Yesterday I wrote of the hopes and dreams and sorrows experienced on Seidman 3. Today, my thoughts are in the same place, only with a different perspective.
The man in the corner is gone. His family member's room was cleaned up and filled by another patient.
It's that fast.
The families of the patients here either celebrate a discharge after a successful transplant or they wallow in the loss of their loved one.
I walk the halls and I see the smiles and the laughs and I see the hugs and tears.
One step, one emotion. Another step and the emotion can be completely different than the last.
I use my walks to strengthen my body and my mind but I also walk to reflect on where I've been and where I'm going.
The emotions I witness are so raw and powerful.
Yesterday, I saw a man with his family. He had a wife and two kids. I remembered back 10 years ago when I was on the verge of leaving the hospital. My children were so excited. I had an intractable smile on my face and Paulette was glowing. We were so ready to go home and get back to normal.
I didn't see that man today so I'm assuming he's home and putting behind him the long process of restorative health.
Today, two women were walking in the hall and stopped to talk with each other. They introduced themselves and shared their stories. By the time I made my third lap, they wished each other well and said, "Stay strong, you'll get through it."
Whether or not we get through it, there won't be time for celebrating or grieving, at least not on Seidman 3.
Each departing patient's room is quickly turned over and filled with another patient who enters the room hopeful, but with at least an equal amount of fear.
I'm in such a different place emotionally in my second trip to the transplant floor.
Ten years ago, I was scared. The unknown was frightening.
Now, I'm confident in the doctors and the process. I'm expecting the best of the new treatment. I don't fear the outcome the way I did in 2009.
Mentally, I'm stronger than ever. Physically, I'm not as strong as I'd like to be, but I'm certainly capable of handling my time on Seidman 3.
Emotionally, that's my Achilles Heel.
It's hard to stare at the same wall each day knowing tomorrow is going to be much of the same. No matter how busy I keep my mind, I always end up in the same place. That wears me out. It's hard to rejunevate the soul. But, that also is the key to survival.
My blood clot was but a minor setback. The doctor came in this morning and explained the issue in more detail and they're confident all the other veins are open and working properly. Despite my clot nearly closing off the Basilic Vein, it's small enough that it shouldn't cause a problem.
Dr. Cooper, who handled my first transplant, is a pioneer in dealing with blood clots. She spent time during the past decade studying different medicines to use on transplant patients when dealing with clots. I'll see her this afternoon, which should further ease my mind.
Until then, I'm going to keep busy and focus on tomorrow.
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