Monday, December 31, 2007
It should be no surprise, then, that Leo is mourning ~and a bit shocked by~ the gradual loss of his beautiful bronze skin. And so am I, just a little bit.
The doctors here can not fathom why he would not want to be rid of one of the most visible symptoms of his liver disease. Lost on them is the fact that, in addition to being a shocking transition that he had not anticipated, it is a loss of something fundamental to who he was, and to how he had always thought of himself.
His color was uniquely his own, and for the most part, for much of his life, it was beautiful. He and I spent so much time out doors, often for long stretches in the high country of Oregon's wilderness and that much closer to the sun, that his slightly jaundice skin took on a brilliant and striking shade of bronze. With his lovely flaxen hair tumbling down his dark shoulders, he looked the very picture of "mother nature's son". People complimented him on the gorgeous tone of his skin, even envied it, and to Leo this seemed only right and proper.
Who is he, then, without his mane of gold and skin of bronze? I, of course, would love him every bit as much if he were bald and green. But for him almost too much to bare, on top of everything else. On top of being separated from his community, friends and pets, on top of the isolation of life in the hospital, on top of accepting a stranger's liver in his body and the massive scar that came with it ~on top of everything~ he is having to come to terms with a radically new identity, and along with it, a strange and unfamiliar body that neither looks nor feels like anything he has ever known
It is going to be an interesting year, many changes yet to come.
Friday, December 28, 2007
Hospitals are not empowering places, and, with their litany of policies and arbitrary rules, they are no place for a couple of Bohemian-radical-nonconformist-pagan outlaws like Leo and I. And making the litany of policies and arbitrary rules even more maddening is the fact that every hospital employee we encounter seems to interpret them differently, so nothing is consistent. Then there are all the crazy-making issues that crop up: one doc told me, in the hours after Leo's surgery, to plan to be released from the hospital by weeks end; other docs have said to expect to be here for month.
We have had 5 rooms over the past 6 weeks, and where, early on, the accommodations struck me as similar to monastic cells, it now strikes me as more akin to a prison cell, or perhaps the Hotel California. We are both SO ready to go home.
The quandary is, Leo has a long road to recovery ahead of him, and yet hospitals are not proper places to recover one's health, and yet in this culture it is bloody difficult to find the better alternatives that doubtless exist.
In a sense, the fact that our insurance company has already made clear that they will not pay for follow up care is freeing: it releases up into the great wide open of possible healing paths. Once Leo is fit to travel, he and I will head home, into the arms of our community of support, to his naturopaths and other healers who can shepherd him on his way back to health.
Wednesday, December 26, 2007
The surreal circumstances were complicated by a maverick doc who decided to give Leo Ursodil a common liver medication, despite the fact that Leo's violently painful reaction to this medication is listed in his chart, and he wears a bracelet warning against administering this drug. The doc figured he knew better. He didn't. So Leo spent Christmas Eve, and the wee hours of Christmas, in indescribable pain.
Because he has a brand of courage I have never encountered in anyone else, he managed to have a pretty good, if unusual, Christmas. Several family members altered their own holiday plans to visit, and Leo recieved an unprecidented number of fabulous gifts; but none so precious as my gift: the boy himself.
Saturday, December 22, 2007
Leo woke up this morning observing that it had seemed like an extremely long night; I reminded him that it had been the Solstice, the longest night of the year, and that everything would get lighter and brighter from here. Of course, in addition to it being the beginning of longer, brighter days, it is also the beginning of the long, hard work of recovery.
Not surprisingly, everything hurts at this point: any movement, and every inch from head to toe. Guess theres no way around that where major surgery is involved. He finds himself in one of those ironic cycles in which he hurts, in large measure, because he's not been moving: the more he doesn't move the more it hurts to move so the more he doesn't move. The only cure: moving through the pain, a relative constant in life.
Another irony, the doctors want him to get stronger, and yet dont yet want him eating solid foods (they have some good reasons for this). The answer: organic broths and juices! I am wishing I had my champion juicer here, but at least I have an organic, worker owned co-op up the street.
Although our insurance company reluctantly agreed to pay for the surgery, they have made clear that they will not pay for his follow up care here, once he has been discharged. Transplant patients require years of careful and diligent care, and even then it is a dicey road. I will not accept anything less than the best available care for my son, and so, with Leo daily making great strides, I am amassing a "hope chest" (as apposed to a 'war chest') to cover his future medical expenses, expected to be hundreds of thousands of dollars by the time all is said and done.
Meanwhile, home is feeling very far away indeed. I had occasion to call my bank today, and in verifying my identity they asked for my home address: for a moment I couldn't even remember it, and then, as I recited it, I got both the house number and zip code wrong. Granted, I am operating on sevier sleep deprivation, but still . . .
There is a condition called as ICU Psychosis, which is know to efflict patients, I think maybe I have it. I keep clicking my ruby slippers, but so far nothing
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
There is very little the doctors can tell me at this point about the donor, other than they were an exceptionally healthy adult, who was also able to donate a surprisingly large number of other organs (it is rare to have someone be so all around healthy that all of their organs can be used, but this was the case in this instance). I am told that the liver was extraordinarily healthy, far better than they normally ever hope for, and the all night surgery went off without a hitch!
It hurts my heart to think of a vibrant, healthy person's life cut short, it feels like an awesome responsibility, but also a blessing, to carry that vitality forward in my son's life. This one individual saved dozens of lives last night. And tonight I am holding the intention that their family is comforted in knowing that in that one death, so many lives carry on.
Meanwhile, Leo and I have a long road ahead of us, there is always the risk of rejection or other complications, and although the cost of the surgery was covered, our insurance rep has made clear that Keiser will not cover follow up care at Children's (they want us to go with OSHU) That is their prerogative, just as staying with Children's is ours. The incompetent care Leo got while at OSHU on an emergency basis, and the fact that they do testing on animals, are far from the only reasons we will never, ever go there again; but they are reason enough. So there will be further fundraising to do as Leo makes his recovery. I hope to be able to bring Leo home in time for his birthday (March 5th), after which we will make monthly trips to Seattle.
In the mean time, Leo is doing GREAT, and all signs are he will be up and around soon. We could not have made this amazing journey without each and every one of you, thank you all so, so much
Kyr and Leo
Monday, December 17, 2007
I don't know why it didn't pan our, some times organs are damaged in transit, or final tests reveal incompatibilities; sometimes another person on the waiting list has a change of circumstances that moves them ahead on the list. We will never know, and so the wait begins again. I was not prepared for the wave of grief that would over take me, at this loss of something we never actually had.
Monday, December 10, 2007
After being under sedation and on a ventilator for a full week, Leo is now breathing on his own and slowly coming down off all the drugs.
We had a flurry of visitors over the weekend, including Leo’s grand parents, dad and dad’s grown kids. He was still under sedation for most of the visits, but it was clear that all the extra love and attention gave Leo a real boost!
The cause of this most recent hospitalization was due to an infection in his PICC line (a sort of all purpose IV line), he is recovering nicely, and it is lovely to have his pissy little self back, but none of the treatments of the past week have addressed the underlying issue: the kid needs a new liver. And so we wait.
Monday, December 3, 2007
Kyr & Leo