Bach, In Time!

BACH, IN TIME!

Tomorrow will mark six weeks since I received my double lung transplant. My God: how life just marches on! For a seemingly endless time we have waited for these days. I was diagnosed with Interstitial lung disease in 1998 - twelve years ago! The disease progressed very slowly over the years; so much so, that I really couldn't tell from week to week how it was progressing, but when I would look back six months or so, I could see that I was indeed getting worse. For six years we wanted to move from Reno (we lived there for eight) but I was too unstable; we were too unsure about the future for me to quit my job - to risk losing medical insurance. It was clear that when we visited areas at lower altitude that I felt better and was able to do more (Reno is at 4500 ft altitude.) Finally, my Pulmonologist said that we could buy more "time" and more comfort for me, breathing-wise, if indeed we were to move to a lower altitude. We did some research and ended up choosing to live and work in Vancouver, Washington (altitude 150 ft.) I did get some relief, for a few years.

So, just six weeks ago I was leashed by a 50 ft nasal cannula to an oxygen concentrator, not getting out very much at all. It had gotten to the point that I would go grocery shopping every week, with a tank in a small backpack strapped onto my back, but I would be exhausted by the time I got home and put the groceries away. Sure, I would visit with girlfriends once a week or so; coffee or lunch or a glass (or three) of wine. But I was watching a LOT of television, movies, reading a lot and sitting on the couch, a LOT....when I wasn't napping. Sometimes I napped because I was tired: exhausted...Other times it was simply to help the day pass. I saw the same walkers, school kids and dog-owners pass by our house every morning. Matt, Meredith, Al and Anne were my morning companions. Ron works three twelve-hour shifts a week and I came to cherish the days that he was gone: not because I don't love being with him - I do! How I love my husband! But I just couldn't bear the thought of having a witness to how much I wasn't doing with my days! My energy levels had gotten so low - my ambition so defeated, that I treasured the luxury of doing nothing with no witness, until an hour or two before he was due home in the evenings. Then, before he arrived home I would scramble around the house, straightening, doing the dishes I had avoided all day, making the bed finally, etc., so that he didn't know (did you know, Ron?) that I had actually been on the couch much of the day. It was a very sad time. I tried to remain cheerful, patient, positive on the outside: it was a big stretch. The call would come....the call would come.

I was missing my dog Chiba terribly, who we had sent ahead to that better place in October. Chiba was quite the naggy little dog: she always demanded attention. I loved her so much; I loved grooming her, petting her, just being with her: she had been my constant companion. Toward her end I wasn't taking her out for walks much, but it had become apparent she was getting old (we thought it was arthritis; she was 11 years old....we were wrong) and she wasn't much interested in walks by then either. Around the New Year, I was going out of my mind waiting for that damned call that would change our lives - bring us to the next, exciting chapter! I needed a mission! A small mission, that was achievable! I decided I could be of use - find a purpose - by volunteering at the Humane Society. It became my New Year's Resolution! Soon after the New Year I completed orientation at the HS in Vancouver. I would be a "Dog Socializer!" My job was to spend two hours, one day a week working on socializing the adoptable dogs. So many have no manners, no training. A Socializer's job is to walk the dogs, socialize and spend a little time training them some better manners in order to help them find forever homes. Ron's friends joked with him that we would have a new dog very soon. WE agreed it would be best to wait until after the transplant. It was settled. We would wait. It wouldn't be fair to us, or to a new dog, should we bring it into our home, only to get The Call the next month, possibly even the next DAY, and then be gone for who knows how long! Our lives were just completely on hold waiting for this transplant: no travel, no dog, no using Ron's vacation time.

