A mother. A daughter. A topic.
If my life was a movie, I would like to think that it would be a musical. A light, airy, funny, neat but quirky little story laced with wonderful singing and dancing. The kind that plasters a big smile on your face when you get up to leave the theater and has you humming at least one of the tunes all the way to your car.
Not that I actually ever sing (or hum). Because I was told at the age of 10 that I couldn’t sing by my 5th grade choir teacher, and I never really tried again.
But I do dance. And I think that should qualify me for musical status.
But musicals are oh so much more than just singing and dancing. They present a view of the world that gives us hope and joy and there’s always some sort of lesson to be learned through the story….like…
Lesson #1: A boy and girl can find each other and be happy happy happy.
Lesson #2: You can get the bad guys and they will get what they deserve.
Lesson #3: The world is a better place when we hold hands and,
Lesson #4: If we pull together, we CAN put on a show!
I love the idea of defining my life with that kind of optimistic outlook on the world, where seemingly insurmountable problems get resolved and all of the characters end up better off than they were before.
I mean, WHY NOT?
Why not sing and dance through life? Why not have happy endings (and beginnings and middles)? Why not belt out a show stopping tune that tells everyone to Stop Raining on Your Parade?
I know musicals tend not to be taken seriously, but in terms of how to live a life…it sure is a lot better than being a suspense thriller, or an intense drama. I mean how scary and exhausting would that be!?!
The thing that trips me up on this one though is that we all tend to think of musicals as being rooted in fantasy (Brigadoon anyone!?). And I don’t actually consider my life to be fantasy based at all. Rather, I believe I’m a realist. I just like a little light-heartedness with my reality. And a lot of music, and dance, and humor and passion and goodness. All ingredients for a well rounded musical.
This isn’t a new thing for me. I was raised watching musicals. And I raised my children to watch and appreciate them as well. We used to go to see every Broadway musical we could, some on Broadway…some at our local dinner theater. But we saw them all.
So imagine my delight when a real life (in a matter of speaking) musical came to TV.
I’m talking about GLEE.
Unlike the old fashioned musicals, where everyone breaks into song mid-sentence for no apparent reason…there really is a reason for these kids to be singing and dancing.
They’re in the Glee Club.
And they make it cool.
And OMG the talent! Invariably one of the characters will sing some amazing song at some point in the show that ALWAYS makes me smile (or cry). And when the show is over, it makes me feel like the world is a better place.
Sometimes I think how cool it would be to ACTUALLY have my life BECOME a musical. I think it would be amazing to be able to break out in song when something disappoints me, or when something great happens, and have it be acceptable behavior.
But then I remember…I really can’t sing.
Oh well. I can still dream and I still have Glee.
I think that some people want their lives to be like a really serious movie. Like the kind where there’s no soundtrack and it’s super tense and uncomfortable and it’s only available in limited release in New York City.
Am I one of these people? Not so much.
Like most people’s lives, mine is mostly mundane. Also like most people, if my life were a movie, it would be lots of different genres.
All of us have a little bit of everything in our lives. For the most part, we live a life that nobody would want to watch a movie about. It’s boring and repetitive and there’s nothing really compelling about it, at least to anyone else.
But we all have those moments that are insanely comedic, or incredibly dramatic, or straight out of a love story (or a love tragedy).
Some of us have horrible things happen. Things that should stay firmly in the realm of disturbing entertainment.
But the theme throughout my life – thankfully – has been comedy. I can look back on almost everything, and see the funny in it.
I’ve been really lucky because my life has been incredibly easy going with little reason to complain. But even those few dramatic and crappy moments have taught me that seeing the comedy in every situation is the key to survival.
To be honest, and accurate, my life is probably best classified as a “dark comedy”: full of humor that makes others slightly uncomfortable and things that very few people find funny except for me.
But that’s my favorite kind of funny.
The only thing I truly wish for is that my life life in general was like a musical. Or at least like an episode of “Glee”. Then, when the bad shit happens, at least I could go into a well-choreographed routine while singing some amazing song from my favorite band or musical.
(Who wants to sing a song from Wicked with me?)
I mean, how many times have you wished you could belt out “Don’t Rain on My Parade” and have everyone look at you and think, “Man, that girl can sing… and I’m totally not going to mess with her anymore.”’
(Just me?)
(Liars.)
But other than the lack of singing and dancing, I’m pretty happy to accept that my life is totally and completely hilarious.
(PS: WAIT. I lied. If I could, I would live on Pandora.)
(PPS: As long as there’s singing.)
It’s been a week since the kidney transplant and I am absolutely thrilled to let everyone know that the transplant went, and continues to go, amazingly well for both Brian and me.
He looks terrific and I’m getting there (although he’d probably reverse that statement!).
