Bravery

Bravery is defined in the Encarta Dictionary of North American English as: great courage—courage in the face of danger, difficulty, or pain.

As my Dad and I inch, ever closer, to our June 9^th surgical date we seem to have different ways of approaching our upcoming life alterations.  Dad is hard at work in New Mexico, trying to put off the logistical junk that comes with an entire month of preparations and a summer of convalescence.  Since I have children, and live 1,270+ miles away from where we will be having surgery, preparations and logistical planning has been my copilot for this entire process. 

Needing to step away from the logistics and have a bit of fun, I went to the most talented hairstylist in Indy, Bill Kurker, and had him add a bit of his expert color to my hair.  I wanted orange and red, in honor of the National Kidney Foundation and their continuing quest to help those tackling devastating kidney diseases.  He created an insanely perfect shade of red-orange.  The color is gorgeous, and yet something I would not have had the courage to try before yesterday.

Amazing what a bit of bravery in one part of your life seems to do with your entire perspective.  In a little over a month, I will be a Living Kidney Donor— and although I have never been one to shy away from challenges or adventure, I have not always sought out every opportunity for it.  Ten years ago, I would never have dreamed of highlighting my hair a vibrant shade of flame red-orange.  Today, it seems preposterous that I wouldn’t.  

So what is the source of this sudden courage?  Why have I written two novels in the last year after a lifetime of writing and getting nowhere?  Why have I started a blog that shares so much of my very personal journey?  Why am I coloring my hair luscious shades of crayon colors?  I would have to say that it has been quite gradual and, therefore, quite natural. 

I started out twenty years ago by becoming a vegetarian*.  Stuck my toe in the water with that one (especially in Indiana) and discovered that it was exactly what I needed to do for me.

(*Important note to my readers: I am not a dyed in the wool, no one should ever eat animals kind of person.  I do not eat animals and it is my personal choice.  I have chosen this way of eating to be what is best for my body and for whom I am as a person.  It is a wholly moral decision for me, and as such contains no judgments on the choices of others.  Some of my favorite people in the world are true carnivores and I would not have them any other way.  Their food choices are their own—and are no better or worse than mine.)

The next bits of bravery showed up in my career choices, finding a great man to share my life, giving birth to two children (anyone with children understands what courage it takes to be a parent,) more schooling, teaching, and all the while striving to be my best self.  Some of my most introspective discoveries have required the most unimaginable bravery.  So donating one of a great working pair of kidneys to my Dad seems like a walk in the park. 

Still, there are days that I feel like I don’t have any courage at all.  Those are the days that I wish not to have those difficult conversations, or spend two hours online trying to find one more document that will allow my children’s caregivers to take them to the hospital should something go wrong while they are in their care.  I want to just stay home, take care of my 16.5 year old dog, hug my kids, and not endlessly worry about how they will be when my husband and I are out in NM.  But those are rare days and only when my energy is low.

Those days give me a glimmer into why people will often say, “You are so brave to go through all of this.”  The Living Kidney Donor knows that the end more than justifies the means.  Yet we also know that we are intentionally having major surgery to accomplish our goal.  Pain and recovery are right around the corner.  Who chooses that?

Someone who is brave will choose that.  So, I guess that does describe me.  All living donors risks bits of themselves so that someone else may have an opportunity to have the life that they are meant to have. The men and women in our Armed forces do that each and every day. 

For them and for all who are brave at heart:

“Risk

more than others this is safe,

Care

more than others think is wise,

Dream

more than others think is practical,

Expect

more than others think is possible.”

Cadet Maxim from the United States Military Academy at West Point

Nesting

My children and I are on Spring Break this week.   Although we have collectively decided to spend at least half of our vacation relaxing, we have also been busy visiting family, touring museums, and hiking in the family’s 200 acre woods.    Even with all of this lovely activity, it has been an exercise in futility to act as though the impending kidney donation is not looming large in my thoughts.  I am a planner…and for some reason planning begets cleaning.

What?  Yes, I said cleaning.  The truth is that I hate to clean.  It is not the deep loathing kind of hatred, just the irritating “Why would I spend my time this way” sort of disgust.  I do clean every week…just like I pay my bills every week.  It is just not something that I generally enjoy.  Not so this week. 

As a mother of two, I know this feeling well.  About two months before each of my children were born, I spent days scouring every surface in my house with anything that might help to establish a blisteringly clean environment for my growing baby.  As I inched closer to delivery, I became even more frantic in my need to prepare and clean.  I assumed that hormones were creating this inborn necessity, making me a bit nutty yet linking me to every other soon-to-be Mom on Earth.

So what is my excuse now?  I am no longer creating an entire human being out of my own body’s raw materials.  I am simply donating a completely formed organ that has been used since my own birth.  Why is this sending me into the nesting mode?

Perhaps it has more to do with the logistics involved.  When each of our children was born, so many plans had to be formulated.  With our first child, it was all about childbirth classes and designing a birth plan.  My husband and I worked hard to learn all that we would need to bring our daughter into the world in the least medicated way possible. 

Fast forward another month and I was on bed rest for the remainder of the pregnancy…just hoping to hang onto her until she was fully cooked.  Two weeks past her due date, I had to throw our entire birth plan out the window.  After an emergency c-section and 24 hours in intensive care, I was simply grateful for a healthy baby.  The loss of the birth plan was completely forgotten in the sublime beauty of meeting the creature that had been kicking me for months. 

I got a real sense of my own power during pregnancy.   My husband and I both contributed genetic material to initiate the construction of our babies, but the site and raw materials for this immense building project came from me alone.  Whether or not I delivered my own child or needed help—I was still an amazing woman.  I had never made anything that made me more proud.

My pride doubled with the birth of our son.  Again, I was unable to deliver without help…but I had been through this before.  A healthy baby was my only goal and we were blessed once more.  His birth required more planning, because he had a big sister that needed to feel like his entrance into our family was as much of a blessing as we did.  I sacrificed many of my own comforts to ensure that she was cared for—spending time with her Daddy and many loving grandparents.  I think that is why it feels the same.  When something is eminent and yet still so far away, it is difficult to prepare.  You picture it in your mind and try to plan for all possible contingencies.  Then the day comes and all you really need is healthy outcomes for all involved.

So I will nest for the remaining months and understand that I am doing the only real planning that I can.  I will have a sparkling house and on the day of the surgery I will give it all to the universe and the hands of the surgeons and other caregivers dedicated to rendering a positive outcome for my Dad and for me.

For others going through this experience, let me wish you, “Happy Nesting!”