My days at the Humane Society were great! I was on my own by early January and started by walking the dogs. I wasn't going for walks on my own any more, so I initially decided we needed each other: everyone would get out for a walk. I quickly realized that, on seven liters of oxygen, I was no longer any match for even a 35 pound, badly-mannered pit bull pup or a poorly trained Labrador. The Chihuahuas and Min-Pins were more my speed. No...I was no dog walker after all. On my second volunteer week, I decided to groom the dogs. They needed to be brushed and look their best for the visitors looking to adopt! THAT's when I met Bach. Bach was eight years old and 94 pounds of LOVE, in the form of a St Bernard/Rhodesian Ridgeback mix. When I took mellow Bach to the Socialization room for grooming the first time, he just drank it up. He lay down, rolled over and loved every bit of the attention. If I stopped, he would paw me for more, with crazy-long nails. My heart melted. I couldn't stop thinking about him, and went home and told Ron we had to go look at him. Ron resisted: I insisted. The next day I called and found out that Bach had a 24-hour "hold" on him - meaning another family wanted to consider him for adoption. I had an urgent need to introduce these two boys to each other! I dragged Ron down to the Humane Society and we visited with Bach; Ron was smitten! We put a second hold on Bach and were told that if the other family hadn't picked him up by noon the next day, he was ours! I couldn't sleep that night: I was in love! I so wanted a new companion! Ron and I struggled with the fact that I could get The Call at any moment, and yet we also were really feeling the void left in our hearts and home by the loss of Chiba...it was time for a new furry friend, and we hoped to have found him in Bach. Regardless, I told myself, he would have a new home very soon: that was the most important thing. I left it up to God; if it was meant to be, Bach would come home with us tomorrow. It was Sunday, January 31st and Ron and I went to Sunday Brunch with my very good friend MaryPat and her friend to Salty's Restaurant: all you can eat oysters on the half shell, Dungeness Crab and many many more yummies! (As it happened, they would be the last raw oysters I may ever eat in my life! Waaa!) After our brunch, I called the Humane Society to see if indeed Bach had been picked up. He had NOT! I told them we weould be there in twenty minutes to pick him up! Ron and I drove directly to the the HS nd took one more visit with him: we were convinced...it was decided! We took him home and our house was whole again.

We had adopted Chiba when she was four months old; I knew that dog's every mood, sound and habit. Quite to the contrary, Bach came to us with an entire previous life; a Senior Dog. The family that relinquished him had filled out paperwork as to his history and habits, and on paper he was a great dog. My instincts told me he is a great dog. But he is a completely different dog than Chiba, and he is BIG and he has BIG teeth!! He is a little intimidating. I had to admit, as much as we seemed to like each other, we would need to get to know each other and to trust. I tried to clip his nails and he balked. I tried to clean his ears and he would jump back and look at me like "What you talkin' 'bout Willis!?" We found common ground in the brushing, and he relaxed. I bought toys from the Good Will store and he didn't really know what to do with them. I gave him Milk Bones and carrots (Chiba loved her daily carrots) and he brought them into the living room and dropped them, where they would stay for days if I didn't pick them up. But this dog follows me everywhere, and puts his big huge head into my lap and hands and just breaks my heart! He lays down beside me on the floor and begs to be touched. I took him for the walks I had not been going on, and he would take his leash into his mouth, as if HE were walking ME. He shakes and sits and speaks and comes. He does not stay very well. I immediately felt safer in my home during the day and night with a dog in it once again. I was feeling very vulnerable without a dog as a first warning system and companion. It makes me feel good to know that people see a dog in the window as they walk by my house; especially as they would also see oxygen tanks waiting in the drive to be picked up. I felt like target to some degree, knowing that I couldn't run or fight for my life if I needed to. And, as Murphy's Law always dictates, three and 1/2 weeks after we adopted a new dog...we got The Call. Our new dog would now be passed around to several Step-Moms and babysitters over the next few weeks.

I haven't been with my dog in six weeks. I hardly know him! By all reports from Ron and Mom, he is not the same dog today as I left six weeks ago...He OWNS that house and it is his! He is Home! He barks at the door and stands guard in our living room window; a warning and a sentinel to all who might dare to trespass. He also is a big softy, who just wants to be pet! He loves chicken strips and Pupperoni. He takes a pill for his bad knees and he thinks being put outside without you is punishment. He sheds everywhere and he needs me back home with him to groom him and walk him on the pavement to file down his long nails. When I get home he is going to be the walking-est, hiking-est, luckiest dog! We will play and wrestle and walk and go swimming in the rivers. I will chase him around our big yard, and he will never know what it's like to have an owner that can't take him for long walks...and he will help me to forget that I ever couldn't.

The Cute and the Fugly

(or)

Twelve Hours to Fugly

My stay in the hospital lasted only nine days. We were all very surprised at how quickly I was released, as we were told time and again to expect to spend 2-3 weeks in the hospital. I received my transplant late evening on Wednesday the 24th of Feb and was released on Friday, March 5th. Let me tell you; being in the hospital suuuuucks! I have learned many MANY things that will be useful to me in my rold as a nurse, from being a patient:

Just because a patient falls asleep after receiving IV pain medicine does NOT mean their pain was relieved. If they say the medicine didn't work; please eventually try another medication. And oral meds really do sometimes work better than IV! When they switched me from IV Dilaudid (which made me super sleepy but did nothing for my pain) to Oral Dilaudid, I got much better pain relief, in just one dose. That is so amazing to me, as a Recovery Room nurse!

