Getting my ducks in a row...

After two days of testing and appointments at the Cleveland Clinic at the end of May, I arrived home in a bit of a fog. Shocked, but yet, not surprised. I felt better after a hug from my daughter and a night in my own bed.

I was told I don't have long without getting new lungs. I have to finish the testing and get listed. Soon.

June was a blur. I overdid things, especially in the later part of the month. And, I paid for it... ill and swollen, and it has been taking several days to recover.

Remember those two bags I talked about? I'm still packing. Most days I feel like I am trying to beat the clock and doing so with limitations due to my medical condition. I'm getting my ducks in a row, making end-of-life decisions, going through personal possessions, and working on scrapbooks. I won't get everything done. But then, that is what the other bag is for. Everything else gets packed in there. Sentences around here are frequently started with "When I get my new lungs" and "When I can breathe again."

Not all ducks are orderly. There are a few that weave in and out, and another that always stops to look at something and falls behind. I'll probably never get comfortable with this uncertainty but I must accept it. I may not know where I am going, and my ducks are in a, er... sort of a row, but I must paddle onward.

Ready or not...

In an earlier post I talked about Tiffany Christensen's book Sick girl Speaks: Lessons and Ponderings Along the Road to Acceptance. It is a very positive read and I appreciate her insight on illness. In her book she described a time in her life when she was sick enough for a lung transplant and she knew what she was up against. "I had to plan for both possibilities equally," she wrote.

"I continued to plan my funeral and say my last words. At the same time I dreamed about all the things I would do once I was well. The image I used was packing two suitcases for two destinations... I had no idea where my bags would end up," she explained. She knew both were possible.

All of this seems to be happening too quickly, especially since I've been moving at snail speed for months now. But, it is time. I must pack my suitcases.

Over the next few months I should try to get my affairs in order, make my final wishes, tie up loose ends, say I Love You. That's one bag.

And then there's the other bag. I will imagine waking up with new lungs. A new beginning. I will need to pack lots of hope--hope that my body will recover from surgery quickly, hope that I respond well to the medicines, and hope that I can get a few good years out of the new lungs.

I tell myself I'm lucky. I get to pack. Some people do not get that opportunity. And, I can pack two bags. Some people only get to pack one. Perhaps I won't remember to pack everything or I will run out of time. Whatever I have packed and whatever I have managed to prepare will just have to do. And, when the time comes, I hope to return with renewed strength, a bag in hand... heavy with hope.