Damn that was fast

So I'm awake and alert, in the hospital. Wendy is slowly updating me on the goings on in the world, but its all bad news and I couldn't handle it - I had enough bad news of my own. As I said, I was psychotic, though not in violent way, more in an I can't control my emotions way. I had, however, resigned myself to the fact that I was going to have a transplant. So I put what little energy I had to getting myself strong enough to be put on the transplant list. This meant getting my feeding tube removed, improving my lung function, getting rid of ANY traces of infection, and being able to eat enough to stem the dramatic weight was ongoing. The feeding tube was easy, one night, while sleeping, I accidentally pulled the tube out - it was the third time, and I was on the verge of being allowed to eat anyway, so they gave up on putting it back in. So they had me eating, on what was called, a mechanical diet, which meant everything was put in a blender before it was served to. Nothing like blended pasta (or stir-fry) for that matter. I started, of course, with Jello, and apple sauce, which at that point tasted like ambrosia. James, had also cleared me to drink pretty much whatever I wanted, which was mostly lemonade. My taste buds were screwed beyond recognition, and about the only thing I could taste and enjoy was tart things. The breathing part was tougher. They had me on respiratory treatment. Which meant a respiratory technician would come to my room, multiple times a day to work out my lungs, which suuuuuucked. My lungs were in some pretty bad shape, filled with "junk" as multiple doctors called it, and partially collapsed. I endured two different types. One involved me, breathing this noxious gas that would make me nauseous. The other, involved me inhaling and exhaling, through device that would force air into my lungs (to help inflate the collapsed parts). Both made me nauseous and the later, would make me throw up if I had to do it near meal time. To get rid of infection I was on several antibiotics, which was complicated by the fact that I'm very allergic to Penicillin. Additionally, in the course of getting rid of this infection I developed an allergy to one of the antibiotics they had been using - Vancomycin. this was sort of scary, since the Vanco was administered intravenously, which caused me to break out in hives spontaneously. Everyday, communicable disease doctors would come and analyze my lab results, tracking my battle against infection, letting me know my white blood count (as it went down, thankfully). Each day it went down I felt like I was getting closer to getting listed. Finally, in an effort to combat my psychosis, the ICU decided to try and move me to a better room. One with more window, more light. By this time, I was walking, with much difficulty. The day they finally secured me a room, my friends Nick and Nora were visiting, and got accompany me me as I walked down the hall to my new room. I promptly sat in a chair, stayed for a couple hours. You must understand, at this point, just sitting in a chair, let alone walking was exhausting for me.

These improvements went on. I walked more everyday. Tried to eat more. They had me drinking these high calorie shakes, called Scandy shakes. It was horrible. They were so desperate to get calories into me, that they tried to for 3 of these 600 calorie shakes down my throat each day. After a couple days, it was all I could do to choke them down. It wasn't that they tasted THAT bad, but they were thick and heavy and I could never come even close to finishing them before they were warm, even though the ICU nurse tried to keep them cool, by plopping them in bucket of ice while they watched me stare at them (and not drink them). I wasn't being difficult, I just had no appetite. Still, the ICU nurses and the transplant, coordinator, Felicia, were working hard to move me to the medical floor, which was more like a typical hospital room, versus the ICU fishbowl. I was visited by medical floor nurses, because they had to learn how to deal with the VADS machine. I was scheduled to be moved on Sept 23rd.

Sept. 23rd, the transplant coordinator, who was always the bearer of good news, popped her head into my room and proclaimed - "You're on the list". This made me, my mother, and Wendy, very very happy. And started to dig ourselves in for a long wait. Because I was on the VADS machine, I wouldn't be able to leave the hospital . Thankfully, I was getting ready to be moved which I new would help the wait. Later that day Wendy showed up from work, as she did everyday, to spend evening with me. Around 5pm my room phone rang. My phone rarely rang because most people didn't know which room I was in or that they could call. Usually when it rang, it was the dietary coordinator taking my order for what I wasn't gonna eat for dinner. Wendy answered, and this time, it was Felicia. Even though, there was incredulity in Wendy's voice, a happy look, I had know idea who she was talking to. Wendy handed it me, again it was Felicia, and all she said was -

"We found you a heart"

7 hours. They me a heart in 7 hours. People wait months, sometimes years for their organ transplants. They found a heart for me in 7 hours. Damn, that was fast.