We’re both back at our respective homes (me – the next day – if you can believe that…and him after only 3 days), and we’re both getting up and around and eating and sleeping well…and healing day by day.
The time we spent in the hospital is all kind of a blur for me. From the moment we got to the hospital (with side by side pre-op rooms where we all ran back and forth visiting one another) to waking up later that day to be told that Brian was already in the ICU, looking and sounding great, with a fully functioning kidney (going gangbusters from what they told me). I must admit, I really didn’t comprehend where I was or what had actually happened earlier that day (a testament to the quality of drugs that they were giving me) until hours into the night, although others told me that I was sitting up carrying on conversations with visitors not long after they brought me to my room.
The next day I had only one thing on my mind from the moment I woke up. I wanted (no – NEEDED) to see Brian. It was kind of a mission for me. I HAD to see him with my own eyes.
And everyone involved worked to make that happen.
The nurses got me all unhooked from my various IV’s and tubes. Matthew made sure I was comfortable and looked presentable. Disa (Brian’s Sister) placed a bejeweled tiara on my head (because she knows I love jewelry) and several of our friends and family (thank you all more than we could ever express!) surrounded me in their “Team Carrillo” T Shirts, as we strolled (me in a wheelchair) through the halls to see Brian.
Then I saw him…sitting in his bed…looking INCREDIBLE.
His eyes were white (I never realized how dull and grey they had gotten) and his coloring was dark and rich again.
When I rolled next to his bed his smile could have lit up the entire room. We held hands. We checked out each other’s conditions. We couldn’t believe our eyes. I was fine. He was fine.
WE DID IT!
It felt like everything around us stopped. Everything we had talked about for so long…everything we had been working toward for the last few months…the idea of Brian finally getting a kidney so that he could feel good again…was here…and now.
It was…UNIMAGINABLE.
Words can simply not express the emotion that came flooding into both of us. And, I think, those around us.
But the thing that amazes me today as I sit here and write this post…is that we really live in a time and place where they could put me under, cut me open, take out my kidney, cut him open, put it in his body, hook it up…and it make it work!
I mean – OMG! Can you believe that they can do that!?!
Don’t get me wrong…everyone explained to me what would happen beforehand. I signed on the dotted line. I logically and rationally understood that this is what we were working toward, but I’m not sure I really fully comprehended that it meant a living part of me was going to be living inside of him, doing what it should be doing.
I mean – OMG!
How do you get a handle on that!?!
It is f—king amazing!
So, I think it’s important to stop and take a moment to thank all of the doctors and nurses and researchers and technicians who have EVER worked on any part of making kidney transplants possible. You all have done a hell of a job!
You’re all f—king amazing!
And to everyone out there who sent their warm wishes and positive thoughts/prayers our way during this entire process…we both thank you from the bottom of our hearts. It has meant more than you’ll ever know.
Now…my job is done, and Brian’s work is just beginning. He has a long road ahead of him of getting back into shape while managing all of the medicines that will keep him thriving. But ya know…I have no doubt that he’s going to do it with as much gusto as he can muster.
After all, amazing as it seems, he’s got my kidney to help him do it!
We did it.
I know that I didn’t actually have to get a kidney removed or get one put in, but I still feel like it was all of us who got through the surgery.
And let’s face it: my parents got to sleep through the whole thing.
The surgery was quicker than I thought it would be, and the waiting wasn’t too terrible. A group of us sat in the hospital doing various art projects (because that’s apparently what we do in these situations… or when a four-year-old is waiting with you) and having fun. We all (almost) had on our Team Carrillo shirts so we sort of looked like some sort of bowling team while walking around, but it was nice to feel (and look) like a group.
Another thing that helped was being able to share what was happening online.
Which leads me to the most important part of this post:
To all of you who followed along on Twitter and Facebook, and sent words of love and encouragement: THANK YOU. YOU are probably the biggest reason that I didn’t spend hours throwing up in the bathroom all day. YOU made me feel like the ground was still under my feet as we waited to hear that my parents were OK and that the kidney was good.
I had strangers reaching out to me on Twitter and telling me that they were rooting for us. I had a girl I’ve never met outside of the computer who messaged me on Facebook and said she was following #divorcedkidneys in New Jersey.
Of course I appreciate the friends who checked in, and the family who sent kind words, but knowing that someone across the country who you’ve never met is thinking about you, and thinking about your parents, is a pretty crazy feeling.
It was amazing.
Since my dad doesn’t have a blog (loser), I figure I’ll tell you all how he’s doing.
In a word: incredible.
It’s amazing what a new organ will do for someone. Like I said in my last post, I’ve never thought of my dad as a “sick person”, so it’s kind of shocking to see the difference that a working kidney has already made. I don’t think any of us expected it would be such a drastic change, let alone so quickly.
