the future. One time, as soon as I was dosed, I began itching uncontrollably. Another time, I ended up in the ICU, but to be fair it was mostly due to internal bleeding from the doctors accidentally nicking something during a procedure that day. Yet another fun side effect of Dilaudid is that your intestines back up due to your system slowing down from the medication. What particularly sucked about that is that not only was I denied medication, but I was also made NPO, which means no food or drink. Fuckin’A!! I received a lesson in Pain Medication 101 from a doctor one night during my hospitalization. They were trying to wean me off of pain meds, specifically of the IV variety, so naturally I was in a lot of pain. I did not like this, but did my best to understand. She told me that sometimes the body gets so dependent on the pain medication that it creates pain and the best thing to do is tough it out, or at least try a medication of lesser impact. Now, I will not go so far as to my call myself addicted to pain medication, but I will admit there have been moments where I have requested pain meds when I probably could have gone without them. The problem with Dilaudid as that while the calm washes over you and any pain (and lucidity) you have seems to slip away, it does not last very long. In the meantime, it has harmful effects on your body, as described above. It is best not to use over an extended period of time.
I wish I could remember every procedure that I had done over the two weeks. I got three liver biopsies and almost daily ultrasounds to monitor the blood flow in my liver and status of my rejection. I also had a few special procedures, such as chest x-rays and MRIs. The most upsetting occurrence would be when I was given pain meds, started to fall asleep and then would be yanked awake to go to a procedure. Being relaxed in a hospital is relatively rare thing and I tried to take advantage of those moments so it was especially upsetting to have those little moments of peace taken away.
Aside from pain medication and various procedures, another major part of my recovery was (and is) exercise. I began walking laps around the floor, mostly with the help of Trine or my mother. I was not always a wiling participant. I still had the staples in my incision and I tended to list forward, which caused more undue stress on my back. I had to remember to walk with with my head and back straight. By the end of my stay, I was making the rounds alone and with much better speed. I was a walkin' machine.
A little over a week into my stay, I got hold of my mother’s laptop computer. This was a turning point for me mentally. I finally was able to reach out to my friends and let them know I was doing Ok, as well as receive communications. I was able to check my email, listen to new music as well as watch DVDs. Law and Order: SVU kept me sane for those weeks inpatient. It was also during this stay that I received many cards from friends, which also helped to make my recovery more enjoyable. Thank you again to everyone who sent me cards during these months of recovery. They have meant so much. Do not take lack of thank you cards (my hands were, and still are, a bit swollen) as a lack of appreciation.
Now as if going through life-threatening organ rejection is not bad enough, I also had a bad roommate experience. The guy was nice enough (a kidney transplant patient) but he was on the phone all the time. No exaggeration. From dawn to dusk. I could hear his phone conversations more clearly than someone sitting on my side of the room talking to me. He was loud and his voice projected. He was a preacher and apparently called each member of his congregation as well has held prayer meetings via phone. Plus, on his TV, he tuned into all those preaching shows with guys yelling to audiences about the fiery consequences of pre-marital sex and listening to the hip hop. Not to mention, “Wearing Satan’s underpants.” I swear to you, that is an actual quote. I am not sure what he was talking about, but that got my attention.
Anyhow, I was happy when he left and Pedro, another kidney recipient, became my roommate. He was a really nice guy, around my age, and we talked and got to know each other over the few days leading to my discharge on Friday, June 13. I left the hospital weighing 140 lbs, 45 lbs lighter than a year ago at the time I became ill. I was optimistic, looking forward to recovery, thinking that this would surely be my last hospital stay. Wrong again.
Sunday, August 31, 2008
Liver Transplant 2008: Part 1 (Intro, Pre Transplant and The Call)
Introduction
I am writing this blog for a few reasons. The first is simply as a release for me. Trine was concerned that I do not have an outlet for my feelings and it has affected my moods, especially over the past weeks, which included a one-month stay in the hospital. She is right. My fingers are still numb from the swelling that happened because of all the IVs and blood draws in the hospital, so guitar playing is tough right now. I only have a couple people down this way that I consider friends and I haven’t been very social lately. Until yesterday, I had not done any exercise or anything to make myself physically stronger. I am certainly glad to now have that outlet. Last but not least, I haven’t done any writing since my transplant. I need this. While I had a relatively easy pre-transplant road, things have not gone as smoothly as hoped since my surgery. I will get into that a little later.
The second reason I chose to write this blog is to let my friends and family know what I’ve been going through on a deeper level. Some of this will be redundant, while other bits will probably come as a surprise.
