Fly away, little kidney, flyflyfly...

Welcome to my blog. As someone who hates talking about herself, this should be an interesting experiment. 

I'm chronicling my experience as an organ donor.  To specify, I'm donating a kidney to my nephew, who we all knew from the moment he was born would eventually need one from someone else.  I got tested, thinking what the hell, what are the real chances that I'll be a match?  Well, surprise.  Apparently I was the top candidate.  My first reaction was, admittedly: "Oh, shit!"

I've never been really sick, never been hospitalized, never had surgery.  I've worked in healthcare IT for the past 12 years, so I know my way around a hospital and clinic from a different perspective.  I don't think I'm prepared to be a patient, though.

That came to a head this past week.  I had a bit of a nervous breakdown, hissy fit, conniption, tantrum.  Full-on.  I mean screaming "FUCK YOU!", giving a piece of mail the middle finger, kicking the wall, punching the door frame.  I haven't been that angry since high school accounting, when I couldn't balance those goddamn debits and credits for my imaginary business balance sheet.  I feel really silly about it, but I obviously needed it, and at least my husband and dog were not there to witness it.  Not that they didn't get an earful, because even later that evening as I was describing my little episode to my friends, I was so very angry.  I had managed to grab out of the drying rack a beautiful little pottery coffee cup that my friends had purchased in Hawi on the Big Island, and turned that little cup over and over in my hands while I spewed.  My friend Marty had to literally look away because he was certain that I'd throw it against the wall.  Precious coffee cup!  You are safe.  And I feel better.