DEAR LEFTY

10.24.12

Lefty Pitts (right)

Dear Lefty,

Hey big guy. I’m sure you’ve heard the rumor around the yard and I’m here to break the news to you that it is, in fact, true. Next week your partner in crime, your backup when you’re not feeling 100%, the yin to your yang, is going to a new home; a really awesome new home too. This leaves you with the sole responsibility that you used to share with Righty for the next 40-50 years. (Probably less if we keep driving the way we do.) But don’t worry, you’ll get bigger and stronger as you get used to the increased workload. Before you start complaining that no one else has ever had to endure what you’re about to, don’t. There are over 6,000 kidneys separated from each other every year in the US and the majority of the ones left pulling double duty do perfectly fine on their own. As a matter of fact, I believe they actually enjoy the independence and freedom to be creative. No more nagging...“pick up the dry cleaning,” “wash the car,” “YOU fill the bladder tonight” sorta stuff. And don’t forget that there are many who have never had a functioning partner and don’t know what it’s like to have shared that responsibility.

You’ve had it easy for half of your life and now it’s time to step up to the plate and be the kid I’ve always known you were. The rest of the gang inside will be counting on you to give it your all to make sure everyone stays healthy and strong. The great news is that we get to try out some hypnotic drugs while we’re both recovering so we can act the fool – on purpose – and no one will be the wiser. It’s like passing gas next to your brother and letting him take the fall because you’d “never do something like that.” Not that I’ve ever done something like that.

Here’s hoping…

....we get to wear the backless hospital gown so we can cruise through the halls showing off our goodies and give everyone at Stanford a show straight from Vegas. I wonder how much action we’ll get when paired with our new leopard-print fuzzy slippers. MEOW!

…we get to eat lots of ice cream as we both recover. Wait. Never mind. That is for tonsillitis. But I’m certain there ARE healing effects to chocolate ice cream. I always feel awesome after I eat it.

…we feel good enough on Halloween to eat some candy – and maybe play a little prank here and there. Mom told me my idea of using fake blood in the hospital probably won’t go off too well but I think it’d be hilarious. The only caveat we should consider is that after our 3-4 day stint in recovery, they’d likely send us to another place to mentally recover (with doors that lock from the outside, wearing one of those cute white coats where we get to hug ourselves all day.)

…you get bigger and stronger every day. There will be plenty of extra space to grow (and, no dad, they don’t stuff newspaper in the hole. Packing peanuts probably.)

…you feel like running around and getting out and about very soon. Yoga is going to feel great after laying around for weeks on end.

…we get out on the slopes as soon as possible. Murphy’s Law – it’s going to snow a ton before Christmas this year (the first time in for-freaking-ever) because we can’t go. But I have a heliboarding trip planned for us in February so we need to log a few mini trips in January to build up our stamina and leg muscles and those body parts worked when we wreck into a tree.

Well lefty...it’s you and me against the world. I promise to stay as healthy as I can and drink lots of water. If the one soda I drink a week gets too much for you just let me know. Send me an e-mail or something. I’m pretty busy these days.

I look forward to a long, healthy and happy life with just the two of us.

Love,
Me

DEAR RIGHTY

10.28.12

Righty Pitts (on left)

Dear Righty,

If you don’t weigh 12 pounds, someone's got some 'splanin' to do.  I hope that those extra pounds we’ve gained in the last year are you bulking up for your new journey. 

Let me be a little uncharacteristically sentimental and say that I’ve loved you being a part of my life these 38-wonderful years.  When many other kidneys stop working just to play hooky for the day or to enjoy the benefits of unemployment, you’ve crushed it, ranked off the pee charts and kept Lefty in line when he talks about taking a day off (remember that one time he bought a plane ticket to Jamaica without telling us?)  You've kept me and everyone inside healthy and strong.  THANK YOU for all you've done for all of us.

You have been called to serve a higher purpose.  You’re going to a place where you’re very much wanted and needed.  Although I would love you to stay with me forever, you’ve been chosen to help an awesome girl who has a special life ahead of her.  Just when you thought you were done having teenage fun almost 20-years ago, you get to do it all over again as your new residence will be just 14-years old!  You’ll be living in a smaller space (just temporarily until she grows bigger) and will get acquainted with organs you’ve never met before.  But don’t be scared.  I know they will welcome you with open arms and will be excited that someone as strong as you will be there to help them do their important work.  This is a great opportunity that most other kidneys never get to experience so any pain or discomfort will be just temporary and part of this epic life-saving, life-changing journey.  And you were chosen and get to experience this great miracle because you’re a little smaller than Lefty.  Apparently the doctors think I need the bigger one and they're probably right.(Lefty wanted me to tell everyone that he's just big-boned) Lefty will now be the sole dark chocolate-filtration system.

Odds are your life span will be shorter than it would be staying with me but what a fantastic chance to show the world what you’re made of!  Take those chances and turn them on their head.  Shock the experts.  Blow away the medical records.  Show them what’s possible when there’s a will and a way – and an appreciation of life and love. 

You are not alone.  There are many who have gone before you who have been chosen to serve in higher capacities – and whose important lives have been cut short because of the monumental choices they have made.  Neither one of us would have it any other way. 