Of course he needs to rest and recover from the surgery, but overall he’s doing extremely well.
My mom is in more pain because I think her body kind of misses her kidney. I feel bad for her so I’ve been trying to make her feel better by making her laugh because LAUGHTER IS THE BEST MEDICINE…
(In fact, I think this is the reason my dad is doing so well.)
But I guess laughter isn’t the best medicine when you’ve just had your stomach cut open to remove a vital organ.
So Mom didn’t really appreciate it when I told her that she should stop being lazy and help me off of the couch when I need to go to the bathroom. Or when she was painfully trying to sit up on some pillows and I yelled “PILLOW FIGHT” and then went to hit her with one.
(Don’t worry: I wasn’t actually going to throw it at her.)
It’s like she totally doesn’t realize that I’m trying to help.
(PS: A few days following his surgery I asked my dad if he had named his new kidney (because I have this thing about naming inanimate objects). Without missing a beat he said, “Rebecca the Little Pisser”, because he’s awesome. So three cheers for Rebecca, yes?)
(PPS: I called my dad and asked if he’d like to say anything to the people reading our blog. He said, “Thank you to everyone who called or sent messages or supported us,” which is really sappy for my dad. I think my mom’s girl kidney is totally having an effect. I’m just hoping he wants to take me shoe shopping soon.)
(PPPS: Next week we’re going to write about something that has nothing to do with vital organs. Promise.)
If you read last week’s post on True Love, this shouldn’t surprise you…if you haven’t, you might want to scroll down or click here …or not.
As this post posts on Monday, I will be going into surgery to donate a kidney to Brian…my ex-husband.
And there are only two things I am worrying about before I go in: 1) that my kids are OK throughout this whole thing and, 2) that for some reason, the kidney won’t work once they get it in Brian.
In actuality, I know Ally & AJ will be fine and well cared for (emotionally more than anything) by our family and friends…but that mom thing is hard to squelch.
And…honestly, I think Brian’s body is going to take that kidney and embrace it with all he’s got. He made me promise that I wouldn’t take it personally if for some reason his body rejected it. And, I guess it could look at my girly little kidney and say HELL NO. But I really don’t think that will happen.
In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if my girly kidney provided him with a new appreciation for shoes, or an improved sense of color and style …and a desire to decorate! OMG, he could even become a person who hugs!
We can only hope.
This whole thing started in earnest in late May when Brian’s regular check up with his kidney doc showed that his kidney function had finally declined to the point where he should begin the process of getting a new kidney now to 1) avoid dialysis and 2) live…a lot longer.
He’s had Lupus (that immediately hit his kidneys) since the early 80’s and we’ve known that this time would come sooner or later. So when he told me the time was now…I instantly made my pitch that his donor should be ME.
He laughed.
He adamantly shook his head no. He thanked me and said no. He patted my hand across the table and told me I was sweet…but thank you…no.
But it made perfect sense that it should be me, so I kept pitching.
We really couldn’t go to our kids (normally the most logical choice in these situations) because his disease could potentially impact them at some point (it won’t…but we couldn’t/wouldn’t take that chance) and his sister (the next logical choice) has Lupus too. So it made sense that it should be me.
He just kept laughing and telling me that I was crazy. But I’m not crazy. I’m logical and rational and generally get what I want in life, and I wanted to give him my kidney. He gave me two wonderful, healthy kids…so it made perfect sense to me that I would give him a wonderful, healthy kidney.
FINALLY, he backed down and agreed to let me “try” to become a kidney donor for him, partly because he was starting to agree that it all made sense, and partly to get me to shut up and go away. I know he didn’t really believe that we’d actually be able to go through with it. After all, what were the odds that we would actually be a match!?!
So in early June we went to the transplant center at Porter Hospital in Denver and began the process together.
We sat in the doctor’s office and met with the surgeon and listened to him explain how the whole transplant process worked and how Brian could either go on the transplant list (a 3-5 year wait for a donor), or bring in his own “live donor” to provide him with a kidney.
PERFECT! I promptly declared that I would be his Live Donor.
The doctor said “right…well, we’ll see.”
I’m like “no…really…I’m gonna be the donor.”
He gave me one of those “of course you are” looks.
So I followed with, “Oh, and we’d like to get this all taken care of by the end of the summer please.”
He gave me another sideways look and left the room giving his staff the opportunity to chore of dealing with the crazy lady and the kidney patient.
Of course it wasn’t as easy (or quick) as I thought it would be.
