Have you ever had an experience in your life where you know the exact date and time that changes your life forever? For Jens and me, that moment is 6:21 AM on Saturday, May 17, 2014. That's when "the call" came through for lungs. It was not until about 24 hours later that I met with Dr. D'Cunha and Dr. Odell to hear about the outcome of the surgery. Those 24 hours changed our lives.
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| 6:21 AM |
I get emotional around the 17th and 18th of every month. For those of you who don't know, Jens got "the call" on May 17, 2014 and went into surgery that night; he came out of surgery with two new lungs on May 18, 2014. It has been our "tradition" to celebrate the 17th with a day of remembrance and special prayers for the donor family, knowing that that is a date that will remain on their hearts as the day their loved one lost their life. We celebrate the 18th as a day of thanksgiving, with special intentions to do something more active than the norm on that day to celebrate and utilize this gift of life by doing something Jens wasn't able to do/do easily prior to the transplant.
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| Jens chasing our nephew in Florida |
It's a funny feeling this year. We've lived in North Carolina just about a year now. We have established a wonderful group of friends here; it is incredibly odd to me that, though they love us and want to know our Story, they don't really know what it was like for Jens prior to transplant. For them, they know the Jens who suffered a broken leg from one of my 4th graders, or the Jens that tweaked a disc in his back by reaching for a cookie. They only know the Jens that has had to deal with these "comical" (yet inconvenient) injuries. And, then I think of friends and family who watched Jens decline for many years, adding more breathing treatments and machines to his regimen, witnessing his increasing difficulty to breathe or to finish a sentence without coughing. Those people don't know the freedom Jens has experienced in the past 2 years, and they are always shocked when they see him do something that is very much ordinary now. (They are also shocked when they witness him eat so little comparatively now, post-Nissen surgery.)
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| Post-Nissen surgery |
These moments of our lives that blend "old and new" hit me with weird, random things sometimes. I was talking to Jens recently while he was visiting his Mom in Philly. I caught myself just before I asked him on the phone, "Did you finish your [breathing] treatment yet?" Prior to transplant, many nights of our relationship were spent over the phone, as his return to Nashville was inevitably delayed by needing to stay in Philly to get some medical care there or waiting to be well enough to make the trip back to Nashville.
We sang a song at church this past Sunday, a song that I remember being brought to tears while hearing sung at our church in Nashville. The lines were so bitter to me back then, thinking of how death might be a very real, very near event. "Oh death, where is your sting?" I knew where the sting was. It was in the breathless moments of witnessing struggle, the moments when I didn't know if the coughing would cease. I couldn't even bring myself to sing those lyrics. I knew that sting. I knew. I tried to cling to the hope of healing- not an earthly healing, but knowing that God would make Jens new again in Heaven.
Life post-transplant is beautiful and freeing.
It means golfing, playing with our nephews, coaching baseball, not being defined by breathing treatments, achieving your lifelong goal of attending all 30 Major League Baseball stadiums.
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| Coaching baseball at a local school |
It is not always easy. What an absolute gift to know that we're tasting that side of Eternity every time we go for a walk, with every stair Jens climbs, on every plane Jens can easily fly on now, with every grocery bag Jens can take in from the car, with every step, with every breath. We know, we see, we experience the goodness of His healing. We choose to remember this incredible Story that we can call ours.
By no means are we naive to think that all of our problems are solved. It is very true what they say: With transplant, you're trading one set of problems for another. Jens still has problems and issues. And there are days that are short on hope, because it is just plain hard to live in the reality that no matter how hard he works or stays on top of his meds or complies with every doctor's prescription, that he still has an incurable disease. And, chances are, with transplant, he's going to gain some others along the way too.
Today, marking 2 years since that life-changing phone call for that life-changing surgery, we are choosing to give thanks, to enjoy today, and to dare to dream and do the impossible. Thank you for joining in the celebration and remembrance with us. We do this with great hope, knowing that whatever our Story holds, we will never walk alone.