Please don’t take too many bad habits with you (as mom & dad always say, “don’t embarrass us!”)  No burping at the dinner table.  Farts should be reserved for special opportunities to gross your family out.  Keep the stubbornness to a minimum – unless you REALLY need to get your way.  Most importantly, I hope you take your energy, your stamina, your silliness and the love for what you do and who you are with you and bless your new home with the wonderful and strong gifts you possess.

Lefty and I hope you visit us often!  The next time we see you we hope you have given Kesley a BIG smile on her face because she is filled with energy, light, positivity and exciting anticipation for the rest of an amazing life.

Love, 
Me

MIRACLES NEVER DO CEASE.

11.5.12

Just a week ago I was awake pre-dawn to shower with the special hospital soap to kill the bugs and germs on my skin before surgery.  And to shave my pits and legs since I knew that wasn't going to happen for a while. 

5:30am at Stanford hospital was buzzing with people getting ready for their various procedures.  Mine was scheduled for 7:15am. 

Side bar: I'm still amazed that surgeons operate well that early in the morning.  If I were a surgeon all of my operations would happen after lunch - the complicated ones after some Cafe Rio. 

We waited to be taken back for about an hour so I thought everything would be delayed.  Nope.  The time between 6:30 and 7:00 was crazy - getting into the sexy gown, playing 100 questions with the pre-op nurse about my health, my corpse-like heart rate, and the cocktail of drugs I'm on (ha - I wish.)  I asked the nurse if there was time to swing by and see Kelsey, Bob & Molly to which she replied that they didn't do that and was shocked I even asked.  Supremely disappointed, I started to text my well wishes to them.  About 10-minutes later I was surprised by the Hamricks and my parents walking into the pre-surgery area (the Hamricks have serious GREASE anywhere they go, BTW.)  What a sweet reunion that was!  Usually they only allow a guest or two in the back to wait with the patient and, fortunately, the surgical teams were very gracious in allowing a herd of happy, jokey people with cameras back there to give hugs, take a ton of pics and create all kinds of ruckus.  After a few minutes, it was time.  The hugs and tears flowed as we said our goodbyes and anticipated healthy hellos that afternoon.  After one of the surgeons came over and initialed the surgical area, Mom even wrote a special note "this side only" to ensure they were on the right side.  Had the marker been a little more user friendly, I'm sure she would have written a rhymy poem, drew a picture of a tree or a deer or something.

(EF is one of the surgeon's initials)

The things I put my poor parents through.  I told them that with all of the things I do, sports played, the way I drive, the traveling to foreign countries alone....this is the safest thing I think I'll ever do - surrounded by medical professionals night and day making sure nothing could ever go wrong.  Mom glared at me.

But see...they don't look scared:

(Now for some excerpts from doctors based on what I think I thought I heard and what I have been told about what went down...)

My procedure was expected to take 3-4 hours with Kelsey's being 4-5 hours.  In actuality, hers and mine were both a little over 2 hours each - a very unexpected and great surprise for the surgical team (and the mommys and daddys, I'm sure.) The surgeon came out to speak with my parents and used the word "miracle," as transplants NEVER take place without some sort of hiccup and both of our surgeries were textbook.  He also said that they usually have to give the kidney a little jolt to get it started but as soon as they unclamped Righty, she started working immediately. GO GIRL!

In the recovery area I felt like I had been hit by a truck with the most pain coming from my left eyeball.  (**What the heck???  Did they accidentally do an eyeball transplant?**)  I couldn't open it for the entire first day between the swelling and pain.  The medicinal reason for it was that I had been pumped full of fluids during the surgery and was positioned on my left side sloping downward so it all went to the left side of my face.  (My reason?....**someone on my cut-team punched me in the eye.**)  Boy, oh boy, it hurt along with the new scar on my side/back.  I remember joking with the guys wheeling me to my room to be careful because I was heavy and I didn't want them to get a backache from pushing me so far.  I'm sure I was spewing other vocal delights that, luckily, I don't recall.

As soon as Kelsey's surgery was done they came in and told me that the kidney was already producing fluid at large amounts and she was doing very well.  **HAPPY!**  Dr. Concepcion also shared that my left kidney was a machine and was producing tons of pee.  Who would have thought we could all be that excited about pee?  The next couple of days were a bit of a fog.  Here are some of the things I do remember:

* Never had a catheter before. Never want one again. I was counting down the hours until that sucker was removed.  Fortunately, I had mine out after 24-hours.  Poor Kelsey had hers for a couple extra days. She should get a lifetime supply of cupcakes for that. As soon as it was taken out, I realized I was on my own to go to the bathroom. HOLD.THE.PHONE.  I just gave birth to a bouncing baby kidney and you want me to get up out of this bed and walk to the bathroom, sit down and go?  Not just that, but with the amount of fluids they were pumping into the IV, I was going every 20-minutes for the first couple of hours.  I had to ask them to reduce the fluids so I could get some rest, which they did thankfully.  My mom and I got intimately close during that first day and a half.  She saw things she hasn't had to in over 35-years.  And now she's got something over on me when she goes senile and needs help with the potty.