There ended up being tons of tests that I needed to take (THAT TOOK FOREVER) to make sure my life and my health would not be adversely affected (AT ALL) by losing a kidney. Don’t get me wrong, I totally appreciate the attention to every single detail, and the fact that they take this whole thing very seriously…but those people (referring to almost everyone I dealt with in the medical profession) moved at a snails pace throughout this entire process!
It drove me crazy.
And to be perfectly honest…there were times, many times that I didn’t handle the process all that gracefully. I bitched and moaned and griped (and even cried a few times) at all of the inefficiencies in the system.
But the worst part was the waiting.
Because, I guess, I’m not the most patient person in the world.
All I could think about was…come on people…we have a kidney transplant to make happen here!!!!
And I tend to move pretty quickly, and very efficiently when I do things. So I had more than a few moments of utter insanity as the folks on the other end of the process (and those controlling the process) seemed to handle our case with as much sensitivity, efficiency and open communication…as an auto mechanic who holds your car hostage while claiming to order the only parts to fix the problem, from somewhere in Outer Mongolia, while assuring you that he has only you and your cars’ best interest in mind.
That part of the process sucked.
But lo and behold…we ended up being a match, and I ended up being healthy enough to give a kidney, and Brian was going to get a second chance to live a healthier life…so all of the other bullshit flew out the window.
As soon as I found out I called Brian and practically shouted into the phone “SEE…I told you we were compatible!” He laughed and replied “who knew?”
I knew. I knew from the start. Because it made sense that it should be me.
And I’ll tell you…I CAN’T WAIT to wake up and see how much better that wonderful man feels with a healthy (albeit used) girly kidney.
I never grew up thinking that I had a sick dad. He was a doctor, he was hilarious, he was the smartest person I knew, but he was never a sick person.
Why? Because he’s never let Lupus define him. He’s never let himself act like a sick person. He has an illness, but it’s never had him.
And even now, when he’s going into surgery to get a new vital organ… he still doesn’t act like a sick person.
If you saw him at a coffee shop, or talked to him, or even spent some quality time with him, you’d never know that he was sick until he actually said something like, “Yeah, I can’t go to that concert with you next week, I’ll be getting my ex-wife’s kidney.”
I would like to go on record as saying that I offered my kidney to my dad a couple of years ago when this whole thing started. I told him he could have mine, and he refused it. I’m not gonna lie… that hurt. “What?”, I asked, “Is my kidney not good enough? Does it not know enough long words for you? Is it, *gasp*, not pretty enough?”
He and my mother explained that since I take after my father in so many ways (the same skin tone, the same long fingers, the same sarcastic sense of humor that’s gotten us in trouble from time to time), chances are pretty good that I’ll need both of my kidneys some day.
I suppose I can’t argue with that, but it would be nice to at least be considered as a possible kidney donor. Even if only for my own ego…
When my mom told me that she was going to try to donate her kidney to my dad, I wasn’t shocked.
I wasn’t surprised.
I didn’t even raise an eyebrow.
This isn’t because I don’t know how amazing and crazy awesome it is, and I never really expected it.
But it made sense.
Of course my mom was going to step up. Of course she was going to go through the hours and days and weeks of testing. Of course of course of course.
So they’re divorced. My mom loves him, and would do anything to make sure he’s around and healthy for as long as possible.
And more than that, my mom is just the type of person to do this. She gets shit done, and she gets her way. My dad needs a kidney, and she wants to get him a kidney. She doesn’t have the patience to wait around while his kidneys get worse and worse.
For her, it’s logical to just do it herself.
I know that a woman donating a kidney to her ex is rare, and let’s face it, even a little bit odd. But she’s not just donating a kidney to her ex. She’s donating a kidney to the father of her children, to her best friend, to a really great man.
What’s unique about the situation is that she’s one of the few people out there who would actually go through the trouble (and it is SO MUCH TROUBLE).
What’s unique is that she exists.
It’s nerve racking having both of my parents go in for major surgery. Actually, it’s kind of terrifying. The hours of waiting and the constant “what ifs” and did I mention that I HATE hospitals?
But I’ll have Mike and my family there to distract and support me.
And, if I’m lucky, copious amounts of prescription drugs.
I just want my parents to be OK, and I want the surgery to be a success. Because even though he doesn’t show it, and even though he doesn’t let his Lupus define him, he is sick. And I’m hoping the surgery makes him feel better… even just a little bit.
I’ll be tweeting because it helps to get it out of my head and into the world. If you care to follow along, you can do so by visiting my personal account, here, and the twitter account for She Thinks, here. (Just keep refreshing the page to see the latest updates.) I’ll be labeling all of my surgery updates #divorcedkidneys, so if you have a twitter account and would like to say something – that’s hopefully encouraging or at least pleasant – go ahead and do so.
Finally: Thanks Mom. Really.