The Healing Continues

There are two things about healing that are giving me trouble these days.  Each has its own identity, yet seems intrinsically linked to the other.   I want to talk about both of them today.

First, healing takes so much longer than one thinks it should.   

My Dad and I had surgery 35 days ago today.  It is hard to believe that so little time has passed.  It feels that it was yesterday and months ago at the same time.  It is times like these that I can see time as an accordion—passing through two points only to truly register the weight at each end.  My time differentials exist in my scars…the healing wounds that show what has transpired.  I can pull up my shirt and see the knitted, thin, red slits on my belly.  Bruises still kiss the laparoscopic wounds, while the nerves that reside on the surface of my skin run hot or cold depending on some whim that I cannot fathom.  Internal electric shocks accompany some tasks, but most of my pain has been gone for a week or more.  What remains is lingering soreness, as if I have done too many exercises.

I feel the weight of the surgery most in my energy.  My energy level feels to be full volume some hours, and others it lags.  I have learned to sit down and grab a book on those occasions, relishing in the remedy of reading.  Other days it is harder to let myself sit and read.  This leads me to my second issue.

I look good.

Writing this sounds ridiculously narcissistic.  I don’t mean that I’m hot, sexy, or some beacon of feminine beauty.  I mean that I look healthy, and rested, and healed.  In fact, I look more rested and happier than I did going into the surgery.  This is why so many friends and family members forget that I have even donated a kidney.

For some, this translates into an expectation that I can begin to do all of the things that I did before.  I admit that I have been in the habit of doing everything for everyone for a great many years.  This has given me an over the top, super-woman reputation.  It is unfounded; I am just a doer.  Doers see a problem, or a task, or a need and seek to fill it.  What we do not often do is take care of ourselves.  That must be why I look so good these days.  I have been taking care of myself.  I hope to remember that.

Lately, guilt has been creeping around the edges of my life.  So I woke up early this Tuesday, drove to the grocery store, went shopping, came home, put the groceries away, cleaned the kitchen, and then made dinner for my family.  Now I have cooked since I have gotten home, but this dinner was prepared from scratch (as I would most nights.)  I also made homemade scones so that we could have Strawberry Shortcakes for dessert.  The kids had the best time whipping the heavy whipping cream.  How could I have begrudged them that little extra?

That evening, and all of the next day I paid for it.  I felt as if someone had sucked all of the life out of my body.  I was wracked with cramps and generally uncomfortable—but mostly exhausted.  In fact, I was almost too exhausted to sleep.

Today, I have recovered a great deal of my energy.  I walked on the treadmill for about 20 minutes and finished a puzzle with my kids.  Taking it easy should be a prescription that I wear on my chest like a badge.  Perhaps it should be printed upside down so that I can read it too.

Gift ‘transcends love’: Reporter-Times.com/MD-Times.com

Gift ‘transcends love’: Reporter-Times.com/MD-Times.com

Hollowness

Last summer, during my first visit to meet with the Transplant Team, my surgeon and I had a frank discussion about a particular phenomenon that affects many Living Kidney Donors.  What we discussed is the body’s gradual realization that a part of the body is missing.  The earnestness that accompanied the Doctor’s proclamations suggested many years of witnessing this phenomenon firsthand and he wanted to ensure that I understood that it could be something that I might experience once the surgery had been completed. 

I thought about this over that last year and gave it even more consideration when he cautioned me again on my final office visit before my return trip to Indiana.   He had checked all of the surgical sites and pleased that they were all healing well he added more to what he had said before.  He explained that the bonding of a parent and child tends to make this “Missing” feeling a bit less.  The farther or more tenuous the connection to the person for whom one had made this sacrifice…the harder that feeling of loss can be.  I completely understood that he was not saying any of this to dissuade anyone from donating.  He was saying this because he believes, as I do, that the more that a person understands going into the surgery—the better the outcome will be.  If I needed any help talking to anyone about this, help would be made available.

I left knowing that the entire Transplant Team takes caring for their donors in the years that follow as seriously as they take following their recipients.

Since that first conversation, I have had this thought running around in the back of my mind.  What will it feel like if my body cannot sense the donated kidney?  Will it mourn the loss? What will that feel like?  How will I react?

Last week I experienced something that must come close to what Dr. Lopez was referring.  I awoke a bit sore…and feeling like there was a stretching space within my back that was not there before.  I got out of bed and caressed the muscles in my back with my hand.  As I walked around my bed I got a sense of as dawning hollowness.  Was this just a symptom of the healing within that space or was my body finally registering that something was gone?

I must say that the sense was neither painful nor mournful—it just was an empty space that was not there previously.  I waited until a more decent hour of the morning and then called my Dad.  The simple act of touching base with him eliminated all sense of hollowness.  Hearing his healthy and happy voice seemed to have filled it in.  I have not had that feeling again.

So how does a potential Living Kidney Donor ward against this?  Should we?  I do not know.  I think that having a tight bond with the recipient must help.  Understanding that you may feel this way at some point during your recovery will help you to know that you are not crazy.  It is just your body waking up and adjusting to a new you.  The better you feel about what you have done—the better your body will recover.  And after all, if you can’t be whole coming out of this then there is no way that you should work to help make someone else whole. 

Living Kidney Donation should not be viewed as a sacrifice.  Sure you will have some painful days during recovery, and I am mindful that having major surgery is absolutely no picnic…but it is not a full sacrifice of self that you are contemplating.  For all Living Kidney Donors, the goal is to give a part of themselves that can be more effectively used by another—therefore prolonging another person’s life without diminishing their own.

It’s about saving the life of the recipient without harming the life of the donor.  If that was not the primary objective, then none of us would do it.