* I never got used to the twice daily shot of Heparin.  'Good afternoon!  It's 1pm...time for your shot.'  'Good evening!  It's 1am...time for your shot.'  That stuff burns!  And leaves awesome bruises.  Who wants to be woken up in the middle of a night for a shot?  The other delight was the 6am daily blood draws.  Apparently blood flows like wine at that early hour.

* During my mentally questionable stage on the first day, I vaguely recollect a few conversations between the nurses and doctors and my folks about whether or not I was an athlete.  Apparently the heart rate blood pressure thingermajigger was constantly on alarm due to the low numbers.  Am I an athlete?  Negative.  Do I like to go run around, do dumb things and fall down a lot?  Perhaps.  I guess that puts me in a separate category of an "athlete" according to medical standards.  I'm going to embroider MEDICAL ATHLETE on my sweatshirts and soccer jerseys.  Anyway, the first two days the heart rate was registering below the 40's and 50's depending on time of day.  Blood pressure was like 80 over / corpse....which meant I was lucky to be visited every hour on the hour by nurses taking my vitals, temperature, asking me my name and date of birth (some new hospital standard to make sure patients are the right ones.)  I started saying I was born in 1984 to make myself feel better.  That thankfully decreased to every 2-3 hours after the rate started going up.  Lucky me.

* The drugs they were dealing me there started to make me sick so I was extremely nauseated for days - actually JUST feeling more normal as of today...6 days later.  ICK!  I can stand pain. I can't stand feeling like I'm going puke all the time.  I've been on Tylenol since Friday.  You can keep your Hydrocodone, Darvocet, and all your other feel good stuff, people.  If anyone wants to purchase an unopened bottle of the Hydro....give me a jingle.

* The sweet spots were seeing my parents every day, bugging the tar out of my dad and going to visit little Kelsey every day in her room and seeing her jam through her recovery!  (That champ got out of the hospital just a day after me!  The soonest ever for a transplant patient.)

* Sleep and rest do not occur in hospitals.  The best sleep after surgery came when we got back to the apartment from the hospital.  Sweet sweet sleep!

* Kelsey's new kidney was expected to make her abdomen protrude a little bit until she gets bigger but yet another miracle was that it was the perfect size for the space.  Dr. Concepcion also shared that unlike the expectation that living donor kidneys last for around 20-years, with the super success of this transplant, it could possibly last her the rest of her life.  Miracle #354.  Please stay a miracle.

Okay.  This has gone on long enough for one single post.  Sorry.  It has been a whole week of memories I've been trying to strip from my brain.  Just wait 'til the poo post!!

Anyway, (**clearing of throat**) to conclude this evening, here is some medical jargon I never knew until this whole escapade:

"Creatinine is a chemical waste product in the blood that passes through the kidneys to be filtered and eliminated in urine. The chemical waste is a by-product of normal muscle contractions. Creatinine is made from creatine, a supplier of energy to the muscle.

Women usually have lower creatinine levels compared to men, because women have less muscle tissue. Among adults without kidney disease, men have approximately 0.6 to 1.2 milligrams/deciliters (mg/dL) of creatinine, whereas women have between 0.5 to 1.1 mg/dL of creatinine."

Molly and I have been discussing Kelsey's creatinine levels for the last 18 months - the ebbs and flows - ups and downs (there are obviously many other levels they track but I'm simple-minded and can only remember one number at a time).....her levels have been over 3.5 and climbing throughout this process and at the time of surgery I believe they were around a 4.5.  Her kidneys were done giving everything they could give and the doctors commented how perfect timing this truly was. She wouldn't have lasted much longer without dialysis, which they didn't want to start her on as that decreases the success rate of a transplant.  As of yesterday when she was sprung from the joint, her level was a 0.8.  Every time I hear her new number it makes me cry. 

NEVER THE TWO SHALL MEET.  
Until Tonight.

10.28.12

My two families met for the first time this evening.  Some of the Pitts family members who happened to wander through my office have had the pleasure of meeting some of my work family, but tonight my whole birth family officially met my work family.  That certainly makes it sound like I was adopted at some point....but that's kinda what happened. For the last 15-years + I've had the pleasure of working closely with the owners of my company who are amazing human beings (in addition to working with a whole herd of incredible people!)  They make it easy for many of us at the company to work as hard as we do as they do just the same and would also give the shirt off their back to anyone.  They are not above anything or anyone, are grounded in humility and have a sincere appreciation for those blessings they have.  We have a win-win connection since I do enjoy wearing their shirts and they do enjoy me working a lot (okay...back the bus up.  I work a lot by choice.)

Not to turn this into my therapy session.... but I adore my own family and enjoy spending time with each of them - when everyone's schedules align.  Fortunately and unfortunately, I spend more time with my work family than I do with those that have born me...and those that have put up with me for nearly 4 decades (shared a room with, noogied, pinched, yelled at, made fun of....you know...family stuff.)  I am so grateful that I have two sets of amazing families when many barely have one.  A job is a job is a job.  Your boss is a boss is a slave driver.  But the Hamricks have always been special to me just as my own family is and I'm grateful to have had the opportunity to have known their oldest daughter, Katelyn, since she was just three years old and the twins, Kara & Kelsey, since they were born.  What incredible treasures those girls are. 

