Transplant Date

We got a date. On June 10th, 2010, Jesse John Jose Parker gets a new “kinney” as he calls it. He will be admitted to Toronto’s Sick Kids Hospital (tell me that’s not a marketing mistake of a name for a hospital!) on June 7th. We have started to talk about getting a new kidney a lot. But seriously, who am I kidding? Jesse has no idea what’s going on. He went mad at Tim this weekend for pushing him “in my kinney”. Tim and I looked at each other, eyebrows raised, and said “where’s your kidney Jess?””In my bottom” was the reply.

All he knows is that he has to go to dialysis, and when he gets Daddy’s kinney, no more dialysis. When he gets Daddy’s kinney, he can eat chocolate timbits. And cake. And ice-cream, and milk, and tomato sauce and french fries …. but mostly, chocolate.

He’s often not feeling great, and that makes me furious with my own impotence. His eyes are puffy; he feels sick in his tummy; he has C.Difficile for the 3rd time. He is not his dancing little self.  It’s like I can’t bear it, and my response is annoyance and impatience with everyone. Even the very one my heart is breaking for. We tell him that when he gets Daddy’s kidney, he will feel so much better. No dialysis. No catheter. And he can swim – “underwater!” he always adds. The reality is that when Jesse gets Daddy’s kinney, Mummy might also feel so much better. Not that I need any incentive to eat chocolate. I told the checkout chick at the supermarket that Jesse better get himself a good job as I expect him to keep me in hair colouring for the rest of my life after the mass of grey hairs he has caused me.

It might seem odd, but the week was a hard one. We got a date, and though we have been pushing so hard for this precious timeline for months, both Tim and I felt absolutely thrown off kilter by it. Tim first, me later. Tim was beside himself. It’s so hard for him to feel the weight of the responsibility for providing for his family, yet providing a kidney for his son right in the middle of his busiest season. It was hard for him to find perspective. He tends to swing to the extreme before he comes back to centre. My soul aches to see him off-kilter and not have the words to fix it. I was on my face praying for him, and I just felt God say that this is Tim’s bit of the journey. I may have hustled everyone to this point, but now I have to stand at the gate and wave goodbye to my husband as HE takes Jess this final leg. The picture that came to my mind was of Abraham and Isaac in the Bible story. Sarah finally gets a beloved son, yet  she has to stand there and wave goodbye as her husband loads up her son and they go off to do something seismic without her.

I don’t know why I feel this way. I know God has a plan and he is working some pretty significant things in both of us. It’s really such a privilege for Tim. If he doesn’t feel the largeness of this gift now, I know he will later. A gift for him as much as it is for Jesse. Jess has started to wave Tim off in the morning saying “Dad, don’t be crazy today. Look after my kinney.”

I so look forward to not being hyper-vigilant about how Jesse is feeling. I have also taken myself out of everything I was involved in. I just have not felt free to focus on anything other than my family right now. No church activities, no school involvement, no beloved Book Club even. My brain space feels capped. I look forward to embracing the opportunities to connect with people again in our usual circles. Though I have to say, I feel so much more connected to people emotionally because of this – not less. When someone asks me about Jesse (and living in a small town, lots of people do), I want to hug them (and often do). You can’t hug someone and feel alone at the same time. I just so appreciate the kindness of the asking. But I look forward to lounging and connecting. I don’t think we’ve lounged for a long time.

Enough of a ramble. If you could pray for Tim and for Jesse in this last leg especially, we would all feel the effects of your prayers. Our God can do anything. We have faith, and are yet it’s a daily surrender. We don’t have control – but ironically enough, we never actually ever had any. Life happens to everyone. This was just our turn. And our God is a wise and loving guide, taking us through it in what feels like a healthy, systematic way….though some moments I do wonder what map he is using. It sure aint the scenic route…