Hospital Macaroni and Cheese is awful.

Low Sodium diets should be used only as part of the punishment for Death Row inmates.

Choices are good. Patients want choices. Just give us one iota of control, and we will think you're the greatest nurse. Or doc.

Sometimes a patient just wants to talk. Or listen to someone else talk. One night I was just feeling lonely, and I told my nurse "I just want to talk." This angel looked at me, pulled up a chair and said, "What's up, Chicken Butt?" and chatted with me for 20 minutes. We talked about whatever came up. That she took those 20 minutes just to keep me company made a world of difference that late night. It still does. "What's up, Chicken Butt?"

When your husband shows up at your bedside at 2:30am, fresh from a shower and smelling like soap just because he was worried about you and couldn't wait to see you, he becomes your knight in shining armor all over again. It was like a dream: I couldn't believe he was there, and I was so happy to see him!

That little blow-thingy, the Incentive Spirometer, is harder to use than it looks!

The TV channel button and the "Call Nurse" button should NOT be within two inches of each other, particularly when a patient is on large amounts narcotics. It makes for bad relations.

It is really, really important that you put the bedside table close to the bedside when you leave the patient's room. Everything we want and need in the world is on that table....but we don't need it until it's out of our reach. That sucks.

When a patient has a foley catheter, they really CAN feel every tug and movement down the entire length of the tubing and all the way to the bag. Yowza!! And I thought it was just men being sensitive!

Clean, tight sheets on a bed make all the difference between feeling human and feeling homeless. Thanks, Mom, Ingrid and Ron! You guys made my bed every time I got up!

You know those annoying patients who say "I'm sensitive to adhesive!" "No tape!" I'm here to tell you: I'm one of them now, and I believe in Coban! My flesh was being torn off in layers. COBAN RULES.

The Surgical Team and the Pain Management Team have goals that are at complete odds with each other when it comes to the management of your pain. The surgical team wants you to take enough pain medication so that you can do the work you need to do in order to heal and get the hell out of the hospital. In my case it was those little things, like coughing, deep breathing, and getting out of bed with an 18 inch, flip-top, Pez Dispenser incision across my entire chest and four chest tubes poking around inside me. In contrast: the entire goal of the Pain Management team is to rid the world of the scourge of narcotic use and get everyone on Tylenol as fast as possible, regardless of what their pain level is, and no matter what the cost to the rehabilitation of the patient. Needless to say, I fired the Pain Management team and told Surgery I wanted them to handle my pain medications. Yes: you CAN do that as the patient. The worry of addiction is not at issue when you haven't even left the hospital yet. The Pain Management docs didn't like me much, either. I prefer to call them Pain Medicine Control physicians, rather than Pain Management physicians. "Pain Nazis" would be appropriate too...just maybe not to their faces.

Save every receipt. You'll be happy you did. Almost everything can be deducted as a medical expense, and it adds up. Quick.

No matter how cute you looked going in to surgery (I did!), you will look like HELL when you come out (I did...) Surgery is NOT pretty, so don't even try. Leave your vanity at the door, 'cuz you gonna be FUGLY for a while when you come out. That's just the way it is.

Yes, a stay in the hospital is the ultimate lesson in humility, losing your modesty, sharing bodily functions, and talking about the most intimate of details. I know there are those who think they could never - that they would die before succumbing to that level of indignity (I'm related to several of you,) but really - after a while you don't even care. When you really need the help; when you are that vulnerable - you don't care: you just need. And you are just grateful that there are people around you who are either knowledgeable enough or who love you enough to give you what you need, because you know that you would fail without them. It is a truly humbling experience, and it will bring a new perspective to you.

So in case you ever doubted, let me tell you that God does have a sense of humor. I spent a year on the lung transplant list. A year and a day! That entire time, I swore I would stay groomed, lest I get called in to surgery in need of maintenance, which would only get worse over the course of a two to three week hospital stay (which is how much time we were told to expect my stay to be.) So I spent inordinate amounts of time keepin' up the maintenance. Ladies, you know the deal: the skin care, the wax jobs, the pedicures, the shaving, the plucking, the haircuts - precisely so that I would not go into surgery looking like the Geico Caveman's wife. Well, don'cha just know: I had a hair appointment scheduled in two weeks, and a wax job/pedicure appointment for the next friggin' day!!!! I hadn't shaved my legs in probably three days. And I was about to be exposed for the cave woman that I really am. Damn...talk about Murphy's Law.