Fast forward 14-years and both families met for the first time to have an incredible experience where Kelsey and I were given blessings of health and peace from my dad and brothers for our upcoming journey.  The Hamricks' openness and embracing having us over to share this experience together is why they are loved by many.

Although the brief time we spent together was an incredibly moving experience, I was personally overwhelmed with emotion in finally having my two families finally come together as one. Words cannot describe the powerful presence that was there as blessings were given, prayers were said, tears were shed, hugs were freely given - even from the big guys.  My dad said in my blessing that for the rest of my life I will never forget the experience I am about to have....and I know for a fact that it started tonight.

Today's bLOG

aka THE POO PAPERS
11.6.12

Bowel Movement 
Defacate
Poop
DooDoo
#2
Dookie
Take a dump
Drop the kids off at the pool
Saw a log
Lay pipe
Drop a deuce
Taking _____ to Brown Town
Prairie Doggin' (precursor)

Besides satisfying my life-long desire to publicly list all the different ways to say it, I have to dedicate this post to the above-mentioned function, which has everything to do with this blog.  "How?" you ask?  (Maybe you're more like, "WHY?")

In addition to the daily injections, vitals taken, meds given, one of the main discussions at a hospital is whether it has taken place (yet.)  Rumor has it (I discovered it was the truth) that anesthesia, pain killers and being pumped full of gas for surgery makes the bowels a little slow on the make.  A few days in, my nurse, Sarah, was stethescoping my breathing and took a trip farther south to listen to my belly to which she stated, "hmmm...sluggish bowels."  (on a side note, you should have seen my belly for about 3-4 days after....I could have passed for 5 months pregnant.  Cute.)  Yes.  The dreaded C-word landed on even ME!  Doses of Miralax started on Thursday accompanied by nurse heads popping into the hospital room regularly with a look of anticipation like a 5-year old on Christmas Eve..."did Santa Claus come yet?"  No Virginia, he's still stuck in the chimney.

I was bound and determined not to have the same fate as most and leave the hospital without performing my civic duty.  More so, I just wanted to feel less bloated and uncomfortable.  This also led me to stop the pain killing narcotics 2 days in.  Tylenol, which has never abated a menstrual cramp in its life, was now in charge of my collective pain fate.  When I couldn't get comfortable at night, I paced the halls at 2am like an expectant mother trying to get her little one out.  My tummy was gurgling so I know it wanted out as much as I wanted it out.   And nada.

**LIGHT BULB OVER HEAD** What was I thinking?  The one thing I rely on for the relief of my different body aches and pains could help me out here.  YOGA!  I remembered one of the digestion-aiding poses that I could do in my pathetic state and promptly threw my pillow on the floor next to the constantly moving, plastic, uncozy hospital bed and got on my knees.  I'm not going to say that Santa showed up immediately but within the hour he had bestowed his presents under my tree.  AHHHHH.

The next day as we were leaving Stanford Hospital, we passed by a sign on one of the exit doors that shared the secret to a happy life - like it was scribed by one of heaven's angels just for me.

LOSE the DOO!

And here you were wondering how I was going to make this into an entire blog post.  You're welcome / I'm sorry.  Take whichever one you need. 

BACK IN THE SADDLE

11.19.12

Tomorrow will be my 3-week anniversary of having body parts in two states.  And today was my first official full day back at the office.  Yay.  I taunted everyone (mostly Bob) last week by attending our three office Thanksgiving Potluck lunches, checking my e-mail, making sure nothing was on fire and then heading back home (although it seemed like a full day after a few errands since I didn't actually arrive home until after 5pm anyway. What a rip.)  I want to admit that I went to the potlucks to say hello to everyone at our offices, but in all reality it was about the food. One track mind here.  The tables and tables and tables of home made mashed potatoes, funeral potatoes, sweet potatoes, cheesy rice and broccoli casserole, egg rolls (not sure how they fit in there but they were at all 3 of our offices - weird), salad, turkey, pie, cake and all kinds of pumpkin goodies. Aside from the chicken and ground turkey and rice I cook on the weekends for my lunches, this gal doesn't get a good home cooked meal very often and I wasn't about to miss out on platefuls of delectable goodness that I didn't have to make.  Plus, I need to lay off the high protein diet for a bit and this will probably be one of the last times I can gorge myself on carbs before getting back into workout/life mode without feeling entirely guilty.  Score 3 for me. 

How cool are my coworkers with this potluck submission?? Thanks Jodit!

Anyway, what was I saying before I lost track of myself in food memories?  Yeah - work.

Today was great.  Back to the friendly insulting banter with Bob.  Back to hoofing it out to pick up lunch for whoever needed sustenance.  Back to pretending to be creative thanks to Google.  Back to sitting at a computer all day responding to e-mail.  I swear our society (i.e. me) USED to be productive.  Before e-mail.  I surprised myself in feeling terrific all day.  Prior to the kidney swap and from what I heard, I was mentally prepping the necessity for an afternoon siesta somewhere nearby.  Under my desk.  On Molly's couch in her office. Perhaps in an empty suite in our building across the courtyard.  An air mattress loses air too quickly (annoying.)  How could I bring a big, fluffy mattress into the office inconspicuously?  Where would I hide it?  Could I take off my pants and nap without making a scene?  How long would I need to siesta?  Late-November?  Mid-December?  How long could I pretend to need a siesta to satisfy my dreams of taking mid-afternoon naps 5 days a week?  Oh how I was looking forward to feeling good AND milking this for quite some time...
(On a side note, Bob yelled at anyone who asked me how I was feeling since he thought they would somehow remind me I was actually feeling like crap and I'd go back home.)

