I remember Halloween twelve years ago. It was three days post-transplant. I was lying in my bed at All Saints Hospital in Fort Worth and my transplant surgeon with his attendant nurses came traipsing through my room dressed as 101 Dalmatians. Yes. In full spotted dog costumes with tails wagging, ears flopping and stethoscopes flying.
Now it seems so long ago. Transplant followed two years of dialysis which followed twelve years of declining health as Polycystic Kidney Disease slowly ravaged my kidneys.
Through those twelve years of kidney failure I was not truly aware of how sick I was. I knew I felt bad but my condition was masked by denial and the grind of everyday life. It was indeed the proverbial 'slippery slope.'
Not until I was cleansed of toxins and excess fluids by dialysis did I begin to have some glimmer of how sick I had been. And then transplant released me from the purgatory of dialysis.
Now, twelve years later, as we head into an uncertain future, I have so much for which to be thankful.
My left arm carries the scarred reminder of my dialysis lifeline. It never lets me forget.
