A few weeks ago, I had orientation there and they took me on a tour of the transplant floor. It's very sterile with all white floors and walls. During orientation, they gave me a list of things to pack which included pictures of loved ones, sentimental items, and anything that would make me "feel at home." While I understand the concept, I am so sorry, but nothing will ever make me feel at home. Not when you are connected to machines 24/7 and nurses wake you up at all hours of the night to check your blood pressure. I just have to remember to take it one day at a time.
While a long hospital stay is never fun, the hardest part so far was signing all of the paperwork in order to facilitate treatment. It felt like I was buying a house or something with how much I had to sign. Sure, I can easily consent to blood transfusions. No problem, I will agree to an HIV test. It was not until I got to a document that was titled "Agreement for Sterilization" that my heart sank. I was about to sign a piece of paper that would allow treatment to potentially save my life, but that it was point-blank telling me I'll never be the one thing I've always wanted: a mom. While I was fortunate enough to be able to have my eggs frozen prior to treatment, as with anything, there is never a guarantee. Not only that, but since my insurance does not cover in vitro fertilization, I may not even have the funds to be able to afford it. I keep telling myself not to think about these things, and that I will have to cross that bridge when the time comes, but anyone who knows me, knows that I've never been the que sera sera kind of girl.
I look at my sisters Christina, Cecilia and Michika, who created the most perfect humans on earth, and although I love my nieces and nephews with all of my heart, I know you must feel a different kind of love when it's your own. I watch Cecilia running on zero sleep, frantically washing bottles while trying to keep Tyler from crying, and then having to change his diaper right after she's been breast feeding. She often tells me how hard it is. But that's the hard I want. I want the sleepless nights. I want the dirty diapers. I want the not being able to take a shower because I am so busy life. Because when I watch her hold him, my heart swells with pride. He knows that she is his mom, and that she would do anything in the world to protect him from harm. He is also the only one who knows what her heart sounds like from the inside.
I can only pray to God and trust in his plan for me. No matter what, I am very blessed to be able to continue my fight, and acknowledge that many have lost their battle to this terrible disease. Medicine is powerful, but what is even more powerful is love. Thank you for that.