LOVE NEVER FAILS (^^,)

I recently watched a movie about a guy who donated one of his kidneys to a young woman he initially thought was his long lost daughter. Even after finding out she really wasn't, this guy went ahead and gave her his kidney anyway, almost dying from complications in the process. If this was a true story, it would be incredibly noble. There are very few people who put "donate an organ" on their bucket list, with the exception of those who have come to terms with a terminal illness and desire to make their departure more meaningful. Motherhood does not only change your body in many ways, (in my case your voice too), it changes pretty much everything. My perception has changed, needless to say, life has been completely rearranged. That said though, I do not have writers' block. That is not why I have not been writing. The truth is; I have been terrified to come here, and that truth is precisely why I am here. I have been afraid to give voice to the past year's trauma thinking that doing so makes it all the more real. I reckon that is how I survived the ordeal. It didn't feel real. I remember how I felt when Terry's biopsy results came out, after months of agonizing uncertainty in and out of ICU. That day, in the surgeon's office as I sat side by side with my mother holding Terry in my arms, was the moment everything stopped being real. We were told to expect the worst because it was going to be next to impossible to raise the kind of money the transplant would cost. When you have been through what we have been through, there are very few things (and people) you take for granted and there is something to be grateful for in each and every day. One year ago today, March 13th 2018, our 8 month old baby boy had a liver transplant in India. Because I had the privilege of being his donor, people said what I did for him was remarkable but, if I'm honest, I believe my son never asked to be be brought in to this world; so for me it felt like the most natural thing to do. And if I never get to do anything more meaningful for him, at least there will always be this. Perhaps one sweet day, when my husband and I are gray and old, we will look into each others' eyes like the man and woman in "The Mountain Between Us" and say, "Hey, we made it!" I remember being afraid to finally bring him home from India and always being afraid of being left alone with him when we were finally home. I also remember even that feeling like a dream. But that's all for another blog, I am here because I strongly felt this day deserved some acknowledgment. When a Doctor says it's a miracle, a miracle is what it is. I saved these two texts from friends who sent them when I shared the journaling below: Being a mother is not only the ability to conceive and give birth to a child; it is a gift to love unconditionally and give all you humanly can for the well being of the child. As a nurse I had four years of training in the hospital and have had four years of work experience but I have never seen a mother like you. I have seen many mothers abandon babies for health reasons with the mentality yoti "ndikabeleka wina"..(I will have another child). What you have is a special gift from God, it is perfect love, the Love of God. I praise God with you for making a way through which you can teach all mothers in the world to love, to think of a child as part of themselves despite health issues. This was your path to the ministry of being a mother. As you are fighting for Terry, know that you are teaching something to our community, you are fighting for all children in the world, I salute your dedication to your mission from God. We are called at every moment but a few accept the call. You are blessed, mama, and I will always call you mom because you have proved beyond measure that motherhood is a ministry. Get well soon, hoping to see you back. God has already healed you both. Hilda Oh Nicole...I am in my ICU working right this moment (I call it my favorite place) looking after strangers I have termed my babies..and although I have called it my favorite place, it has a way of breaking me apart...everyday..and none of these beautiful souls belong to me..but how powerfully do I feel for them...so I can imagine how as a mother this must feel.. You told me before..I don't know if you remember.."Ask, Jena, ask God the purpose of this journey, this very minute, let His message not pass you by in all this...I didn't, I could not..I was scared..When I read your message I smiled a lot (well,in the middle of my tears)..because of how He trusted you to carry this..how God chose you to parent Terry..How He knew, in you He could carry out His will...So today, as I pray, I thank God for the man and woman, the couple that God chose to teach me...that you don't stop praying, trusting and worshiping...Hun, you have done well...Terry is such a brave little man (can't wait to meet him). You are born to be courageous indeed and I won't take it back. You and Ndugu are courageous!! You're a blessing!! Lots of love & prayers, Jenala March 17th 2018 Fortis Hospital Noida, Uttar Pradesh, India Liver Transplant ICU The nurse seems really surprised that I have asked for some pen and paper. ::wipes crumbs off face & celebrates "Yay! I