We drove to Seattle together, arriving at UW a few hours later. Thanks to Ron's good driving we made it, safe and sound. The ride up was full of happiness, of worry, dreams of the future, introspective silence, and a few tears of anxiety. My sisters called several times to check in on us. The emails started to pour in on our iPhones - wishes of luck, prayers, and happiness There was no doubt many, many people were in on this ride with us. The positive energy you all sent was palpable. We felt enveloped with warmth.

We checked in to the admitting area, and I was given the gown and told to change. The wheels of the transplant machine started to turn. I was given my own gurney, had several interviews, an IV start, vital signs were taken. The transplant coordinator, Kathy Weakly came by to chat, and all we wanted to know is; is this a "go", or a "dry run?" As far as she knew it was a "go," but they still had to do some last minute testing on the donor lungs. Ron was all a-glow, holding my hand: he was so psyched! "I'm gonna get my woman back! Finally!" Mom was a little more worried, reserved - introspective. She prayed silently, kissed my head. Never has someone felt more loved. I vacillated between elation and short bursts of inner panic. I needed some time alone with each of them, and they with me. We shared the next hour or so together, and they each took several turns giving the other privacy with me. It was time for saying what had to be said: the most important things and yet the most simple. How do you say I love you - possibly for the last time? What words do you use to thank someone for loving you so well, so that they never forget it if they never hear it again? This very moment in life, I have been lucky enough to experience.

Finally, a friendly Anesthesiology Fellow by the name of Kaeck, ("Sounds like Birthday Cake!") came and introduced herself, and said she would be with me during the surgery. She did her interview and started an arterial line in my left wrist (ouch!!) "Is this a go?" She didn't know yet, but they were proceeding as if it were. Shortly after, the attending anesthesiologist, Dr Krishna, came by and introduced himself. He told Dr. Kaeck that indeed Dr Mulligan was en route with the donor lungs; we needed to proceed to the Operating Room in the next ten minutes. A little shot of Versed was pushed into my IV.

"Is this really a go??"

"It's really a go; it's Time."

Mom, Ron and I said our goodbyes. Suddenly I was not afraid (ah...Versed...) I was just really, really ready. Let's go: let's do this! I wasn't worried about survival, or pain, or recovery....This was in God's hands, and I willingly and completely surrendered. I was ready for new lungs: A new life! A life without supplemental oxygen and tanks and backpacks and tubes and shortness of breath and limitations and without that damned, constantly dry, sore nose. Dr Kaeck pushed me away on the gurney and I looked back as we turned the corner to leave the room. One last look. There was my husband and my mother, each smiling, waving. "See you very soon! I love you!" It was happy.

We rolled into the operating room, and I was surrounded by the familiar bustle. You see; I used to BE an Operating Room Nurse! What a strange thing, to ride into an OR on a gurney, as the patient. I recognized the equipment, knew who was the surgical tech, who were the RN's. A mask was shortly placed over my face to allow my lungs to fill with 100% oxygen; the last few breaths my old lungs would take, soon to be replaced by the lungs of an angel.

I was so ready.

Holy Moly. I can't believe I'm writing this, but...I FINALLY. Actually. REALLY got a friggin' double lung transplant. I am still in shock. It really, really has come true!!!

First of all, let me start with a small apology for once again dropping off the Blogosphere for too long. My friend, Kateri, has regularly scolded and prodded me - to no avail. Yes; I can be stubborn. I had nothing to share: I had lost hope and for months had feelings of hopelessness, of despair, that I simply could not share, or risk taking my blog and it's readers' insight of me, down a very dark path where too many people would have been worried, or worse: thought me unstable... it would have been ugly. No. Better for all that I simply skipped it. The people who needed to know, knew. Not everything needs to be published. I'm sorry. Let me fill you in a bit on what's been going on.

In October (2009) our beloved dog, Chiba, started to have severe pain and fail. We did everything we could to keep her comfortable and happy, but it was spinal cancer, and there was really nothing to do, but to send her on her way to that better place. It was very sudden, and she was gone within the week. Ron and I took her to the vet and said our tearful goodbyes to our dear friend. She left a huge hole in our hearts, our home. Her last hours were spent with me, Ron and Mom continuously touching, petting and loving her: if we dared stop for a moment, she would lift her head and look at us, like "Well, Geez: don't stop now!" She was a demanding little dog. ha. She died without a doubt that she was loved and had taken very good care of us. We miss that girl. Her ashes and dog tags will sit on our mantle until we can bear to let go more fully.

