When October comes around, I usually spend time thinking about her. Honestly, this year though, I've probably only thought of her a few days this month. I'm still eternally grateful for her and her family. It's been years since I sent my letter to say thank you, but I suspect that it didn't get to where it was supposed to go. Maybe I never even sent it like I thought I did. It's always sort of bummed me out that I haven't found them yet. I remember years ago wanting to meet her family. I would have a better sense of completeness and maybe her family would have more closure, maybe they've already got closure though. I don't know. I'm going to try again to reach out to them. I want them to know how much I treasure this second chance at life that she gave to me. I still hold onto this hope that I will meet her family someday. It would mean so much to me, it would mean everything.
A lot has happened in the past seven years. I don't know if I ever expected to still be here. Statistics are interesting, you know. I think they say that the survival rate of 1 year for heart transplant recipient is something like 80%. Obviously that percentage goes down year after year. I plan on breaking the record and being the heart transplant recipient that lives the longest, that's my goal anyway. I think it's a good goal to aim for. I've never been one for statistics though, not seven years ago and not now. People are so much more complex than that and to reduce us down to numbers feels like a disservice. I joked with BVT that I was gonna live forever, I've gotta prove those statistics wrong.
Anyway, a lot really has happened in the past seven years. I graduated high school on time. I finished college with a double major in biology and chemistry. I got my driver's license at 21. I got accepted into pharmacy school and survived my P1 year. And just like that, I'm a P2. It's surreal when I think about it. I've changed too, in small ways. Years ago, I used to not be so open about my transplant. I guess I had good reason for keeping quiet. It's not easy to disclose trauma, and what I went through is something I would never wish upon anyone. I remember being 16 and feeling so hopeless that I wanted to let go, I wanted it to end. I thought I was going to die anyway. I think back to those days and it's enough to make me cry. In the past seven years, I've met so many people that I've come to love and couldn't imagine life without. And I would never have met any of them if I had died on the table seven years ago. To my point though, I've become comfortable with my transplant and sharing my experience with the people around me. I have a habit of springing it onto professors, but hey what's a girl to do when she's in the cardio module and things feel so relevant. It wasn't like I was going to keep quiet forever, that's not me. I think it ends up surprising a lot of people when I tell them.
Sometimes, it's hard for me to acknowledge that what I went through was traumatic because to me it doesn't fit the mold of what people traditionally think of trauma to be. I was reminded by BVT that undergoing a transplant is indeed a traumatic experience. I often forget that it is, but I think it's just because I've forgotten so much of what happened to me in the before time and shortly thereafter. The brain is funny like that. I wish I remembered more, but I think I remember all of the big points. I remember the day I was told that there was a heart for me, I remember saying goodbye to my family the next morning and crying. I mean, maybe it wasn't that we were saying goodbye, but no one knew for sure that I was going to live. So many things could have gone wrong. I carry that with me. I carry that constant worry that someday something is going to go so severely wrong that there won't be any chance or hope for recovery or survival. Every lab test I go for, I wonder if this is the one that's going to lead me into a diagnosis of diabetes or if this is the one that is going to show that my kidneys have finally given up on me. Every time my throat feels funny or I have a GI issue, I have to wonder if my heart is failing. Every biopsy I've had, I would secretly worry about too. I always wondered if they were going to find me rejecting my heart. It's happened once several years ago, but it was shortly after transplantation so it wasn't a huge surprise, I guess. I live with this worry everyday, but am fortunate enough that I don't usually consciously think about it.
The thing that people don't understand about transplants the most is that it's not a cure. I live a much better life now, of course, but it's not a cure. It never was and it never will be. I have at least three complications that are potentially due to transplant. Three more conditions that I live with on top of being a transplant recipient, three more than I wanted. I remember the days when I took 20+ pills in a day, I remember the days when I was so happy to find that I only had a handful to take. Nowadays, I probably take somewhere around 12 pills. It's not great, but it's a small price to pay if I can be alive and upright and well. Maybe at some point in my lifetime, I can have a heart grown from my own cells. Maybe I won't always need the pills. But until that day, I'll be adherent as I have always been.
I'm taking a stand for myself at last. This upcoming week on 10/25, I'm opening up to people who don't know anything about me. I'm letting myself be vulnerable so that they can learn, so that they can know, so that they can hear my story. This is my first step. And where I go from here is uncertain. I hope everyone learns something from what I have to say because this is really all I have to give. This is the only thing that I can offer. This is the only impact I can make, the only impression I can impart upon people, the only piece of myself that I will ever share so willingly. And I hope I can do it justice for myself and for her. Two souls, one heart.
I'm incredibly fortunate to be where I am at in life. Seven years. The scar running down my chest is the proof that I didn't dream this up. Life is beautiful and chaotic, and it's enough. I tell myself year after year now that while I continue to live with this heart of mine, I will make it a priority to love as many people as humanly possible.
I am grateful for every moment, all of them whether they were good or bad or somewhere in between. I am grateful to be here even when I don't act like it. I am grateful for her, for her family, for my family, for every healthcare provider involved in my care, for my professors over the years, for my friends, for my pharmily, for everyone I've met in the world of pharmacy, and for everyone who has offered a kind word, a smile, love.
Please consider becoming an organ donor at donatelife.net if you are not already one. It is perhaps one of the last acts of love you can perform. And I promise that it will be worthwhile, that it will have an impact, that it will change someone forever. It will mean the world to that little girl who can't breathe without feeling like she's drowning. It will mean the world to that middle aged man whose kidneys have given up. It will mean the world to that 25 year old who has been waiting for more than a year. And it most definitely meant the world to that teenager who thought she wasn't going to make it. But she lives. I live. Because someone decided it would be better to donate than let their loved one's organs go to waste. And that has made and continues to make all the difference.
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