It was almost three years ago I woke up. I had to relearn how to walk and how to swallow. I have a reminder--a six and a half inch scar from a sternotomy--a cut made down the middle of my chest, from the top of the sternum to the bottom. My heart was stopped and I was put on life support while surgeons removed my diseased lungs and replaced them with donor lungs.
I live each day with the statistics of lung transplantation hanging over my head. Many people tell me to ignore the statistics, but I will be honest with you. It's difficult when I deal with the physical and emotional pain of transplant. I have, since transplant lost friends waiting for transplant and I have lost friends who have received their transplant. How quickly one and two years go by and how many friends have died, either of rejection or infection or some other transplant related complication. Lungs are fragile and they don't last forever. Lungs are exposed to the outside air, pollen, pollution, germs, spores, and can suck up whatever is floating around. By one year doctors expect about twenty percent of us transplantees to die off. By five years, about forty to fifty, and by the tenth year, only about twenty-five percent will be going strong. And, all too often we deal with other health problems because of the effects from the medications we take.
Year three has been full of wonderful memories. I've been able to do much more than the second year, even with my limitations. This past year I've logged several health issues, a couple more surgeries, Gamma Knife radiation, several trips to Cleveland for follow-ups, many blood draws, and more. I keep photos of my donor on my shelves at home and can tell you that I sense that I am a whole lot happier than most people I meet on a daily basis, even on my toughest days.