Anyway, where was I?  Yeah - work.

I felt energized all day long today.  No siesta for this muchacha.  Could have been the 12-hours of sleep I got on Saturday night.  Could have been the awesome sleep I've gotten since last Wednesday...the first night of not having to play Goldilocks and the Three Bears all night in trying to find a fairly comfy sleeping position (**too far over to the right.  **too far over to the left.  **don't sleep on your back - it hurts.  **ahhhh....just right!)  An unforeseen piece to this kidney pie was that I have weird swelling in my belly that starts getting uncomfortable late in the afternoon.  By the end of the day it's pretty big and quite tender.  Wait.  I have a 4-inch incision on my side with no swelling yet my tummy is the one that gets it?  Maybe I'm pregnant with a cheesy potato love child.  The great news is that I have some super connections to some awesome home remedies.  

**Whatever you get from reading today's blog should be this: Everyone needs to get an Asian friend who has homeopathic ties to the motherland (plus they'll bring egg rolls to your potlucks.)**  My Korean buddy, Yoggie, has a remedy for swelling her sister Moon told her about. Pumpkin.  I love all things pumpkin! Cookies, cakes, bread, rolls - but this is a special "old" pumpkin that apparently has special powers (although not the Cinderella horse and buggy kind) to help with swelling in the abdomen.)  The pumpkin recipe is simple:  Core out magic pumpkin. Put about a cup of organic honey inside. Find a friend with a pot big enough to cook said whole pumpkin in (okay, that part is NOT simple - trust me. Thanks to my bestie Val for donating the roasting pan.)  Put water in half way up the outside of the pumpkin.  Close the lid and simmer for 6-8 hours. Once it's soft, call Korean friend back to your house to burn her hands while extracting the juice. Or you can do it yourself. Drain the water from the outside of the pumpkin, save the juice inside the pumpkin and then cut up the pumpkin into chunks, place into a mesh bag (send your Korean friend to the Asian market for one of those too) and squeeze the juice out. One medium sized pumpkin actually puts out about a half gallon of liquid.  Who knew?  Drink warm juice frequently (I added some extra honey and cinnamon and pretended it was tea.  'Cause cool people drink tea and I need all the help to be cool I can get.)  After drinking it for a day my swelling wasn't nearly as bad or as painful, which I think was the genesis of my sleeping through the night.  And my energy at the office today.

You probably were wondering why there was a pumpkin at the top of this post.  Now you know.

Thank you Yoggie!  It feels so good to be back in action.

I'LL SHOW YOU MINE IF....

12.5.12

I know you want to see how it turned out.  So here it is: 

My new kitchen flooring was installed the weekend after Thanksgiving.  I purchased the tiles a few months ago and they sat around my office for a few weeks, then sat around my garage for a couple of months.  I do I procrastinate my fair share (plus a little bit of yours too.)  My folks came over and helped me rip up the old, crusty flooring (they actually wouldn't let me work the scraper so I went and got us Capriotti's for lunch instead) then we laid the new tiles.  What we thought would be a 3-hour tour (like the castaways on Gilligan's Island) turned into an 8-hour blood, sweat and tears marathon for the three of us Friday then another whole day for me on Saturday finishing the tile work, caulking and the worst part of any DIY...cleaning up the WRECK your house turns into while conducting said DIY.  How tile bits got into the upstairs bedroom is beyond me. Needless to say that just over 3 weeks after surgery, I wasn't prepared to be squatting and laying tile all day - but I sure thought I was good to go - until about 4 hours into the job. More so, the fact that I hadn't worked out in a month and my legs and butt were already getting soggy didn't help the situation.

So I woke up Sunday feeling like I had been hit by a bus.  (Let's get real here.  That's such a dumb analogy.  Who knows what it feels like to have actually been hit by a bus?  Better yet, who has lived to tell the tale?  It REALLY felt like this: 

Remember back in the day when, after leading a sedentary life for a number of years, one of your buddies calls you and invites you to go on a 10-mile hike in the mountains the following day and you decide you'll be fine since you used to play softball on Friday nights like 8-years ago and you'll totally be able to leverage your mad muscle memory to out-hike everyone, plus you'll be a stud, get up the morning after the hike, actually make it to the gym (since this hike will be the perfect catalyst to start your new workout regime), get the band back together....you know.  Then you go on that hike and over-do it to look like a champ, but you're only able to drive home in 2nd gear because your leg will catch on fire if you use the clutch one more time, then you crash into bed or wherever you body lands, wake up the next morning unable to stand upright, walk, sit on the toilet without using a handicap bathroom stall with the handrails (**mental note - install handrails in the bathroom of your next home**) and aren't even able to roll over in bed without wanting to use your own taser to put yourself out of misery?)  

