Those clouds of gray

You know what I mean. In both pre and post transplant sessions the doctors talk about it: depression. It’s not surprising many of us have it while we’re waiting on the list. The waiting…and waiting is a heavy weight to add to the slumped shoulders of someone sick with end-stage COPD, IPF, or one of the other pulmonary diseases.

But the sigh of relief that comes with THAT CALL doesn’t relieve all the pressure. The waiting is replaced with a whole series of niggling nits that might not be as nail-biting, but can be endlessly frustrating. The ability to cope with a new organ – where did it come from, why did I get it, how long will it last? The persistence to adhere to strict regimens of rehabilitation and medication therapies. The simmering worries about rejection which eventually kills most of us, the side effects of the immune suppressant drugs which can lead to renal failure, cancer or other problems. And the sometimes mind-numbing struggle with the fact that you are no longer you. That, as a friend of mine recently said, you’ve lost the person you used to be. This one is neither better nor worse -- just different. As a solution she suggested that I suck it up and take Bernie for a walk.

I my case, it was excellent advice. I do my best thinking on those long walks with Bernie. And I’m working on who that different person is.

Whether you’re a transplant survivor of not, I urge you to do something about it if you’re struggling with depression. Make an appointment with a doctor. Find a friend you can talk to about it. Or a Bernie. And remember the lyrics to that old song: Gray skies are going to clear up. Put on a happy face.