The big Why -- at least one of them

Why did this happen to me?

I don’t mean why I got the transplant. That’s clear as Culligan Water; because I smoked and developed COPD. I was sick enough to need a transplant and, in the opinion of the doctors, a good candidate to survive it. And the health care I needed before, during, and after the transplant was covered by my wife’s insurance through her employer.

I don’t mean why I decided to get a transplant, either. I’m reminded of that every time I open the Shand’s Adult Lung Transplant book I keep my daily records in. It’s on a note I wrote to Harriet while we were still staying at the Camellia Rose Inn during my recovery: I got the transplant because I wanted to spend more time with you.

I mean…why me? Why did I get a second chance?

As I wrote in last year’s Christmas card I now believe for certain that there’s a hand behind our human existence. And there is a reason why I’m still here, something I need to do. When we discovered my mother has Alzheimer’s and moved her into our house, I thought I felt that hand. This spring when I had the opportunity, through the American Lung Association, to speak to high school students about the dangers of smoking, I felt is again. Now, I think those were just warm ups to give me confidence. I’m sure there are a lot of reasons I’m still here, but none more important than the next one. I have a chance to be care giver, at least for a few weeks, to my care giver.

If you’re a reader of this blog, you’ll know that Harriet, my wife, recently had good news about an MRI. The spot on her liver turned out to be what her doctor called just a blood blister. It was a great relief to us because she has already been diagnosed with a small renal carcinoma on her kidney. Now we can look forward to her surgery this coming Wednesday to remove that kidney, and any chance that the cancer can spread. Without going though radiation or chemotherapy. She should be out of the hospital in five days --and in the hands of nurse Larry. Afterall, I said I wanted to spend more time with her. :)

Since I mentioned the 2008 Christmas card, here’s what I wrote:

I always wondered about miracles;

Christmas, Easter, the Universe.

This year I saw one up close.

Small to be sure

But I have no question now

There is a hand behind

Our human existence

And I have been lucky enough

If for only a moment to be cradled

In His loving embrace

What goes around...

Back in April I wrote on this blog about a wedding reception and a story my wife told a group about giving her last dollar to a co-worker of hers at Universal. At the time, the story almost had me in tears. I didn’t know about it; she hadn’t told me because I was sick and out of work, and we were in financial straits. I got though it when I realize she’d called it a funny story which meant she was past those bad times. And I had to get past them too.

As the adage goes, it came around last week. Out of the clear blue sky, my wife received a huge bouquet of flowers and 18 one dollar bills from Universal Singapore where that old co-worker is now employed. He’d written a note in the card:

Payback time.

That story meant more to me than you ever know.

Thanks for the loan -- 18 years later

Something good happens every day, doesn’t it?

Good news...

Sometimes it comes in a simple phone call. The nurse said the MRI showed that it was just a (insert long word here) like the doctor thought it was. No cause for alarm.

Yes, Ma’am (Insert long sigh here). But it sure is cause for a martini or a glass of wine or…at least a WHOOPEE!

The message for me here is a reiteration of a few words of wisdom from Harriet's mother, Granny Smith: Don't worry until you have something to worry about.

By the way, it was Harriet's MRI.

You smell...

That’s what Harriet said, but she was smiling. A little confused, I started to apologize and she interrupted. With a grin, she told me it was just the smell of a man working. And reminded me that it had been a long time since I was able to. She kinda liked it.

I kinda like it, too.

The Whoopee Moment

I don't know whether it strikes every transplant recipient, and it doesn't always hit me. But a lot of mornings when I first wake up I have a Whoopee Moment. You know, as in the Bookshelf definition: Whoop-ee (slang interjection used to express jubilance; to engage in a noisy, boisterous celebration).

I open my eyes, blink once or twice, and realize I'm not sick anymore. I'm that guy who got a second chance, a whole new life. Of course, I don't want to scare Harriet or Bernie. So, I keep all the whoops and bell ringing in my mind. Still, Harriet sometimes asks me what that silly grin is on my face. I just smile a bit broader and give her a smooch.

If you haven't had a Moment lately, think about it. Whether you're a transplant person or not. Everyone has a chance to make a new start every day. You only have so much time to be happy. And it's a bunch more fun than a Whoopee cushion.

An after Memorial Day salute

I don’t have a name for it yet, and it would be just among us transplant folks, but it’s sort of a reverse of Memorial Day. A salute to the thousands of men and women on the transplant teams across the country – not because they gave their lives, but because they saved others. Maybe we’d plant flowers instead of placing wreaths or bouquets at gravesites.

In my case, I’d be planting roses for a list longer than both of my arms. Very green! And, as I suspect the case is with most of us, there would be one special rose. I’d take care with a unique Orange Rose for Dr. Maher Baz, the head of the transplant team at Shands Hospital at the University of Florida. He's the physician who made the decision to move ahead with my bilateral lung transplant despite what could be a major complication. And the man to whom I owe this new life.

If anyone has an idea for what we should call this new celebration, I’d be delighted to hear it.

As an afterthought, which is what this blog is all about, I should note that I can not imagine giving the decision Dr. Baz made to a bureaucrat in some centralized health care system. If that were the case, chances are, I wouldn't be imagining anything. I wouldn't be.

I recommend...

Yeah, I know. I’m always recommending something. But this time it comes with backing from almost every corner. And it doesn’t just apply to the transplant crowd. It’s a good idea for everyone.

Adopt a pet.

One of the most important things Bernie has taught me is a simple truth: There’s nothing in the world that can lift your spirits like tail-wagging, unconditional love.