The head nurse in the procedure room at the U's transplant clinic said, "Holly's going through this like a rock star."
Randy and I made some jokes about trashing hotel rooms and smashing guitars,but the staff insisted: they very rarely let someone go just a week after being released from the hospital to get their labs done at their home clinic. (Usually, they find medication levels and other measures are still rising and falling and people still need to come to the U for at least another week so they can supplement either immunosuppression or other infusions.)
That's something I've heard along the line, from transplant-floor nurses, from physical therapists insisting I slow down while "practice" walking and from nephrologists and surgeons, so I guess it must be true.
It makes me curious: is it my natural bullheadedness and determination to pass whatever "test" is given me? Is it the fact my father's experience has been such a success I simply didn't expect anything less? Is it the prayer pouring in from all over?
My mother laughed when I told her on the phone, "Maybe all those people at Bethel were right -- maybe Cheryl and I are sisters!" "It makes you wonder, doesn't it?" she chuckled.
Whatever the answer, all I know is gratitude -- an abiding peace combined with a fierce joy. Could I close my eyes right now and just send up a fervent prayer of thanksgiving? Yes. Could I go out and wheel and leap and dance on the driveway? Oh yeah!
Well, except for some lingering incision pain, that is. But, just today, that started itching as well as hurting, so. . . more progress!
