On Thursday night, I received an unexpected call from UCHAMP (the cardiology team) at 7:30 pm. As soon as I saw the Caller ID, I knew what they would say: the team had accepted an offer on a heart for Annika.
Eventually I might put together a play-by-play from the time we received "the call" through the time of her transplant on Saturday. In the meantime, I'd like to share some tender moments. Transplant is an experience so intimate that in a way it feels sacred. I want to honor it with more than mundane details.
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Peace. In many ways, I am an anxious soul. I tend to be constantly on the move because my mind races and the physical movement calms my jitters. You'll often find me compulsively straightening my physical space because I can't focus with clutter around me. The kids will send me out for a walk or run when I get too stir crazy. As you might imagine, all of the worry about Annika's heart has heightened my anxiety over the past couple years. It's not out of control, but it's nearly always there as an undercurrent making my heart buzz a little faster in the hopes that hers won't stop.
When the news of Annika's heart arrived, I expected to be a nervous, jittery wreck. Instead, I felt this overwhelming peace and calm. While I shed a few tears, I didn't feel sad. Instead, I felt hopeful. Even during the eight hours of transplant surgery, the calm remained. I thought I would spend the hours of transplant nervously pacing every hallway of the hospital like a madwoman. Instead, I found a chair, curled up with my pillow and blanket, and was still. I pondered, I meditated, I prayed, I slept. I experienced the lyrics of the hymn: Peace like a River, it is well with my soul.
This peace--a peace surpassing all logic, a peace so unlike my typical worrying self--this peace enveloped me in what should have been my hardest moment. I know this peace was a gift from God. A know it was His reassurance that no matter the outcome, everything would be and was already all right. Before Annika's surgery, I offered a special family prayer where I felt strongly impressed to tell her that she would be protected and watched over by angels. I believe angels were watching over me too.
Pain. Not every moment leading up to the surgery was peaceful. Just a day before the transplant call came, I experienced something horrific at work. I can't say much because of HIPAA, but this was the kind of experience that many Labor and Delivery nurses never encounter during their entire careers, let alone ten weeks into orientation. We nearly lost a mother. Fortunately our response was timely and appropriate and the patient will likely recover.
The culprit? Undiagnosed cardiomyopathy. As terrifying as this experience was, I don't believe it's a coincidence that it happened to me in particular at this particular time. I could condemn God as cruel for exposing me to all this when He knew it would hit so close to home. Instead, I am choosing to be grateful that I was able to help save this mother and am thankful for the reminder that cardiomyopathy is not to be trifled with. While a dreadful experience, it helped reaffirm our decision to proceed with transplant.
Place. I don't believe that God micro-manages our lives like chess pieces on a board, but I do believe He occasionally orchestrates us to be in the right place at the right time. During the transplant, Jason left the hospital to go pick up Cafe Rio for lunch. On his way back, he pulled behind an ambulance traveling without its lights on. Suddenly, a fire chief scooted around Jason and pulled back in between him and the ambulance. Obviously the ambulance was being escorted. Jason watched as the ambulance pulled into the ED at Primary Children's. As Jason recounted the story, we both felt strongly that this vehicle was carrying our daughter's new heart. We'd recently received an update that she was in the operating room with her chest open and waiting. After the surgery, the surgeon confirmed that indeed, this was precisely the time when the heart arrived. It had been flown in via jet and then transported the rest of the way via ambulance. What are the chances? As Brian Blackham would say, 100%. While a small thing, this tender mercy felt like God letting us know that He is near and very aware.
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I'm still trying to wrap my mind around the fact that the heart beating in my daughter's chest today was beating in another's yesterday. Coming up with a title for this post was tricky: I almost said "Annie's New Heart" but whose heart is it really? We don't know anything about the donor, but we do know that this heart has been with them for years. It's hard to resolve the cognitive and emotional dissonance. How is transplant even possible? I feel simultaneously awed and numb. I am overwhelmed that any person or any family could and would give so completely of themselves. My own heart is struggling to contain all the hope for Annika alongside all the sorrow for her donor and their family. It's like my body and mind have experienced so much emotion that I don't even know how to feel anymore. Mostly though, I feel gratitude. I am grateful for the donor and their family. I feel grateful for the army of surgeons and nurses and doctors and therapists that allow transplant to happen. I feel ever so grateful that Annika's surgery went smoothly and she is doing so well. And I am grateful for this beautiful shared heart.
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