Over the past few days I’ve actually a couple of purchases at my zazzle store. This gives me a bit of warm fuzzies, not because I made a couple of bucks (and I do mean a couple) but because I wanted to give living donors some merch that would express their decision in a unique and non-preachy way.
I talked to my dad last night. He was in Pennsylvania for business and called me from the hotel. He’s a private kind of guy, as are most men his age, so I think being on the road away from his wife gives him a change to indulge in some nurturing and candor that he’d otherwise think he couldn’t. (Must. Be. Sturdy. Oak) I love him profoundly and accept that I am Daddy’s Little Girl even though some would say I’m way beyond that sort of thing. But let’s be honest, there’s no love and sense of security that begins to match which comes from a good father.
He cooborated what I suspected; Mary is bordering on depressed, if not tumbling into the abyss. Of course it’s a reasonable response to everything that’s happened, but it’s terrifying too. She’ll be starting peritoneal dialysis soon, which can be done at home every night while she sleeps, a stop gap until she heals physically, and is mentally prepared to go through the transplant process again.
Every day my heart aches for her. I’m completely helpless in the face of this thing. I did everything I could, short of giving up my whole life, in order to save her, and it wasn’t enough. There’s simply no easy way to recover from something like that.