I had quit working in December 2008, and was placed on the Lung Transplant List at UWMC in Seattle on 23 February 2009. So by January 2010, the New Year, when I had still not gotten The Call after eleven months, I was in a tailspin. This has been a long haul!! They had estimated 3-6 months that I would wait, and while I understood there was no guarantee, I was kinda clinging to that time frame. After all: they are the professionals, right?? I can't tell you how many calls I put in to my various sources of encouragement, trying to hold on to hope. My mother; Ron; sister Ingrid; my friends Mimi, Donna, MaryPat, Lisa, Jill, and numerous others. Each of you individually saved me from the abyss on several occasions; listened to my tears helplessly and just let me cry - which was all you could do and all I really needed. When would i get The Call?? Was I actually going to die waiting for transplant?? Am I so short they can't find a donor to match? I called too often to the lung transplant coordinator and social worker: "How many more transplants have you done? What's going on??" The truth was, they weren't doing many transplants: there was a huge lull in donors/transplants over the Summer and fall and everyone was waiting, waiting, waiting. The transplant team is ever so patient, and would talk me down from the ledge, just like they had probably done with the caller before me; and would with the caller after me.

I had finally admitted about six months ago that I was indeed in need of supplemental oxygen 24 hours a day. Actually, I probably needed it much earlier but you all know by now how much I loved my warm cloak of denial. If I didn't wear it, I didn't need it..right?? It was the BEST farce! But it had gotten to the point that I was so tired, my heart working so hard to oxygenate my cells, I just could not do it without the nasal cannula. So I had the oxygen company deliver a concentrator, and we learned to tune out the continuous hum and rattle of the machine that would take o2 from the atmosphere and concentrate it so I could breath it with a long, 50ft nasal cannula that followed me (and got tangled on every frickin' little thing) throughout the house. The temper tantrums I threw getting used to that 50ft long "leash," and the sailor-potty-mouth that I developed when it would get snagged or torn off my face as I walked around the house I think were frightening to my poor Ronnie. That poor man: what fortitude he has had throughout this. WHERE did he come from, and what the HELL is he made of?? And how the hell did I snag him??

And then: On February 24th, 2010...at 09:07am...One year and one day....Three hundred and sixty-six days after being placed on the Lung Transplant List...My phone rang. It was a Wednesday morning. My mother was at our house, cleaning my kitchen. I had just showered and gotten dressed. Ron was at work. It was the lung transplant coordinator, Kathy Weakly. I had just spoken with her the day before, so it was unusual that she would call again. She was so calm, friendly. Of course, for eleven months now, whenever I have gotten a call from (206) area code, it has put us in a small state of alarm, of hope...anticipation. I stood still as she spoke, Mom and I stared at each other, waiting to hear what she was calling for.

"Hi, Rebecca, How are you?"

"I'm fine, Kathy....how are you?"

"Oh, I'm fine. Listen, we have a potential Donor that we think may be a perfect match for you. But I need to ask you; have you had any fever or coughs lately? Are you well? Do you feel sick in any way?"

"No, Kathy. Really??" (I'm looking at my Mom, wide-eyed and smiling, nodding my head and fanning my free hand. Mom's looking at me; wide-eyed, nervous, and VERY worried... excited.)

"Really. Okay that's good. So listen...I don't need you to break any sound barriers, but why don't you go ahead and pack a bag and start on up here."

"REALLY?"

"Really."

"Where is the donor? (It had been my understanding they would tell you so you could estimate the amount of time you had to get up there.)

"I can't tell you that! Just come on up, get here when you can. Drive safe. You're not driving yourself, are you?"

"No, Kathy; my husband will drive. REALLY?? You have a donor??"

"Yes, Rebecca we think we do. We'll see you soon. I'm excited for you."

Over the months Ron and I had made (and revised over and over) a checklist of tasks to accomplish in this moment. We knew that we would be wrecks, and thank God that we did: we WERE kind of wrecks! The first item on the checklist: " REMAIN CALM....THIS MAY WELL BE A DRY RUN!!" There are times when a donor turns out not to be viable and the transplant is called off; one person on the list whom I have met in the past was put under general anesthesia, only to wake up and find out that she had NOT gotten the transplant because the donor turned out not to be suitable. So we had to temper our excitement with the knowledge of this possibility for disappointment.

