In past weeks, I've been told countless times that I'm too happy, high on life, and that it's simply not possible for someone to be this happy all of the time. In fact, it is possible for me to be this happy all of the time, and here's how:
As far back as I can remember, my childhood and young adult years were plagued with the horrendous memories of countless trips to the hospital to visit my father whom, no matter who you asked or how many years of medical experience they had would tell you, was dying. As a child, I was told that my father was "made up of other people's body parts." In later years, my mother would elaborately explain to me what an organ transplant was. She would explain it in terms that were incomprehensible to a young mind, but I tried to keep up as much as possible.
In 1985, before my time, dad received a kidney transplant from an anonymous donor who had perished in a motorcycle accident. When he received the transplant, he also contracted Hepatitis, which was undetectable at the time. My father would spend the next 23 years fighting the disease, waiting on transplant lists, living in the hospital, and forgetting what it was like to lead a normal life.
In 2005, the disease had shut down his transplanted kidney. After a few short months on the waiting list, dad received a new kidney transplant. In 2006, the disease shut down his liver. In 2007, after 14 false alarm trips to the hospital and/or ineligible donors, my father received his first liver transplant. Two months later, that transplant failed, and the unimaginable amounts of anti-rejection drugs shut down his transplanted kidney as well. For the next year and a half, every holiday would be spent in the hospital. Doctors would give us time limits on my fathers life. He would be deemed ineligible for further transplants. Essentially, his life was doomed. In order to become eligible to receive further transplants, his hepatitis needed to be under control.
In late 2008, a doctor appeared in my fathers 11th floor hospital room to propose a new drug to him. "There is a 10% chance that this drug will help fight off your hepatitis." To us, 10% was better than any other option we'd heard. After months of receiving the drug, my father tested negative for hepatitis: a medical miracle. In 2009, my father received his second liver transplant. This time, it worked. Later in 2009, we found out that my mother was a blood and tissue match for my father. That same year, both of my parents underwent surgery. My mother donated a kidney, and my father was the recipient.
In all of those years of pain, ailment, and anguish, I saw my father cry twice. Once, when he too weak to pick up his fork to eat dinner, and another time when he told me that he was "sorry he wasn't a normal dad and wouldn't be able to walk me down the aisle on my wedding day." I heard him complain ONE time; when he was unable to leave the hospital to attend my brother's high school graduation.
Today, my father is healthy. He likes to play with the dogs, rebuild old cars, and complete household construction projects.
If he didn't complain about a constant battle against death, what could I possibly have to complain about? When a life that you value is jeopardized, you tend to see your own life and the world in a different light. This blog is to inspire change in the way we function. It shouldn't take a terrible series of events to force us to value each day on earth. And, if that is what it takes, allow this story to help you to value yours.
Your life is not the most stressful, you don't work more than everyone else, you will over come your obstacles; these things, I can assure you. If all else fails, when things aren't looking up, call me.
Enjoy your Friday, and every day after that... I know that I will.
Xoxo
