My whole freaking life changed on March 9, 2011. Out. Of. The. Blue. I haven’t decided 100% whether I’m thankful for it or not. I’m at, like, 89%. If you’re looking for a story where the heroine is a faith-filled woman of God, this isn’t it. I am a woman full of fear and self-doubt. I’m a work in progress and this is a chapter in my story.
I had been struggling with a nasty sinus infection and thought it might have turned into bronchitis so I set up a doctor’s appointment for the next day. I hadn’t slept well because every time I lay down, I would start coughing. My goal was to get to this appointment, get meds, go home, and get much-needed sleep.
I remember sitting in the cold waiting room, waiting for the Doctor to see me. Time seems to go slower in those waiting rooms, doesn’t it? The Doctor checked my vitals and was concerned with my blood pressure and heart rate. He sent me across town to another urgent care that had an X-ray machine. After another mind-numbing period of waiting, the Doctor wanted me to go to the ER. This certainly wasn’t in my fast-track plan to get back home.
On the way to the ER, the Doctor called and asked me to go to the Heart Hospital instead. A Heart Hospital in Oklahoma?? First, I have no idea where this is, so anxiety kicks in like I snorted it. I’m in subdued freakout mode and shock. Quite frankly, I don’t what any of this means, but I do know that I won’t be getting home to sleep any time soon.
I found my way to the heart hospital and walked in the front, carousel doors. My footsteps echoed across the very large atrium as I made my way to the reception desk. I’m the youngest person in this hospital. The only one without blue hair and I feel exponentially out of place.
I was guided to the ER where wires, nodes, and an IV were immediately hooked up. The nurses began an EKG. During this time I couldn’t get ahold of my then-husband and am feeling very alone and very scared.
Whoever is reading this…you might be praying at this point. I don’t think I did - at this point in my life, I’m pretty sure that God isn’t as involved as we think He is. And even if He is, He’s certainly not going to listen to my “quarter-in-the-pop-machine” prayer.
When you grow up in an environment that doesn’t feel safe or secure, you grow up learning that you have to fend for yourself. No shining knight is coming to save you. You grow up learning not to rely on anyone and that includes God.
The doctor comes to my room to tell me that I’m experiencing congestive heart failure. That doesn’t sound good. The doctor tells me my heart’s ejection fraction is so low that if it doesn’t improve quickly, I’ll need a heart transplant. Excuse me??
In other words, I’m currently dying.
As a recap, I just walked myself into this hospital 40 minutes earlier and I’m dying.
My life is spinning out of control and I have nothing to hang on to. I’m alone in this room of machines that are beeping to the beat of my dying heart.
I finally got a hold of my husband and somehow we got through those few weeks. Doctors ran tons of tests to find out WHY. One of the results found that my kidney function was off. This started the domino effect of more tests, a biopsy, and scans. A few weeks later I was diagnosed with Stage 4 Kidney Disease. 76 percent of my kidney tissue was dead.
I don’t want to play anymore. I want out of the matrix. My life has already been riddled with one tragedy, trauma, and/or abuse after another, and here are two more life-altering, events in the past 3 weeks?! At this point, I’ve determined that “God’s plan” is some weird, social experiment on a scale that I can’t fathom. Am I Job reincarnated? Is this a test? Are the gods looking down to place bets on what happens next? I feel angry and hopeless - like a caged animal with no other options.
Over the next couple of years, I find solace in controlling every aspect of my recovery. I can’t rely on God. I can’t rely on others. I’ll rely on myself. I changed my diet. I counted every milligram of salt. I recovered in record time from heart failure. For a few years, I kept the Reaper at bay. I thought that maybe, just maybe, I could keep it up forever. This plan could win. I could save myself and I WOULD.
My kidneys started to decline after a few short, stable-ish years, and I was able to apply for the transplant list.
You have to have less than 15% kidney function to be eligible for the transplant list.
You have to be dying to be saved.
Ironic, isn’t it?
On average, once a person is approved to be on the transplant eligibility list, it’s a 3-4 year waiting period. Most people don’t make it that long.
As my kidneys worsened, my sister tested to be a donor. After 4 emotionally and physically strenuous testing days, we (my brother and sister) found out she was approved to be my donor. My heart was filled with such relief. I felt saved. I feel HOPE for the first time in four years. I had been able to hold on long enough to get a transplant.
