Going Back

This week I had my annual heart transplant tests - a right heart cath, a left heart cath (aka, I believe, an angiogram), an echo, a VO2 max treadmill stress test and a kabillion labs. The only thing missing from this day of fun was a biopsy, aka the rejection test. Unbeknownst to me, the clinic has stopped doing biopsies for everyone over two years out providing that 1) you are not presenting any rejection symptoms, 2) there have been no med changes, and 3) you have a good history. So no neck poke. Hooray!

Annual test day, in a word, is tough. The tests span two opposite ends of the spectrum - running on a treadmill with snorkel gear in your kisser to flat on your back, stoned on the "juice," and keeping your leg still for four hours. And in between, there are EKGs (at least two), blood draws, IV insertion (three attempts this year) and multiple exposures of any and all body parts. Including the ones that have nothing to do at all with your heart. AT ALL.

I can't help think when I'm doing all this that for 3 1/2 months - and really for the first two years post transplant - that this was my life. I'd automatically extend an arm to a nurse for a draw, it was second nature to rattle off my extensive drug list (including dosages) and I could give you a medical history so fast and complete it would make your head spin.

And I can still do those things (and did) but these year was different. This year, I RAN on my treadmill test for almost a minute - at an 18% grade. That is like running up Mount Massive (okay, for a minute, but still!) I exceeded my age potential by 103% - most heart transplants, due to our physiological differences, don't get to 75%. When I commented that I'd been doing interval training, the doctor warned, "but the test has an incline." To which I responded, "yeah, when I'm not doing intervals, I'm nearly at the machine's incline potential." 'Nuff said.

This year, the number one question was if "I'd gone back to work yet." There were actual looks of surprise when I answered, "Um, yeah...I've been working since five months post-transplant. And yes, I am back full-time. More than full-time some days."

And when the X-ray technician asked me if I "was a good walker" for one second, I wanted to throw that 103% in her face and then sprint to the machine, although despite the fact that I am a GREAT walker, I would've fallen on my doped up ass.

And then I remember that I could've run into the hospital straight from an Ironman competition and that wouldn't change a thing. To them I am a patient, the girl who survived one of the last of the old school bi-VADs, the girl who had her blood replaced three times in twelve hours, the girl who could barely walk when she left the hospital. And I was all those things - without those things, I wouldn't be who I am now. I am so grateful for that experience which gave me my life.

So even if the hospital never sees me as more than my patient number, I know that I am the woman who hiked nine miles in one afternoon on the Colorado trail, who indeed works a full schedule (plus extracurriculars), who dreamed of scrapbooking (literally) while on the cath table instead of grilling the doctors and happily left with her wonderful husband late Tuesday night to go her home with her pets - back to this incredible life.

My Crazy Left Arm

At practice on Saturday, Jill comes up to me and whispers, "I don't know if it's the new heart or what, but your left arm has it's own groove thing going on." It seems that my body is following the steps, but my arm feels compelled to bring its own spicy action to the party. A problem only in that I have the ONLY CRAZY ARM in the group and that makes it sorta noticeable.

Here is the email exchange with Lisa that describes it best:

Sarah: I'm so happy you are coming on Friday! Even though we are most likely going to be laying in small sad puddles of exhaustion on stage. Except for my left arm, of course.

Lisa: I can just see the choir, all laying in a huge heaping pile of exhausted
sweaty bodies with you hopefully on top and then wait...one sees movement! And its your arm, starting to flop around like a newly caught fish. But to a beat.

So I think Jill is right. I didn't dance this way before my transplant so this can only be the doing of Thumper. I suspect my Thumper used to be a dancer. I'm actually 99% sure that he was, but since I don't know, I'm not going to say for sure. I've done my research but have never heard from my donor family. If I did, the first thing I would ask is if Thumper was a musically inclined - either dancing or singing. And if he liked video games.

This is the first time in a long time I've felt the spirit of Thumper. He was strong when I first was transplanted but then everything was loud, confusing and overstimulated. I sensed he was a bit wary - comfortable, but still finding himself in this new person doing new things. But I'm hearing him now - loudly. He loves to dance - he wants to dance with me. And I'm happy to oblige. So if you see me on stage and see that left arm whacking out - you know that it's not me dancing wrong, that's my Thumper saying hi.