Life is hard sometimes, especially if you're a born worrier. I was unable to function today until I found out the results of the tests I did at Stanford last week. This was the first round of tests aside from the original blood test to determine if I am healthy enough to give my mother a kidney. It was a grueling day at the hospital, but nothing compared to waiting for the call saying, "Sorry, Ms. Conway, your white blood cells just aren't up to par."
Luckily, my blood cells are up to par, I don't have hepatitis or HIV, and the giant jug of urine I handed over proved that my kidney function is fine. However, this basically means nothing except that I get to start the worrying process all over again for the next round of tests, an abdominal ultrasound and a chest CT. Not to mention the even more unpleasant tests that my mom is going through, which may prove that she isn't healthy enough to do a transplant. The further we get in to this process, the less likely it seems that it will work out. I had no idea there were so many factors.
I just want to be able to do this, and I am not good at waiting.
However, the kind and understanding Peter watched as I devoured a platter of curly fries at 1:30 AM last night, and helped to distract me from my one-track mind, which is basically replaying a mantra over and over again: "Why can't everybody be okay all the time?" Is that too much to ask?
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