Lastly, to all the people on Liver Families, especially the parents whose children are going through similar situations but are too young to adequately voice their feelings: I want you to know some of the thoughts and feelings that your child may be feeling. I want to get my thoughts down on paper while they are all still relatively fresh. It won’t all be pretty, but I am being honest.
Pre-Transplant
I won’t spend too much time on pre-transplant life because I have already written about it. I got sick last July. I thought that my liver just gave up on me after 26.5 good years, though looking back I could see that I had slowly been getting sick since 2000, my only visible symptom a small dash of yellow in the corner of my eyes. If you weren’t looking for it, you likely would not see it.
I was at the gym on a Saturday morning working out heavy when I began to feel…off. By the next day, I am laid up in my bedroom, vomiting, sweating profusely, my skin and eyes highlighter yellow and my head pounding with a ferocious pain unlike any I had ever experienced. Finally, Trine convinced my stubborn ass to get to the Emergency Room. I did and they basically dismissed my symptoms and gave me a pill that they give chemo patients to help reduce the vomiting. The next morning, I took the pill, threw it up immediately, and had my dad drive me back to the Emergency Room. This time, they had the foresight enough to call my GI doc and I was admitted to another hospital. I spent eight days in the hospital, felt much better, but it turned out my doctor did not know what had gone wrong and they had put a band aid on my symptoms, but by no means did they heal me.
Over the next few months, which included a move to Florida, things progressively got worse. My bilirubin (the amount of bile in my blood) continued to fluctuate, as did my shade of yellow. At times, my liver refused to break down protein and I got very sick. My symptoms included stomach pains, fevers, sweating, vomiting and generally feeling like shit. This happened probably every couple weeks. I also had a lot of itching, which is a result of the bile salts building up in the blood. By December 2007, I had no hair on my legs below the knees and I had blood stains on my work pants from scratching so hard. Thankfully, the itching calmed down in the new year, though it did not stop totally until I was transplanted. I wound up in the hospital a few times with cholangitis, an infection in my bile ducts. The bile would not flow right and I would end up sick with fevers again. However, for the most part I was able to work full time, feel pretty good and still be high up on the transplant list. When Dr. Tzakis would eventually take out my liver, he remarked that my vessels were “a rats nest” and had I not been called when I was, things would have gone downhill for me very fast. Any doubts to the severity of my condition, if I would get better on my own or if this transplant was really necessary, were put to rest then.
The Call
I got the call on May 23, 2008. I woke up at 7 a.m. and jumped in the shower, planning to wash up, dress and take our dog Niles out for his morning walk/pee/poop. Niles would have to wait that morning. Before I could even begin washing my hair, Trine burst in. “They’re going to call you!” I think I stopped moving for a second. I could barely stop the flow of emotions and thoughts. It didn’t feel real (and wouldn’t for weeks to come). I didn’t know what to do first. I finished up in the shower as fast as I could. When I got out of the shower, the Donor Desk had already called and Trine informed me that I had to be at the hospital for noon. She then began calling her family and friends. I did the same, all while trying to figure out what else I needed to prepare. Trine and I had been over this before, but now that it was real, it seemed to slip my mind and I felt like I was in a fog.
I signed onto my work computer and sent emails to my boss, forwarding various emails she and the team would need to finish up my cases. A part of me felt bad for dumping so much work on them, and would be unable to contribute during busy season, but I had to put those thoughts aside fast; I was getting life saving surgery and that trumped my 9 to 5 for the time being.
Next, I had to prepare myself physically. Trine informed me that I would be shaved from “neck to knees” in order to perform the transplant and suggested I save the time. She ran to Winn Dixie and grabbed 2 tubes of hair removal cream. Yes, this is a little bit embarrassing to admit, but I’m over it. I jumped back in the shower and applied the cream. Basically how it works is that you apply the cream to the areas where you want hair removed and wait until it starts to BURN! Then use the little plastic thingy they give you and scrape the hair off. If you’ve done it right, the hair will come off in clumps and make a huge mess of your shower. Keep in mind, I am still making and taking phone calls at this point, even while in the shower.
After shearing myself, Trine and I checked our “hospital box” to make sure it was complete. This box included maps of the Jackson Hospital area, as well as drinks and snacks. It was more for Trine and my family than me. I couldn’t see myself eating crackers in the too near future. But we had that covered, too. There were a couple containers of Gerber baby food, too. They went uneaten.