Okay.  I think I overdid it, but I got some new flooring! Thanks mom and pop!!

One of the first questions people ask me is whether they actually put something inside my body to take the place of the missing kidney.  Unfortunately we didn't have enough stuff together to complete a time capsule so the doctor said that the nearby organs and other inside stuff would just settle into the open space.  I have also been asked multiple times if I can feel that something's missing inside.  My dad told me I was walking crooked a couple of days after surgery but that seems to have corrected itself and I feel no different than I did before. 

Now for some pictures!  This was a picture of me right before the nephrectomy:

* Ha. Don't I wish.

I took this shot 2 days after the big day to send to a girlfriend who was asking to see the damage.  They had just removed the pain pump because it was making me ooze all over the place and cotton was taped to cover the tiny hole where the pump's tube had been installed.  They blew me up with gas during surgery to get to the goodies so I'm still pregnant-like here. Oh, and if you can't tell, they glued the incision closed. Stitches and staples are SO last season.

(On a side note, I found out after having my initial meeting with the surgeon that they can actually remove a kidney laparoscopically.  There's less recovery time and a smaller scar on your bikini line or, I suppose, your Speedo line if you're a dude.  Unfortunately I was not a candidate as they typically can only remove the left kidney using the laparo procedure due to less organs and shenanigans to get through to get to it and my left kidney function was 57% and my right kidney 43% (they leave the higher functioning organ with the donor,) plus I had an extra vein on my kidney which made it more complicated than they were comfortable doing it the fancy, new way.  So we kicked it old school.  There.  Now you have some useless trivia to share at the holiday parties you attend this year.)

This shot is a few days after getting back to the apartment we were staying (1 week post-op.)  I was allergic to the medical tape and broke out into a rash.  Not an STD.
  

 This one is 30-days after surgery. And 30-days after eating whatever I want and attempting to suck it in. A friend commented that it just looks like a red mark I would have if I fell asleep on the remote control.  He's totally right. 

I have to say that I'm proud of this scar and what it represents and who it was all for.  Everyone who asks to see it (or simply asks how I'm feeling) gets a free show.  Today I had a follow-up meeting with members of a PR firm who I had met with prior to this going down.  My company's VP of Marketing was chatting about it with the woman and mentioned that she was sure I'd show her the scar.  She then looked at me and realized I was wearing a dress.  Had my butt been in much better shape and covered with an extremely dark spray tan, the scar may have made an appearance.



I love scars.  They're like a scrapbook of life's adventures you get to wear on your body.  Every scar has a story behind it.  I could live without the one on my face, but the rest of them are pretty cool....especially this new one. When deciding to take this journey 18-months ago I had these sweet shirts created in my mind and was able to bring them to life thanks my friend's mom who does custom shirts.  I walked into Kelsey's room 2 days after surgery wearing mine and she said, "I love your shirt!  I want one!!" and surprise....I had one for her too.  Miss Kelsey...your scars are MUCH cooler than mine will ever be.  May they be a reminder of how far you have come, how much strength and power you have inside, the heavenly miracles of this journey and how much everyone loves you.

"GEEZ. ENOUGH ALREADY!"

- Heaven's Prayer Coordinator
2.1.13

Most don't know that I got involved in the Hamrick kidney party in January of 2011 so I was told a few times that we made it seem like this was just business for us.  Trust me, that was not the case.  The first 6-months of the process was a very emotional experience as we prepared for a June 2011 transplant.  Luckily Kesley's levels started to improve and she was able to eek out 16-months more from her kidneys than what was expected at that time (of course, that was way beyond what doctors had expected for her early in life,) which was great!  So by the time the announcement was made in September 2012, this was old hat for us and not that it held any less importance to me, I know I was a little robotic about it.

My initial request to the Hamricks was that no one knew about my involvement and I had delusions of being able to do this and not have anyone know. Ever. "Come on. I can plan my 'vacation' at the same time of the transplant and no one will be the wiser." As much as I can have a convincing persuasion over many things, I didn't even get Bob to think twice about that. I wasn't underestimating my work compadres to not figure it out, but was hoping I could avoid any pre-surgery attention. That's just not me. Plus this was not about me. This was about the beautiful and exciting life of a teenage girl.

So when the the Hamricks showed up at the office together at 6pm one evening mid-September to talk to me, after my initial coronary thinking that someone resigned or perhaps they found the stash of cash I have been secretly embezzling, I realized it was finally TIME.  After digging in my heels as much as I could, plans were made to tell, what felt like the world, of what was to come.   Little did I know that the word would travel beyond any boundaries than I could fathom.

When someone has a challenging time in their life, the common response is the arbitrary my thoughts and prayers are with you sentiment. The reality of that statement for my kidney transplant sewing circle was truly unexpected and completely overwhelming. I'm sure heaven's prayer coordinator was like, "Dude.  Enough already.  WE GET IT." 

There are nearly 300 people at my company and many I've known for a number years (some since I was a naïve and poorly-dressed 19-year old.)  Multiply that by friends, family, spouses, aunts, second cousins removed and I'm sure thousands knew about it. Of course my family has the Mormon side of prayers and fasting locked up but it was incredibly touching to know that our VP of Finance's sister, who is a nun at a convent in California, was praying with her sisters. The prayers of those who are Buddhist, Jewish, Catholic, LDS and other Christian denominations...the prayer circles and groups...even the warm wishes of those that don't believe in a deity....were incredible touching and affected me more than anyone will ever know.  Plus, if you haven't caught on already, they worked!

