Everything and nothing you could have ever wanted to know about one girl having a heart transplant.
If you are new: Be warned, this blog is not for you, but it may lend itself to you.
If you are returning: First, thanks for not giving up. Peruse the latest musings on life with borrowed time below.
So here's a toast to the hard part; the sticky part. The part of me that will not try to find the silver lining. That will not stray away from saying the things that are hard to say. For once I won't even try to be grateful. I will not see the bigger picture or find peace in the consolation prize that is being alive.
Read MoreINT. CLINIC ROOM - DAY SCENE: A STIFF, METAL CHAIR WITH TAN VINYL BACK AND SEAT. SUBJECT (MID-20S, FEMALE) SITS… EYES GAZE UP AND BEGIN SLOWLY PANNING THE ROOM SHE HAS OCCUPIED A HUNDRED TIMES BEFORE.
Read MoreI keep telling myself that someday I will wake up. That what I discover in my research, in the experiences of my peers, and in what I build an awareness of that I am not somehow cosmically causing this onslaught of complications.
Read MoreI'll wear v-neck rompers and continue telling humorously shocked strangers that "it's a botched boob job!" 'till the cows come home, but this palette is already too full of the artwork of some unnamed fellow's sutures. I'm just done. I'd like to be vain, just for a little while.
Read MoreIn the same way that I can't watch horror movies pervasively because of the soundtrack, I nearly can't live through a horrible situation with the sound on…. its hard to escape the sounds in the hospital; even long after you leave.
*Might* is a four letter word in the healthcare world. It is a drug all its own that causes either euphoric hope or engulfing fear. It is too bipolar. It is too broad. It is too inconclusive.
Read MoreA poem.
Read MoreThe catalyst of joy is the kindness of others. Together they create the recognition that, though this is absolute shit, at some point today you'll get to go home.
Read MoreI recall thinking how plain and bizarre that was; here was a room of thirty+ medical experts, professors, and pioneers who couldn't decide whether I should live or not until the following week, schedule permitting.
Read MoreBecause I cannot and I am not and, for the first time, I truly fear that I never will be.
Read MoreIt was a catharsis, a vindication, and reassurance to hold this part of me so close to the chest it once occupied…It was my first, and it was my friend.
Read MoreI got it cut to help detangle (in a vain attempt to slow down the loss) and averted my eyes from the cutting room floor, lest I see the pain of my loss increased, lifeless, on the ground.
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