I am writing this blog for a few reasons. The first is simply as a release for me. Trine was concerned that I do not have an outlet for my feelings and it has affected my moods, especially over the past weeks, which included a one-month stay in the hospital. She is right. My fingers are still numb from the swelling that happened because of all the IVs and blood draws in the hospital, so guitar playing is tough right now. I only have a couple people down this way that I consider friends and I haven’t been very social lately. Until yesterday, I had not done any exercise or anything to make myself physically stronger. I am certainly glad to now have that outlet. Last but not least, I haven’t done any writing since my transplant. I need this. While I had a relatively easy pre-transplant road, things have not gone as smoothly as hoped since my surgery. I will get into that a little later.
The second reason I chose to write this blog is to let my friends and family know what I’ve been going through on a deeper level. Some of this will be redundant, while other bits will probably come as a surprise.
Lastly, to all the people on Liver Families, especially the parents whose children are going through similar situations but are too young to adequately voice their feelings: I want you to know some of the thoughts and feelings that your child may be feeling. I want to get my thoughts down on paper while they are all still relatively fresh. It won’t all be pretty, but I am being honest.
Pre-Transplant
I won’t spend too much time on pre-transplant life because I have already written about it. I got sick last July. I thought that my liver just gave up on me after 26.5 good years, though looking back I could see that I had slowly been getting sick since 2000, my only visible symptom a small dash of yellow in the corner of my eyes. If you weren’t looking for it, you likely would not see it.
I was at the gym on a Saturday morning working out heavy when I began to feel…off. By the next day, I am laid up in my bedroom, vomiting, sweating profusely, my skin and eyes highlighter yellow and my head pounding with a ferocious pain unlike any I had ever experienced. Finally, Trine convinced my stubborn ass to get to the Emergency Room. I did and they basically dismissed my symptoms and gave me a pill that they give chemo patients to help reduce the vomiting. The next morning, I took the pill, threw it up immediately, and had my dad drive me back to the Emergency Room. This time, they had the foresight enough to call my GI doc and I was admitted to another hospital. I spent eight days in the hospital, felt much better, but it turned out my doctor did not know what had gone wrong and they had put a band aid on my symptoms, but by no means did they heal me.
Over the next few months, which included a move to Florida, things progressively got worse. My bilirubin (the amount of bile in my blood) continued to fluctuate, as did my shade of yellow. At times, my liver refused to break down protein and I got very sick. My symptoms included stomach pains, fevers, sweating, vomiting and generally feeling like shit. This happened probably every couple weeks. I also had a lot of itching, which is a result of the bile salts building up in the blood. By December 2007, I had no hair on my legs below the knees and I had blood stains on my work pants from scratching so hard. Thankfully, the itching calmed down in the new year, though it did not stop totally until I was transplanted. I wound up in the hospital a few times with cholangitis, an infection in my bile ducts. The bile would not flow right and I would end up sick with fevers again. However, for the most part I was able to work full time, feel pretty good and still be high up on the transplant list. When Dr. Tzakis would eventually take out my liver, he remarked that my vessels were “a rats nest” and had I not been called when I was, things would have gone downhill for me very fast. Any doubts to the severity of my condition, if I would get better on my own or if this transplant was really necessary, were put to rest then.
The Call
I got the call on May 23, 2008. I woke up at 7 a.m. and jumped in the shower, planning to wash up, dress and take our dog Niles out for his morning walk/pee/poop. Niles would have to wait that morning. Before I could even begin washing my hair, Trine burst in. “They’re going to call you!” I think I stopped moving for a second. I could barely stop the flow of emotions and thoughts. It didn’t feel real (and wouldn’t for weeks to come). I didn’t know what to do first. I finished up in the shower as fast as I could. When I got out of the shower, the Donor Desk had already called and Trine informed me that I had to be at the hospital for noon. She then began calling her family and friends. I did the same, all while trying to figure out what else I needed to prepare. Trine and I had been over this before, but now that it was real, it seemed to slip my mind and I felt like I was in a fog.
I signed onto my work computer and sent emails to my boss, forwarding various emails she and the team would need to finish up my cases. A part of me felt bad for dumping so much work on them, and would be unable to contribute during busy season, but I had to put those thoughts aside fast; I was getting life saving surgery and that trumped my 9 to 5 for the time being.
Next, I had to prepare myself physically. Trine informed me that I would be shaved from “neck to knees” in order to perform the transplant and suggested I save the time. She ran to Winn Dixie and grabbed 2 tubes of hair removal cream. Yes, this is a little bit embarrassing to admit, but I’m over it. I jumped back in the shower and applied the cream. Basically how it works is that you apply the cream to the areas where you want hair removed and wait until it starts to BURN! Then use the little plastic thingy they give you and scrape the hair off. If you’ve done it right, the hair will come off in clumps and make a huge mess of your shower. Keep in mind, I am still making and taking phone calls at this point, even while in the shower.
