The Proverbial Dry Run # 1

Okay I'm sure some of you have been waiting to hear about the crazy day we had so I'll fill you in. I just couldn't write the night of because I was so emotionally drained when I got back I had to go straight to bed. I even refused barbecued steak! Who does that?
I was still in bed when the call came. I sleep in the basement and I usually don't wake up for anything but my sub-conscience has been trained to stay alert to the long distance ring, that is different from our local ring, so I heard it. I expected to hear my mom's chipper voice answer with recognition but instead I heard her footsteps start down the stairs leading to our abode. Then I heard the words "So we have to get there as soon as possible?" and I knew. That is 'The Call'! The first thing I uttered was "I'm not doing this" and proceeded to head around the corner to meet my mom. I heard her crying upstairs. I needed to stay strong for her. That's what I was thinking anyways. I was not crying when she came downstairs to announce those five fateful words. She told me to just cry, to let it out, but I didn't want to because part of me knew that if I opened the flood gates, they may never close. I then proceeded to get myself dressed. How does one pick an outfit for something like this? Really? Comfort is what I went for obviously. Nothing matched but who cares. The only thing I managed to do hygienically was brush my teeth, and they're lucky I was able to do that. I almost left in a scrunchy. Anyone with any fashion sense knows you don't go out in scrunchies! Eeekk. Nothing mattered at this point. It felt almost dream like. My mom had taken care of all the phone calls so my husband was making the trip back from Hamilton after just getting there, Dan (stepdad) was turning around from heading to a bike show (sorry Dan!), and Leslie (sister) was leaving Jack with Dave for the day to come (sorry Leslie and Jack heehee). My friend Christine was going to meet us there. Yes, I was bringing my posse. No one was going to like me on that floor. I found out that two of my stepbrothers were also going to make the trip in later. I felt very loved to say the least. It was a sunny Sunday morning and traffic was perfect. We flew there (considering we got stuck behind several Sunday drivers that my mom swore she was going to take out if they didn't get over). We were sent to admitting and then to X-rays. I sat down in one of the only seats left in the waiting rooms while my family stood around. Apparently a footlong sub required its own seat next its owner. Considering the owner would not stop incessantly humming the same tune over and over again, nobody really wanted to sit next to her anyways. It was all I could do to keep myself from screaming, "Shut the Fuck Up!", with all the adrenaline I had pumping through me. I was glad to get out of there. When upstairs, we got greeted by many nice and friendly nurses who poked and prodded me in every crevice they could (and I do mean EVERY). Everything was going smoothly and we were just waiting to hear from the surgeon. He arrived around 2:30 pm and announced himself as Fellow, Fernando Gustalof, or something like that. I know his initials were FG because he signed it on my chest. Apparently he thinks of me as his art project and he's signing his work BEFORE he finishes his masterpiece. My family leaves to get some coffee and me and my friend Christine are left to wait in the room. She tells me from her experience in the hospitals that Fellows are basically trainees in the specializing field. I could see it in her face that she knew she shouldn't have told me this, probably when she saw the look on my face that read, "Are you kidding me?", and the blood quickly drain from it. She followed that comment up with, "But they are in there with the skilled surgeon too". Phew. Good save. Just as we were discussing how awful it would be if this were a false alarm, FG came back to tell us it was No Go! The lungs were examined on their way out of the Donor and they weren't good for some untold reason. At this point I was filled with both disappointment but relief as well. I'm ashamed to admit that but it's true. I look at it this way, at least I was disappointed too! It shows I'm ready for this. I know now that I made the right decision and that deep down I want this, as scary as it is. I did want to get it over and done with but I don't want somewhat good lungs, I want the BEST! I want a bikers lungs (but not yours Christie, maybe someone you know that you don't like too much) Just kidding!
This day did teach me that I have a lot of people standing behind me. I really could not and would not do this on my own so THANK YOU ALL! Love really does lift people, that's for sure. I also know that my day is coming soon. I will get to go to the 'Other' side. No, not 'The' other side but the finished transplant side. I get to start healing and dealing and living my life as normal as one does in this world. I just can't wait to work out so hard that I sweat and feel the burn! I was watching G.I. Jane the other night and my new goal after transplant is a one armed push-up. Yes, folks, I will be the next Demi Moore (without the head shave though). Not right after transplant either, give me a little time, hahahah.
Alright well that's the day in a nutshell. I'll keep you posted if anything else happens.
Love you and good night,
Carla :)