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Sep 04

The Second Time Around

Last Thursday, like most Thursdays this summer, was Tattoo-Thursday…. I was lying on Jose’s table, he was torturing me and making pretend I was having a good time, when my phone rang. it was the Real Estate Agent’s office, because we sold our house and are moving to a space-ship-kitchen-hooka-lounge-I-kid-you-not split level at the end of the month. Blah blah blah, it’s very rude of me to interrupt the artist. So it was SUPER rude when I took a call from my husband….. Except he said ‘it’s time. Second transplant at 8 pm. Can i see the kids?’ So I left the tattoo shop, drove to pick up Youngest, called oldest and told her to walk to the corner and we rushed to the hospital to spend an hour with him. Then my super-fabulous dad whisked them away and we waited, for hours, until they took him into surgery.

it was a lot longer this time. And when the surgeon came up, he was very cautiously optimistic: ‘the lungs are good, but it was a very tricky surgery and we had lots of problems. He is ok, but lets see what happens’

That was 1 week ago. During that time, I booked a mover, packed most of the house with the help of my amazing housekeeper, my Eldest started high school (grade 7 here) and takes the friggin city bus by herself there and back. But the husband, well, it’s still one step forward and 3 steps back…..

my new motto (and possibly next tattoo) is: Recovery is not linear.  Today was NOT a good day. Neither was yesterday. One would think it’s funny when your husband is hallucinating and thinks you are hatching a plan to kill him, but really, when he says it out loud, you are SO grateful the people at the hospital know you well and realize he is just very high on pain meds….

There are so very few people who get a second lung transplant…. There is no one to talk to about this. I’m ok, he’s ok. we are both fighters and maybe this will all actually work out. But I am so fucking tired. And my kids are so overwhelmed and sad and scared. But we have food and water and a crazy new house with a weird kitchen and a couch for 24 people, we are not stranded on the shores of a beach in Hungary waiting for asylum…..