After shearing myself, Trine and I checked our “hospital box” to make sure it was complete. This box included maps of the Jackson Hospital area, as well as drinks and snacks. It was more for Trine and my family than me. I couldn’t see myself eating crackers in the too near future. But we had that covered, too. There were a couple containers of Gerber baby food, too. They went uneaten.
Monday, May 19, 2008
Hollywood bound; Open Letter to...
Hey everyone,
How's life? Things have been pretty busy on my end. I've been feeling OK. There have been no more trips to hospital as of late, no more fevers and my energy level has been better than usual. It's busy season at work and I've been putting in a lot of hours.
In addition, Trine and I are preparing to move to a new apartment in Hollywood, Florida, about 20 min. from our current residence in Miami. We're really excited, but I'll admit I'm gonna miss some things about our current neighborhood. I'll miss being afraid to walk my dog after dark. I'll miss the crowing of the rooster each morning...and afternoon, for some reason. Certainly, I will miss the man who lives under the bridge. And, yes, I'll even miss calling up Pizza Hut or Papa Johns and being yelled at because I don't speak Spanish and then being delivered the wrong order. Sure, Miami has it's charm. But the new building we're moving into is awesome. It's located the world's largest roundabout in the United States (so wouldn't that make it the world's largest roundabout period?) Either way, it's just a fancy way of saying traffic circle. But in the middle is a great park where Trine and I can walk Niles. The building has some great amenities and is closer to my work and where Trine will be going to graduate school.
So, before I rant and rave like a crazy person again, let me tell you a cool story about my fiancé Trine. As some of you may know, she had a liver transplant at the age of 2. She was Florida's first liver recipient and because transplantation was so new, she recieved a lot of media attention. She's a bit of celeb in the world of transplantation.
Well, it's been over 24 years since her surgery and Trine has never gotten a chance to meet the family of the little girl whose liver she received. She tried over the years to contact them but Tennessee and Pittsburgh Organ Procurement Organizations put up walls and gave Trine the impression that the family had no interest in being in contact.
Just over a month ago after 24 years, Trine gets a message on MySpace from the sister of Amanda, the little girls whose liver Trine received! It turns out the family had tried on numerous occasions to contact Trine. The two have exchanged emails and have become great friends. They hope to meet in the near future.
Trine's experience got me thinking about my future donor family. I know, I know, one step at a time. First get the liver, then recovery and then worry about whether the family will want to know me.
There has been a lot of negative press about organ donation/transplantation lately and I think it's important for people to know about a very positive story. The media rarely has interest in the positive outcomes of transplantation or the many successes. It's also great to see a story of two people connecting via MySpace that doesn't end with rape.
Anyhow, I never knew how much meeting Trine's donor family meant to her until a month ago.
I find it interesting when people get together in a group to protest conformity.
All extremists should be killed.
With things being so busy lately, I've hardly found time to scour the news for stuff to rant about, so instead I've decided to write a few open letters to some people that have pissed me off.
Open Letter to the Guy in the Elevator the Other Day
Hello guy from the elevator. What was that fragrance you were wearing yesterday? It was absolutely breathtaking. And by that, I mean that I could not fucking breathe! Seriously, bro, let's try not to smell like the stink water desk at Macy's. It's pretty arrogant of you to impose your scent upon everyone else just because you forgot to shower or think that chicks dig gagging on CK-One. But I guess choking a girl with your grotesque cologne is a bit more economical than date rape drugs. Good luck at the singles bar, fucko.
Open Letter to Lori Drew
Hi Lori, how are you today? Not so good, I imagine. Going to prison probably isn't what you had in mind when you opened a My Space account in order to find out what Megan was saying about your daughter. And I'm sure you didn't think that you'd eventually be indicted for perpetrating an online hoax and harassing your neighbor's daughter to the point where she hung herself? I'm sorry, hanged herself. That always gets me. From what I understand, this Megan chick was talking smack about your daughter so you pretended to be a boy named "Josh" to gain Megan's trust and find out what she was saying about your daughter. Wow. Then you began harrasing Megan and saying stuff like the 'world would be better off wihtout her.' Then she killed herself. Oops. Kind of ironic because, in actuality, the world will be better off without you. Have fun in prison, fucko.
Open Letter to the Guy Who Got Pulled Over by a Cop in Miami
Hi, there. Wow, how bad of a driver to you have to be to actually get pulled over in Miami? Did you actually have a pedestrian's body still clinging to the hood of your car? I think even that is only a small fine down here. Seriously. What exactly do you have to do to get the attention of a cop in Miami? Let me guess: you were on the cell phone, snorting coke off of a Miami Beach prostitute's stomach, speeding and didn't signal while turning and shooting off a handgun. Have fun at traffic school, fucko.