I had to call Ron at work. We had agreed long ago that I would call the OR front desk and let them know so they could get his replacement and he could leave immediately. I called Brad, the OR Charge Nurse. I could barely get the words out for all my nerves, shaking and in-coming tears. "Brad this is Rebecca. I've gotten the call to come up for transplant, and I need you to get Ron out of work." Brad said his congratulations and said he would get Ron out. Two minutes later, Ron called and said "I'm on my way...start going down the checklist. I love you! This is it!"

My mother was so nervous, bless her soul. I think she finished cleaning the kitchen, with her mind swirling. She had only days before come back from a visit to San Antonio to see my sister and had not had a chance to repack her travel bag for when we got the call (we had all had a Go-Bag ready for months, waiting!) She said that she'd get things when we got there. Then we decided there was time: she would get a cab to her apartment and pack a bag while Ron and I took care of our own, lengthy checklist (how fast can you shut down YOUR house for an undetermined period of time, not knowing what the future holds or when you will be back?) and would come pick her up in 45 min or so. This worked well. Ron and I got our things together, closed up the house, put our new dog, Bach (yes! We have a new friend! More on hiim later) out and hit the road. By 10:00 am the three of us were together, in the Subaru, heading North on I-5 to Seattle.

We had gotten The Call.

Firsts.....

Hello Family and Friends,
Sunday night is here, we have had a great weekend of firsts and look forward to beginning a new week. Rebecca is doing great and has made many strides towards regaining her strength. Her O2 sats are consistently in the upper 90's and she has gone on several extended walks through the University district here in Seattle, and all without an O2 Tank! YES!!!!! We've gone on a few drives and excursions to stores and gone shopping in a grocery store, who would of thought these small forays would be so awesome. Beck and her mom went for a walk from 42nd street to 45th, all up hill and back about a thirty minute walk. She's on her way to a new life.
My updates will be a little more intermittent from this point forward, but rest assured the updates will come. I'm doing great, just being around my girl is so energizing, I hope I never come down from this high!!!! Thanks Family and Friends!!!!
Your Friends,
Ron and Rebecca

She's outta the Hospital!!!

Hello Family and Friends,
Today is a Great Day, Rebecca was discharged from University of Washington Medical Center. Complete with a new set of healthy lungs and an renewed outlook on life. The pharmacy was a big stop for us as the morning wore on, we picked up a bag full of meds. Anti rejection, pain relief, insulin pen and many more, (too numerous to list) This is what she will be taking for the rest of her life. But I should point out, there are quite a few, but only a couple of those horse pills. We rolled out of the Hospital at 1PM sharp and Rebecca was greeted by a beautiful sunny Pacific NW day. Wearing her duck billed N95 mask (when in crowds) she was delighted to be get out. After we got to the apartment, Rebecca settled in and rested for a while, Momma Elsa made some lunch and Ingrid talked with Beck. After about a 45 minute visit after getting back, I took Ingrid to SeaTac airport and saw her off on her way back home to Manhattan,(as I write this she is on her way in a limo to hers and Karl's apartment. Thank You Ingrid, You are one Hell of a great Sister. I Love You!!!
Rebecca has settled into our place and now has taken her well deserved shower, anyone who s ever spend a few days in a hospital can relate. Now it's time to get on the time table for med s and rehab, appointments with the lung transplant pulmonologist, labs and chest x-rays. This will be going on for the next few months, hence to why we have to stay here.
Also on this fine day Rebeccas good friend Kathlin Kennedy got her lungs too, this is so great!!! She and Beck became transplant support group buddies over the course of the past year. We are very happy with the news, she got the call this morning while Rebecca was getting her stuff together to be discharged. This evening we received a text from her family that shes in the ICU resting and beginning her journey to recovery too. So all in all an awesome day for many folks out there. Prayers and Best Wishes to a speedy and uneventful recovery to Kathlin and her family. And Of course my girl too. Thank You everyone for being there with us, your continued support shines through. Lots of Love out there. :0)

Your Friends,
Ron and Rebecca

PS: Good Night Ingy!!!

another step closer........

Hello Family and Friends,
Well another day closer to freedom, Today while Rebecca was recovering I made a trip to our home to pick up some necessary items. All the while Rebecca was getting the final two chest tubes removed and further instruction in physical therapy. The epidural was removed and she went on oral pain control, this is all just an unbelievable miracle and we are all very ecstatic. As it stands right now, it looks like Beck will be released tomorrow afternoon. Wow! WOW! WOW!!. It'll be so good to get her out of the hospital. So at the end of this long day I'm totally toast and will continue tomorrow. Thanks for taking this ride with us.
Your Friends ,
Ron and Rebecca