In attending the potluck lunch two weeks after the transplant at one of our offices the incredibly sweet wife of one of our agents and I were talking about the process and outcome and she started to tear up and said, "My prayers were answered. Yes, I prayed that everything would go well but I specifically prayed that the speed of the surgery and recovery would astound the doctors."  A compliance investigator at the Nevada Real Estate Division, notorious for being all-business, was apparently moved by the story and e-mailed me his sentiments along with his personal cell phone number to use in case I needed ANYTHING (non-work related - he clarified.) And although I don't think he's LDS, he has a strong belief that the prayers of his LDS mother-in-law are answered and had her put our names on the prayer roll in the temple in northern Utah. My favorite yoga instructor mentioned something to a personal yoga client of hers who was touched and anonymously paid for two one-on-one sessions for me during my recovery - in addition to her dedicating my favorite yoga class to Kelsey and me. A good friend and I regularly dedicate the ab section of our workouts to people who need some well wishes and I know she dedicated many abs to me (enjoy your washboard tummy this summer, Mama G!)  The hundreds of notes on Facebook, the heartfelt e-mails and get well gifts, the flowers and well wishes from the President and CEO of Coldwell Banker Real Estate Corporation....so very special!

It was and still is absolutely overwhelming and incredibly special to FEEL the love from every single person I have encountered and even from those I have never met.  No matter anyone's religious affiliation, I know that God listens to the pleas from all of His children. The undeniable miracles that transpired before, during and after the transplant are due to faith and the prayers of many hundreds of people.

Words can't express my appreciation for all of your thoughts and prayers.  They WERE truly with me and something I'll carry in my heart the rest of my life.

THE DECISION
5.23.13

Just a few weeks ago Kelsey and I celebrated our six month anniversary of this whole ball of wax that I've bored you with throughout these pee papers posts. I hope you don't walk away like, 'well that was 90-minutes of my life I'll never get back' (sorta like the way we all felt after watching Howard the Duck or any of the Superman sequels.)  And if it really took you 90-minutes to get through this, you read too slow.

As my final post I wanted to share the beginning: The decision, which most are curious about.  Or not. I'm not an individual who shares a ton of feels, and I make light of all the 'it was meant to be' stuff that people spout regularly on Facebook (then break up with their soul mate 37-days later), but when I received an e-mail from Molly in January of 2011 updating close friends and family with Kelsey's condition and the impending transplant we all new was coming, a wave of heat raced through me and I knew it was time to make the offer that had been cataloged in the back of my mind for many years. Due to the highly personal and emotional nature of what was being shared, I figured the best way to discuss this was obviously......in an e-mail.  Actually it was for the best as none of us needed to bawl in front of each other as it'd take us like 3-hours to have a 5-minute conversation.  As soon as I scribed my feelings and desire to help and pressed the send button, it felt like a done deal.  My kidney no longer belonged to me.  Then I thought, "really, what are the chances that **I**, just a casual, unrelated simpleton would be a match?

But this was my journey and I knew it.

It all started with a call to the transplant coordinator at Stanford. Gerri James is a killer transplant coordinator.  Not that I have ever known any transplant coordinators.  But I'd rank her at the top of her field from my vantage point.  Just like someone who has never snowboarded would see me ride and think I should be on the US Olympic snowboarding team.  **She TOTALLY slayed that bunny hill and didn't fall ONCE!**  Anyway, Gerri really is top shelf.  She mailed me a blood draw kit, which I made the rounds with begging Las Vegas blood centers and hospitals to poke me and which none of them would.  Some hospital mumbo jumbo about networks and "they just don't do that."  My desire to help was met with red tape at every turn.  Molly sits on the board of a local hospital here so she called in a favor and the blood was on its way to the testing facility at Stanford. (*plug for Southern Hills Hospital here*)  About a 10-days later I received a voice mail from Gerri to call her back.  My heart about dropped as my biggest fear was that she was going to tell me I wasn't a match.  

But I WAS.  (and my nephrologist was surprised how great of a match I actually was.)

I know many family members would have LOVED to have been Kelsey's donor but the blood had to be a compatible match, which wasn't the case for them.  My universal O+ was the winning ticket!

Then came the rest of the testing, which involved going to Stanford for two days and getting worked up one side and down the other in addition to scaring the total crud out of my parents who tagged along.  Every doctor I met with did everything they could to frighten me, yet the only thing they could come up with is, "This is surgery.  You could DIE."  Yeah.  I almost die at least 3 times a week already.  But would this affect me health-wise?  No.  Are there things I shouldn't do after donating?  Tackle football and getting drunk.  K - Taking those off the bucket list.  Will this, in any way, have a negative impact on my quality of life?  Nope. 

No one was ever able to give me a solid reason why not.