can do that!":: smiley face. I thought it's really important that I capture my thoughts before they become foggy. Such an experience will do that to you. My dreams, if I can call them that, since the surgery have been odd. I'm not even sure they are dreams at all given the fact that I am still aware of what is going on around me when I'm having them. At least I think I'm awake ::Shrugs:: ::Tries to shake off tendency to self analyse.:: :: Can't:: It's me I'm still here. Yes! Today is Day 5 here in the ICU. I know this because I have been told. I am not sure what day of the week it is. Terry is right next door. He has been crying most of his waking hours. They had to call his Daddy in last night to soothe him. Poor little guy. They both never looked more beautiful to me. They had put him to sleep for 24 hours after the surgery. I think they woke me up right after. I have mixed feelings about being this close to where he is. While it gives me some kind of clue how he is doing, hearing him cry like that and not being physically able to do anything about it just cuts me. Seeing me for the first time yesterday really upset him. They were not really able to calm him down after I left. This made me want to stay away. I would hear him cry and I would whisper a prayer for him then worship my own pain away. I think I may have underestimated how painful this procedure would be. It made me empathize all the more deeply with my baby. Tethered to machines, we both had tubes everywhere. Some for draining, some for feeding, some for administering sustaining fluids, oxygen, the works. Pause. Thanking GOD for every little sign of progress. Swallowing without pain, surviving physio, getting off oxygen etc. Thank God I can't hear music today! Apparently between the monitors and noisy air cons, there was no music playing. I hear Terry crying even when he is not. I hear the sound of the TV long after it's off. Trauma does that to you. This is the longest I have sat up since the transplant. Approximately 30 minutes. I had my first meal. A cup of tea, a quarter of a sand witch and a banana in that order. I am my father's daughter. The last thing I remember from the OR was someone telling me that by the time I woke up the surgery would be over. I had perfect peace, unlike the night before when we were given a run down of the risks involved. When I woke up they had me on morphine. All I had to do was press a little button to release it into my system. Instant relief. I did not know it was morphine. I just thought hey this is cool. They took the nifty little gadget away the same day. ::Sob::. That's when I became aware of how big my wound is and how long the tube in my nose had been. I had another one attached to my neck and another draining fluid from a hole in my gut. Fear is a monster. It amplifies pain. I couldn't fall asleep after that; afraid I would yank them out in my sleep. I had a minor panic attack when I saw the Frankenstein stitches that ran up from under my rib cage to the right side of my stomach. That is when the pain set in and I just felt SICK. I am relearning to walk, to eat, to breathe. A physical therapist came in every day and the nurses gave me sponge baths and back rubs. I had no choice but to start exercising once they removed my urine catcher (not the real term). I dreaded every walk. A part of me was glad I could not understand what the doctors were saying. Talking was a pain but thankfully I didn't have to do much of it. Breathing hurt, sitting hurt, everything hurt, let's just say the very state of being hurt. It literally took my breath away. I thought about my friends and family and prayed that the suspense would not take a toll on any of them. I remembered a few among them who expressed admiration for "my" strength. I never knew how to respond to that. I felt no such thing. My husband pointed out to me one night that, "Strength is not felt. It is exerted." I honestly do wonder if anyone in my position would have done otherwise. I don't deserve any of the praise. My Dad used to say, "For my children I will go the extra mile. They did not ask to be here. " I prayed for this child, I love this child, I want this child. I was not undertaking some noble cause. Had Terry been a stranger, that would be a cause for applause. But Terry is my baby. My dear sweet baby; over whom God gave my husband and I stewardship. If people still think I'm strong or courageous then they are missing the point. They don't see HIM. But I do. I acknowledge Him because without Him I am spineless. And I don't care what anybody says. Us being here is nothing short of a miracle. I guess it's true what they say about giants, the bigger they are, the harder they fall. This was by far the biggest challenge I have ever had to face. How help came from unexpected, unknown and generous sources in just a month after family and friends reached out. How anyone can recover from this or how Terry has been sustained, is all so so miraculous to me. I dare you to find something more terrifying than holding your only child in your arms, never sure if his next breath would be his last. We had help, we had the strength of our families, our friends, and the entire Country behind us. And a Pediatrician who never gave up.