I’ve had some trouble with this blog thing. And, in retrospect, it seems so obvious that the solution seems to go without saying.
Write what you know.
So, I’m wracking my brains to come up with a topic that I know that I think other people will be interested in.
Today’s epiphany: It isn’t about what other people are interested in. At least not for purposes of this blog.
I just need to write, man.
I didn’t want to write about what’s really going on with me. Somehow, I thought that would define and confine me. Paradoxically, it sets me free to speak my truth.
So, let’s talk about the cockroach in the living room.
I am a kidney transplant recipient. And that really does define and confine me today. Kind of like being a mom. I can be other things, too, but being a mom is part of the definition of me.
I kept a blog for the year or so leading up to the transplant. Talked about the hell of peritoneal dialysis, the uncertainty, the sheer gross-ness of having tubes surgically implanted.
But I was determined that 2008 would be the year of the kidney and then I’d get a transplant and live happily ever after.
Getting a kidney transplant is not a cure.
It’s actually just another treatment option. There’s dialysis–peritoneal or hemo–there’s transplantation, and there’s dying.
A percentage of people have “issues” after transplantation. That would include me.
August 18, 2009 will be a year since the operation and it’s been…difficult (excruciating, humiliating, terrifying, exhausting, debilitating, and painful).
I’ve had two serious rejection episodes, the BK virus, the CMV virus, and now some kind of ongoing viral syndrome. I’m having serious doubts about whether this kidney is going to make it.
And my whole life has been derailed.
So, that’s what I’m going to talk about here. And believe me, progress does seem to be at a snail’s pace.
That’s the cockroach in the living room–not to be mistaken for an elephant. This little guy can hide, breed, and scuttle just out of view so that you think there really isn’t a cockroach. Sooner or later, he (or his kindred) show up, though.
What’s going on with me is what I know. Now you’ll know, too.