Two weeks ago was Easter Sunday, and my life completely changed again. If you took the time to read one of my last articles, then you know that my momma has been on the heart transplant list for the past two years. I feel that I can speak for my entire family when saying that the experiences from two years ago were extremely strenuous, and even day to day life has been different as a result. Constantly waiting for a phone call that could come at any hour takes its toll both mentally and physically. Two weeks ago, that call came.
We were sitting in the living room after lunch and shooting the breeze when a call from an unfamiliar 502 number came across my screen. At first instinct, I was simply going to ignore it, but then my sister said that she had received a call from that same number earlier, and that it may be someone from Jewish Hospital, so I answered it.
It was Jewish. They had a heart for mom.
What followed is a scene that I can’t even begin to describe. My sister and I were hurriedly packing our weekend bags while mom was having a leisurely conversation with the transplant coordinator (Momma’s a talker, so to deal with the inevitable unknown journey ahead, she was talking about what she’d just eaten for lunch). We made sure that all of momma’s equipment was in the car, put out a saucepan of water for the animals, and set out for the 160-mile drive to Louisville.
'Hurry up and wait' cannot hope to encapsulate what transpired. We took separate cars, and I still thank God for helping me make that drive in an unsafe amount of time with tears streaming down my face. My sister and I both arrived at about 5:30. If you have seen any movies about transplants, you would have expected the surgery to take place almost immediately, but this was not the case at all. After she had been admitted and processed, we were shocked to find out that surgery would not start until around 2 a.m. We were expecting something that was borderline rushed, but instead, the hours dragged on with worried anticipation.
The surgery started at 4 a.m. and ended at around 1 p.m. on Monday afternoon. In a mere 24 hours, we went from not knowing if momma would ever have a heart transplant to it being completed. And I’m still not sure how I feel about everything. Some friends of mine came by and helped me escape from my own head for bit, but I still couldn’t make sense of anything.
The truth is that it still almost seems surreal. I keep waiting to wake up from this dream as a senior in high school with everything “normal” again, but that will never happen. Some days I spend hours trying to understand why all of this had to happen, and others I realize that it is not for me to understand. Through this whole situation, I have begun to accept life for each of its invaluable and indeterminate moments instead of expecting the world from it. I’ve been trying to live and love every single moment of my life because I never know when I may need a donor or become one myself.
Momma is recovering wonderfully. Her body has accepted the heart, and she is back to her normal, ornery self. I thank God every day for allowing me to be her son; she’s the most amazing woman I know. And I thank everyone for all of their support.
