My witching hour occurs somewhere between 1:30 am and 4:00 am - smack dab in the middle of REM sleep. I guess it isn't really a witching hour -- it is the time of the day when all lies and denials are rendered helpless and the truth won't let me sleep.
Yesterday, one of my best friends called to let me know the results of her biopsy. The results weren't good - end-stage cirrhosis of the liver. Funny thing - she hardly drinks and has never had hepatitis B or C. They don't know why her liver is failing - but it is. And she is failing. A liver transplant is one of her few options (the other option is that they figure out what is doing this to her liver and stop it).
I hardly batted an eye when she told me.
Because I decided that denial would be my course of action. Yup - even thought all of the test results were dismal, I would just pretend that it wasn't going to really happen - at least not for 10 or 15 years.
Unfortunately, I forgot to program myself all the way through the night... and somewhere around 1:30 am, I woke crying. It finally hit. And I couldn't pull the wool back over my eyes - at least not quickly enough to glimpse a world without Shay. And I didn't like that world very much.
So I began with the what ifs... what if they won't approve a live donor transplant? What if Kaiser screws this up too? What if we can't find a tissue match? What if she isn't a good candidate for a transplant? What if the Mayo Clinic doesn't accept her? What if, what if, what if...
What if this is really it... and there are no alternatives?
I don't like that option. I am so used to always looking for solutions that I don't know how not to. And what if the solution is that she is not going to recover from this?
This isn't about me. But here I am, feeling very scared an vulnerable. I'm 43 years old and I feel as scared as a child. I can't do anything to help. I can keep up the facade during the day - but the witching hour comes and at least during that time, I can't pretend.
Yesterday, one of my best friends called to let me know the results of her biopsy. The results weren't good - end-stage cirrhosis of the liver. Funny thing - she hardly drinks and has never had hepatitis B or C. They don't know why her liver is failing - but it is. And she is failing. A liver transplant is one of her few options (the other option is that they figure out what is doing this to her liver and stop it).
I hardly batted an eye when she told me.
Because I decided that denial would be my course of action. Yup - even thought all of the test results were dismal, I would just pretend that it wasn't going to really happen - at least not for 10 or 15 years.
Unfortunately, I forgot to program myself all the way through the night... and somewhere around 1:30 am, I woke crying. It finally hit. And I couldn't pull the wool back over my eyes - at least not quickly enough to glimpse a world without Shay. And I didn't like that world very much.
So I began with the what ifs... what if they won't approve a live donor transplant? What if Kaiser screws this up too? What if we can't find a tissue match? What if she isn't a good candidate for a transplant? What if the Mayo Clinic doesn't accept her? What if, what if, what if...
What if this is really it... and there are no alternatives?
I don't like that option. I am so used to always looking for solutions that I don't know how not to. And what if the solution is that she is not going to recover from this?
This isn't about me. But here I am, feeling very scared an vulnerable. I'm 43 years old and I feel as scared as a child. I can't do anything to help. I can keep up the facade during the day - but the witching hour comes and at least during that time, I can't pretend.
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