The transplant and recovery

August 2, 2007 sitting at the counter in the kitchen I answer the phone. It is Stephanie Osborne, one of the UCSD Transplant nurses, she nonchalantly asks what I am doing, I reply not a whole lot, she asks if I’d be interested in getting some new lungs – in a tone as if to ask ‘would you like to go shopping’. Nearly falling off the stool I reply yes, she says there is no rush – the lungs are not here yet, but they would like me in the hospital asap so that they can prepare me. I call my sister, no response – leave a message at the tone…. Call my father, same thing, damn! In five minutes (a lifetime it seems) dad calls, he’ll be home in 20, get ready. I grab my book that I am reading (I know there will be time to read), and charge my Helios unit.

Registration is much quicker the second time, and soon we are back in the Surgical Preparation ward. Kathy arrives, Dr. Perricone’s wife is again on duty there, it is so familiar yet there is an excitement this time that seemed to be missing the first time. Once again I stuff my personal belongings into the plastic bag, retaining only my glasses and book.

Vitals are checked and rechecked, additional forms filled in, signed and witnessed. And the waiting (for me) begins. Unknown to me is that while I am waiting, Dr. Michael Madani has flown to Las Vegas, examined, evaluated and harvested what will become my new lungs, and is flying back with them. He called the transplant team after removal to let them notify me and get me ready. His flight landed at 6:30 pm, by 7:00 I am in the operation theater, sedated and the operation begins. Eight hours later I am wheeled to the Surgical ICU ward, Dr. Madani, after a short rest had another transplant operation that evening/morning. I sort of remember awakening and seeing him in the chair in my room awaiting my return to the conscious world.

The ICU memories are fuzzy as they kept me fairly well drugged for the initial period while I was incubated. I remember the doctors and nurse removing the throat tube, and breathing for the first time, without supplemental oxygen. Anxiety and fear had me requesting that I keep a cannula with oxygen flowing close at hand for several days. The nurses in the ICU unit were fantastic, aside from the fact that you never really saw them – they wear gowns, masks and gloves when they come into the room, but they answered my questions, turned me (seemed like just when you would get comfortable in they would come – time for the other side…). I was there for one week, before being transferred to a private room.

UCSD Thornton Hospital is unique (at least to my perspective). There are palm trees in the lobby, along with a player piano (a baby grand), comfortable seating – were it not for the personnel moving about in surgical outfits and white lab coats you would believe yourself to be in a hotel. The rooms themselves have actual furniture you would find in a hotel room – with exception to your bed and bed tray. You are given an actual bound menu to order your meals from, and the food seems much better than one expects in a hospital (though still sort of bland to my taste). Although people entering my room still were required to wear the gowns, gloves and mask, the atmosphere is much more relaxed. And I am breathing on my own!

The nurses still are checking and rearranging my frequently, a therapist now starts to come twice a day, trying first a vest (similar to a lifejacket) which vibrates and compresses to loosen anything in the lungs. The doctors come by several times a day, and several times students are bought through to see how I am doing. (This is a teaching facility). By the end of the first week, I am getting out of the bed and starting to do short walks – although I now must wear the mask when I leave the room. Walking with the mask is difficult, my breath condenses on my glasses and the mask is difficult to breath through – but slowly, my strength returns.

Dad, Gail (my stepmother), and Kathy are frequent visitors. Kathy brings me an ipod (a first for me), with several hours of music on it. This gives me a break from daytime tv, which in itself is a punishment, though perhaps it is the drugs they are giving me, some of it holds my interest. I find it difficult to sleep through the night (again probably the drugs), instead I find myself dozing off for mini-naps. I’ll be watching something on the tube and next thing I know something else will be on.

My strength returns, the walks get longer. The gowns disappear, and soon I am able to see faces again. I am again able to start wearing clothes again. Each day I awaken I am thankful for life itself. I will not take for granted the breath that keeps me going.

Finally, after several weeks in this room, I am told it is time to go. That morning an aid from the pharmacy comes by, he reviews the drugs that I will be taking – the list is extensive, and the timings important – these drugs are to be taken an hour prior to breakfast, these after breakfast, these after lunch, these an hour prior to dinner, these after dinner, and finally these at bedtime. All very confusing, however there is an illustrated chart (pictures of each pill) with the times and quantities to take. Soon this will become a habit.

Upon returning home, I look at the now silent oxygen generator sitting by the foot of my bed, no longer will I be constrained in my household movements by its fifty foot hose. The unused Helios reservoir and unit are also there. Tomorrow I will gather up all of the unused cannulas, hoses and other materials that others could use and donate them to the Rehab Clinic once I begin the Post operative Rehab.