I guess I could say a lot has happened since I last wrote. My last post was probably the hardest I have ever tried to write. But now, after these months past, it's not as hard to read. There is still that hurt, deep inside, whenever I really stop to think about it. But, like people say, it does get easier.
I did need help though. I had fallen down a deep well of melancholy that I could not, or did not want to, climb out of. I found someone I could talk to, someone impartial that I could say anything that was on my mind. Things I did not want to say to those whom I loved. I guess it is helping. It's a process. One that can not be fixed in a short period of time. Well, enough about me.
Not long after Dads funeral, my husband went on the heart transplant list. It was a blow. The last thing we needed in our time of grief. But we were told it would be at least 3 to 6 months before anything was likely to happen. So we breathed a small sigh of relief and tried to deal with the news as best we could. We had some time to get organised. Train up staff to manage the shop while Hubby would be out of action, get the house in order...those kinds of things.
So you can imagine our utter panic and shock when just 5 weeks later, at 6:30 in the morning, hubby got.. "THE CALL"
I was getting ready for work, one shoe on, the other foot, sockless, when he emerges from the bedroom.
"So, um, I'm going in for a heart transplant."
I look at him. He is as white as a sheet.
"Are you fucking kidding me!" Yes, that was my reaction. We were totally unprepared. Didn't even have his hospital bag ready. I know I don't have to tell you all that when you are called into hospital, you go to the hospital with all haste. We live an hour's drive away. Things were thrown into bags, the boy woken and dressed and we are in the car in perhaps 10 minutes.
Anyway. Long story short, we arrived at the hospital and hubby had to go through a number of tests and such. Poor thing was out of his mind with worry. It was a stressful day for all. He eventually got wheeled into the operating room at 8pm that evening. The son and I were exhausted. My sister lives near the hospital and she pretty much ordered me to come to her place for a meal and sleep. I got the call that hubby was ok at about 12:30am.
It's been a long hard road for us all, hubby in particular. So far, the heart is behaving beautifully with no signs of rejection. It's the "other" things that you never hear about that are troubling him. The side effects from the copious amounts of drugs he has to take. The extremely restrictive diet he is now on. Things he is feeling now that he actually has a working heart, that he never felt before. Things we take for granted. Like being breathless from doing exercise and not because your heart is stuffed. Having hot toes. Yes, hot toes. Previously, heart disease meant poor blood circulation and...cold toes. All the time.
We don't know anything about the donor. Only thing they were allowed to tell us is that the heart wasn't from the same hospital. It could have come from anywhere in Australia. All we know is that it was a perfect match for my husband and no-one else. This person, no matter who they were and what they did with their life; gave the ultimate gift in their departure. A simple tick on their drivers licence, something they probably never really thought about again, saved my husbands life.
And for that, I will be eternally grateful.