I do have to admit that the worst part of the experience was the multiple mental health professionals I had to meet with to ensure I was not insane for wanting to offer a body part to someone who was not a blood relative. I met with two in Las Vegas; the first one should have been committed herself, and the second was a very in-depth interview of my childhood, family, relationships, work, sports and the rest of the stuff covered in cobwebs in my brain.  Fast forward 18-months after the first surgery was postponed and the real one was on the books for October 30th, 2012.  I flew back to Stanford for a last-minute check up to make sure everything was still hunky dory.  There, I met with two more social workers, a donor advocate and also found out that since the Las Vegas shrink wasn't Stanford-based, I had to see one there. Again.  So I scheduled to take a later flight that afternoon for what was to be a 90-minute evaluation, which was done in 15. I caught a glimpse of the final report and I think it said, "Yes, she's nuts - but she seems to understand what she's doing."  Should have gone to the drive-thru shrink in the first place. Obviously there are reasons behind this process when it comes to non-relatives, which I totally understand. One of the medical team people told me of a case a few years ago where an employee was solicited for his kidney for the boss' relative and it came out in the interview process that he was to be compensated for it.  Stanford don't play that game. But I am still waiting for my check.

Throughout this 18-month journey there wasn't one moment of hesitation or fear about my decision.**  I was cool as a cuke.  Since the beginning, there was song that continuously played in my head (to the point of annoyance) that has a line that says, "How can I see another's lack and I not share?"  My biggest fear was not following the promptings I felt and having the pain of regret every day for the next 50 years and wondering what could have been?  The thought of dying in my bed at 87 with two healthy kidneys.  And to sit on the sidelines and watch Molly try to take care of her little one after donating her own kidney....would have ripped my heart out.

(** It's true that there wasn't one moment of hesitation, however I was a total idiot and started reading blogs online about other people's donation experiences about a week before surgery, which was the worst thing in the world to do since I'm pretty sure most people only go online to whine, scare the crap out of others or troll with politics.  It's like having a sore body part then hopping on to WebMD to see what you can find.  Sixty minutes, 18 blogs, 2 medical journals, and 4 news articles later you have diagnosed yourself with a life-threatening illness and have just a few weeks to live.  

Hesitation?  No.  Nervousness.  A bit.  Would I be able to snowboard this Winter? Or ever for that matter?  Could I play soccer again? Would I even want to?  How long will it take me to be able to do a downward-facing dog again?  The very selfish, temporal things started to creep in and were manifested with dreams an incision the size of those with major weight loss going through a circumferential body lift. Yes, I watch too many surgical shows on TV. Once you start crawling through everything you can find online, you then start reading between the lines of EVERY-SINGLE-THING that happens in your life at that time looking for a sign.  My last trip to Stanford with Kelsey was on my birthday at the end of September. The morning of, I was notified that our flight was canceled. Immediately I sent a text to my bestie asking if this was a sign that I wasn't supposed to do this. The last day at work before leaving for California, I walked out of my office and shut the door.  I heard a loud crash and opened the door to find one of my favorite sayings in glass that had been sitting undisturbed in my bookshelf for 10-years broken on the ground.  Again, was someone trying to tell me something?  The moral of the story is that I freaked my own self out for a few days unnecessarily instead of remembering the 18 months of peaceful confirmation that I was doing the right thing for me and the right thing for Kelsey. I realized that God does not send us messages by disrupting the travel of hundreds of people nor will he break your favorite stuff to tell you what not to do.  Yeah.  I KNEW that.)

To sum it up, this was never really a DECISION that had to be made.  My journey started when I read that e-mail and wondered how I could see another's lack and not share of myself when I have EVERYTHING.  I have been blessed with incredible health and strength and stamina and I knew I was called to share of those gifts.  And just like a candle, lighting another candle (like using a birthday candle to light all the other candles on a cake as fast as you can before the wax melts all over the place...or maybe that's just MY cakes because I'm getting old,) the original candle does not lose one spec of light from lighting the others.  Although I'm one of those tricky trick candles that frustrate the living crap out of everyone that can't be blown out.

The morning of surg.

Gerri James - Transplant Coordinator/Slave Driver

 90 days later. With matching bangs.

Our Epilogue:  Six months later - Kelsey is doing amazing!  She looks healthy and is growing (she and I have an agreement that she will NOT get taller than me.)  I just attended her Junior High School play of Grease where she was a Pink Lady. She just got her braces off and has the most AMAZING smile.  Her levels have fluctuated, as expected, still in the normal levels post-transplant and she's scheduled to go back to Stanford next month to have a routine biopsy done of Righty to make sure it's not being a bad kid.  As for me, any nerves I had were unfounded. To the max.  Less than one week after surgery, my parents drug me over to Half Moon Bay where we walked along the beach, took pictures, and had some bad Mexican food. My expectation for being grounded for 60-90 days didn't hold water and I felt good enough to get back to soccer and the gym about 5- weeks after surgery (do not read this blog, Dr. C!)  I had my pre-surgery energy levels after just two weeks. I even went to my team's soccer game the night I got back from Stanford to cheer them on.  And since I've been back on the field, we haven't won a game. So nothing has changed.

I was able to celebrate our 90-day kidneversary with a day of heli-boarding in the Wasatch Mountains outside of Salt Lake City, which was absolutely epic... but didn't hold a birthday candle to this entire experience.