I am dying. There… I have finally said it.
The thing of it is we’re all dying. There‘s no getting past that. I am however in a unique position of knowing when I’ll die. This in a way circumvents all boundaries. I’m not really happy about that. It takes away from the illusion of destiny. Nobody should know too much about their own destiny, especially when their time is marked by moons. That just doesn’t seem right.
On the brighter side of things there is the possibility that I won’t die. Maybe time will weigh in and destiny will prevail. Maybe I’ll get my liver and we won’t have to go through the death thing after all. I’m really counting on destiny.
Recently at night I’ve taken to lying awake until my eyelids are so heavy they won’t stay open anymore. It is a new thing I’ve started doing. I don’t know if it’s the disease I have that’s responsible, or if it’s my current mind set. I’m guessing a little of both.
I will steal glances at my nightlight and than make a concerted effort to reach over and turn it off. Most often I succeed; it is easy enough to do. I just have to do it. My biggest problem is I don’t want to do it. I want that light on. And so…I lie in wait.
I can hear my pigs quietly move around in their cages. There is the quiet rustling of straw and bedding, and the occasional sounds of slurping as they drink from their water bottles. Lucy will sneak upstairs to sleep in the girls’ bedroom. You can tell by the sound of her dog tags that she is being ever so quiet, careful not to be noticed. Even so, it is her weight that gives her away as she thumps against the floor when she has finished walking around in a circle three or four times trying to get settled in.
I don’t know when it happened; I can’t remember. I just know that it did. I’ve suddenly become afraid of the dark. I think it’s because I don’t want to miss out on anything. The recent discovery of my fate is overwhelming and the things I have learned are starting to haunt me.
This year over 17,000 people in the United States will need a liver transplant; of them only about 6,000 people will receive one. The demand for donor organs’ outweighs the supply. Those who do not receive organ transplants will be pushed back into the following year and sadly some of them will not receive one. Those statistics scare me, especially now that I’ve become one of them.
I do not know what the next two years will be like. I can only imagine. The progression of the illness is different for everyone. Right now all I have is the word of the people and the doctors. They all say the same thing. "Your going to have to get real sick to get better."
On August 27th 2008, I was officially listed. The countdown begins...
The thing of it is we’re all dying. There‘s no getting past that. I am however in a unique position of knowing when I’ll die. This in a way circumvents all boundaries. I’m not really happy about that. It takes away from the illusion of destiny. Nobody should know too much about their own destiny, especially when their time is marked by moons. That just doesn’t seem right.
On the brighter side of things there is the possibility that I won’t die. Maybe time will weigh in and destiny will prevail. Maybe I’ll get my liver and we won’t have to go through the death thing after all. I’m really counting on destiny.
Recently at night I’ve taken to lying awake until my eyelids are so heavy they won’t stay open anymore. It is a new thing I’ve started doing. I don’t know if it’s the disease I have that’s responsible, or if it’s my current mind set. I’m guessing a little of both.
I will steal glances at my nightlight and than make a concerted effort to reach over and turn it off. Most often I succeed; it is easy enough to do. I just have to do it. My biggest problem is I don’t want to do it. I want that light on. And so…I lie in wait.
I can hear my pigs quietly move around in their cages. There is the quiet rustling of straw and bedding, and the occasional sounds of slurping as they drink from their water bottles. Lucy will sneak upstairs to sleep in the girls’ bedroom. You can tell by the sound of her dog tags that she is being ever so quiet, careful not to be noticed. Even so, it is her weight that gives her away as she thumps against the floor when she has finished walking around in a circle three or four times trying to get settled in.
I don’t know when it happened; I can’t remember. I just know that it did. I’ve suddenly become afraid of the dark. I think it’s because I don’t want to miss out on anything. The recent discovery of my fate is overwhelming and the things I have learned are starting to haunt me.
This year over 17,000 people in the United States will need a liver transplant; of them only about 6,000 people will receive one. The demand for donor organs’ outweighs the supply. Those who do not receive organ transplants will be pushed back into the following year and sadly some of them will not receive one. Those statistics scare me, especially now that I’ve become one of them.
I do not know what the next two years will be like. I can only imagine. The progression of the illness is different for everyone. Right now all I have is the word of the people and the doctors. They all say the same thing. "Your going to have to get real sick to get better."
On August 27th 2008, I was officially listed. The countdown begins...
2 comments:
You won't die, baby. Too many things, just so, seem to promise a good outcome.
Thanks for your comment on my post about pain and faith. looking over your blog, i can see why you might have been drawn to that post.
you're right, we're all dying. but key is that we're all also living. i think the one we focus on most will determine the quality of our time here.
are you in Utah? some of your photos seem familiar. we moved to SLC 2 years ago. my husband is in medical school. our kids are 11 and 9...similar to yours.
you're a great writer! you express things every beautifully. especially the hard things. peace be yours!
~Blue
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