Ok, folks, gotta get back to packing. I hope this weekend finds you all doing well.
How's life? Things have been pretty busy on my end. I've been feeling OK. There have been no more trips to hospital as of late, no more fevers and my energy level has been better than usual. It's busy season at work and I've been putting in a lot of hours.
In addition, Trine and I are preparing to move to a new apartment in Hollywood, Florida, about 20 min. from our current residence in Miami. We're really excited, but I'll admit I'm gonna miss some things about our current neighborhood. I'll miss being afraid to walk my dog after dark. I'll miss the crowing of the rooster each morning...and afternoon, for some reason. Certainly, I will miss the man who lives under the bridge. And, yes, I'll even miss calling up Pizza Hut or Papa Johns and being yelled at because I don't speak Spanish and then being delivered the wrong order. Sure, Miami has it's charm. But the new building we're moving into is awesome. It's located the world's largest roundabout in the United States (so wouldn't that make it the world's largest roundabout period?) Either way, it's just a fancy way of saying traffic circle. But in the middle is a great park where Trine and I can walk Niles. The building has some great amenities and is closer to my work and where Trine will be going to graduate school.
So, before I rant and rave like a crazy person again, let me tell you a cool story about my fiancé Trine. As some of you may know, she had a liver transplant at the age of 2. She was Florida's first liver recipient and because transplantation was so new, she recieved a lot of media attention. She's a bit of celeb in the world of transplantation.
Well, it's been over 24 years since her surgery and Trine has never gotten a chance to meet the family of the little girl whose liver she received. She tried over the years to contact them but Tennessee and Pittsburgh Organ Procurement Organizations put up walls and gave Trine the impression that the family had no interest in being in contact.
Just over a month ago after 24 years, Trine gets a message on MySpace from the sister of Amanda, the little girls whose liver Trine received! It turns out the family had tried on numerous occasions to contact Trine. The two have exchanged emails and have become great friends. They hope to meet in the near future.
Trine's experience got me thinking about my future donor family. I know, I know, one step at a time. First get the liver, then recovery and then worry about whether the family will want to know me.
There has been a lot of negative press about organ donation/transplantation lately and I think it's important for people to know about a very positive story. The media rarely has interest in the positive outcomes of transplantation or the many successes. It's also great to see a story of two people connecting via MySpace that doesn't end with rape.
Anyhow, I never knew how much meeting Trine's donor family meant to her until a month ago.
I find it interesting when people get together in a group to protest conformity.
All extremists should be killed.
With things being so busy lately, I've hardly found time to scour the news for stuff to rant about, so instead I've decided to write a few open letters to some people that have pissed me off.
Open Letter to the Guy in the Elevator the Other Day
Hello guy from the elevator. What was that fragrance you were wearing yesterday? It was absolutely breathtaking. And by that, I mean that I could not fucking breathe! Seriously, bro, let's try not to smell like the stink water desk at Macy's. It's pretty arrogant of you to impose your scent upon everyone else just because you forgot to shower or think that chicks dig gagging on CK-One. But I guess choking a girl with your grotesque cologne is a bit more economical than date rape drugs. Good luck at the singles bar, fucko.
Open Letter to Lori Drew
Hi Lori, how are you today? Not so good, I imagine. Going to prison probably isn't what you had in mind when you opened a My Space account in order to find out what Megan was saying about your daughter. And I'm sure you didn't think that you'd eventually be indicted for perpetrating an online hoax and harassing your neighbor's daughter to the point where she hung herself? I'm sorry, hanged herself. That always gets me. From what I understand, this Megan chick was talking smack about your daughter so you pretended to be a boy named "Josh" to gain Megan's trust and find out what she was saying about your daughter. Wow. Then you began harrasing Megan and saying stuff like the 'world would be better off wihtout her.' Then she killed herself. Oops. Kind of ironic because, in actuality, the world will be better off without you. Have fun in prison, fucko.
Open Letter to the Guy Who Got Pulled Over by a Cop in Miami
Hi, there. Wow, how bad of a driver to you have to be to actually get pulled over in Miami? Did you actually have a pedestrian's body still clinging to the hood of your car? I think even that is only a small fine down here. Seriously. What exactly do you have to do to get the attention of a cop in Miami? Let me guess: you were on the cell phone, snorting coke off of a Miami Beach prostitute's stomach, speeding and didn't signal while turning and shooting off a handgun. Have fun at traffic school, fucko.
Ok, folks, gotta get back to packing. I hope this weekend finds you all doing well.
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