As always, too much too too much to catch up on or convey. The incompleteness of the story is almost enough to make me give up telling it. I push through and write because I feel compelled to. I feel relief when I let a little bit off.
It may be that these fractured entries will one day add up to something which I cannot presently appreciate or anticipate. I hope so.
The transplant, the drugs, the cutting, the eradication of my immune system, the anesthetic, the fluids the lines and catheters, the stint, and the closeness of other people-their hands and fingers and thoughts so deep in my body. . . Beautifully and powerfully counter-balanced by a woman who freely gave me her organ, and her whole body and soul and who she is. And god, and family and thoughts prayers texts gifts visits so much support coming out of the grain. The violence to my body a non-issue because I am overwhelmed with gratitude and this experience of grace.
Why the universe has granted me this, is beyond me. It is my part to accept it with my whole heart.
And this. The frequent wishing that I was not alone. The entitlement that I feel, that my lover and husband be here with me. The resentment that results despite its uselessness. The distance I feel even though I know that he is doing all he can to be here for me.