These years of kidney decline had drastically altered my life to the point where I am watching other people live life. I’m only a spectator, and it doesn’t feel like living at all. I’m a ghost watching the living take for granted the time they have.
As the details are processed and dates set for my upcoming transplant, I go back to work with renewed optimism. (Oh, did I mention I have been working continuously full-time since having heart failure? Yep.) Two days later, I received a phone call from my sister. She’s sobbing and my heart sinks. She tells me that the hospital rescinded its decision to allow her to be a donor due to potential health concerns down the road. I’m forced to move ahead with plan B.
Plan B means dialysis. Within a month, I have surgery to receive a port. I choose to do peritoneal dialysis at home. This allows me to do dialysis for 8 to 10 hours at night so I can continue working during the day. My kidney function improves ever so slightly and I allow myself a sigh of relief. But as the weeks pass, I realize dialysis isn’t going to be enough. Dialysis isn’t filtering as fast as my kidneys are declining. The days begin to blur again and I spiral into a deep depression. It feels as if my life is going by in slow motion while everyone is alive and moving past me. I try to stay positive for my kids and husband, but I know what’s coming. I try to be thankful for another day because my days are limited. I try to remain optimistic. I try to accept my fate and make the best of each day. I’m desperate enough to pray at this point. God is my last resort. I don’t think He’ll answer, but I give him a ring anyway.
I’m a ghost watching the living take for granted the time they have.
After three months of dialysis, I receive a phone call from a co-worker. He tells me he saw a post on Facebook about someone needing to donate their loved one’s organs as they won’t recover from a brain aneurysm. I didn’t want to get too excited. Hope is a bittersweet son-of-a-bitch.
To my surprise, I received a phone call later that evening and heard the words from my nurse, “This is a potential match, but more tests need to be done to be sure.” The next days’ seconds ticked by like minutes, and I kept looking at my phone like you’d watch water boil on the stove. When I received the call, my nurse told me, “The kidney is in good shape and is a match. Your doctor believes this is something you should move forward with. If you agree, please come to the hospital within the next two hours. The kidney will be med-flighted here.”
I have to pause and tell you that as I type my story, I’m overwhelmed with emotion. The gratitude I have to still be alive to type this story comes to me in waves and threatens to drown me.
Within an hour and a half, I was at the hospital and on anti-rejection meds (giant pills, y’all).
FYI, Just because there is a kidney, doesn’t mean the operation will go smoothly. Just because I have a new kidney attached, doesn’t mean it will work. And even IF the new kidney takes, we don’t have any guarantee on how long it will last.
The questions and worries play in my mind on repeat. I’m trying to NOT have hope, so I’m NOT disappointed. But I’m desperate FOR HOPE because every fiber of me wants to live and see my kids grow up. Everything is out of my control. There is nothing that I can do to help make this operation succeed. I am powerless.
I think God brings us to these places of powerlessness, so there is no way to say that the result is anything BUT God. We get to the bottom, so the ONLY place to look is UP.
I remember rolling into the operating room while the bright lights glared at me. I close my eyes and start counting backward as the anesthesia kicks in. Then nothing.
Regaining consciousness and the ability to move your limbs is an experience very difficult to put into words. As soon as I could make one of my hands work, I felt my abdomen for my dialysis port. It was gone.
I remember the doctor walking in early the next morning with a smile on his face. He said my kidney had started working! Overnight, my new kidney had filtered more than dialysis had done in 3 months. I felt the tears well up. In the very hurricane of my disbelief, God was working behind the scenes. In my struggle with faith, He still pursued me. He still showed up. When it could be only God, He showed up. See, Glori? I’m here, for you. I care about your life. I care about YOU and you didn’t have to do anything to earn it.
It’s been over 8 years since my surgery. I wouldn’t say my faith was healed overnight. I would say that it was a seed. A seed that has been growing and maturing. Trust takes time. Over the past 8 years, God has kept showing up for me in little and big ways. When it doesn’t seem like He’s around, I remember my transplant. I see God in my friendships every single day. I remember how God met me where I was. I remember how God works behind the scenes. I live in gratitude because He cared enough about this misfit, this black sheep, to give me more time. This time is my gift. These are my bonus moments.
