Recovery is speeding up

Post-transplant day 17, rehab #5.

I'd had a fairly lame start to my recovery, I feel, especially with the low-energy, low-ability 1st day back at rehab on Saturday. Pain has stalked me in varying degrees from large to immense, with only a few respites. In these 17 days, I have been made to appreciate what a near-death experience transplant really is, even when it goes well.

But mid-week everything changed for the better. Perhaps it is the normal course of recovery, perhaps it was the spirit of Christmas, perhaps it was the vicarious excitement of the surprise visit Denise Horgan got from her siblings, or perhaps it was the relief from enormous worry when Piper Beatty finally got her call on Christmas morning, but I slept better Wednesday and Thursday nights than I have since before transplant. Not well, mind you, but finally a couple hours of deep sleep.

I've had more energy to visit friends in ICU and stepdown. I continue to worry over them and encourage them to push themselves. I've needed a little less napping. And in rehab, I'm getting a little bit more flexible and faster each time.

But today something REALLY clicked. My pain was down far enough to simply power through it. And in the middle of floor class, I started getting pings from my phone in rapid sequence: texts from a woman whom I'd left a mere 90 minutes earlier still moderately sedated and vented! Now I was getting my phone blown up by Piper! And...she was bragging about some test or other. Worries gone. Relief enormous.

The rest of rehab went swimmingly and for the first time since transplant was able to turn in better than a lap a minute during the walk. And I get to move to heavier weights on Monday. And on my SpiroPD, just now, I upped my FEV1 to 63%!

Today I am reminded that we are all in this together, quite literally. When my friends do well, I do well. And, I believe, vice versa.

All I want for Christmas

Dear Santa,

I know I'm writing a little late, and perhaps I'm a little old, but the bell still rings for me and so I  write to ask you to bring me all that my heart desires this Christmas. 

Now, please don't see me as greedy or selfish.  I know my own gift has been bestowed upon me already.  A fortnight ago, at this moment, I was being given the gift of renewed life, thanks to the unblinking generosity of a donor and his family.  I have a lot of fight left in me.  I have dreams and ambitions and now another chance to make them happen.  And I will do them all for my donor as much as myself.

Maybe future Christmases would bring race wins, triathlon finishes, Tony awards, tenure positions -- but keep it all, Santa.  Keep it all and in exchange, just this one Christmas, please bring the one and only thing I want - all my heart desires - the one spindle upon which spin the platters of a dozen songs:  please bring Piper Beatty a new pair of lungs.

It kills me that I got the gift of life first, though she needs it more.  I've seen her Santa, her struggles and her pain and I know - as you must also - that there isn't enough time left to make this wish twice.

So bring on your best magic, sir.  Bring your scalpels and sutures and surgeons and nurses.  Bring your staples and chest tubes and IVs and gowns.  Bring FEES and bronchs and manometry and fundoplication, too, if you must.  But please, PLEASE, bring lungs for Piper!

Your obedient servant,
Cris Dopher
Duke lung transplantee #1400

Recovery begins in earnest

Post-tx Pulmonary Rehab Day 2:

Though I would like recovery to be brief, it is more likely to be a long haul. Baby steps. OK. Today's was a full rehab session, with all activities. And though I'd like to describe my pain and weakness in flowery ways, or perhaps just as literotically elucidate my strengths, I'll do neither. Rather, I look around and take stock.

Today's floor class was quite crowded, with more than a dozen people. Three of us (including myself) in chairs, because we're too weak to be on the floor just yet; me squirming against a heated backpad in hopes of some relief. I look around carefully and note those ahead of me on the path, who are farther along in recovery and doing well and spurring me forward. I see those who are behind me on the path, still on oxygen, struggling - yet physically stronger than I am at the moment.

Today, one participant lay beside me on her yoga mat who is quite uniquely both ahead of and behind me on the road to transplant. I've relied on her advice and survived - no, knocked this out of the ballpark - because of it. I only hope she'll take what advice I can give her about the immediate future. Oracle-like, she revealed the outlines of my odyssey. But now I can fill in the details for her. Thank you, Piper Beatty.

Lifting hand weights and doing leg raises with my comrade today reminded me of the constant state of flux we're in, where nothing can be taken for granted. Two weeks ago today I could have written in my own chart "here today, transplanted tomorrow". Tonight, I wish that for her.

Contemplating escape

Originally posted from my iPad...

6 am. Two failed ABGs. Now is about the point I begin to contemplate escaping from this gulag. No torture-ridden CIA hellhole could hold the wonders I've seen, nor the skills of the inquisitioners match the doctors' and nurses'.

I consider tunneling my way out, but have no equipment sturdier than my iPad with which to dig. Camouflage techniques are right out, as that would require a shower, shave, and obtaining scrubs.

Perhaps I can distract the guards by remotely triggering another patient's call button and then simply walking out. Ah, but what chance have I with my painfully slow gait, when one guard can notice me on her coffee break rounding the corner, nudge another guard 10 minutes later and say, "Hey, do you think he's making a break for it?"

First thoughts from stepdown

I am super tired and strung out because they take blood glucose every hour among other things. Continuous sleep is impossible.

But I'm not thinking so much about that right now, but rather of the incredible gift some anonymous wonderful soul parted with and granted me another chance. Him or her and their family are forefront in my mind. I hope they can find some peace this Christmas season and some comfort knowing they saved my life. Thank you Donor! THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU! I won't let you down, I promise!