I am now forty-seven days out from my kidney transplant, surrounded by good and bad.
The best parts of my life are Mrs ruleoflaw and Lucky Angus MacPup. Even at the worst points in all this, I wanted to go on because of them. My donor daughter is healing very well and she is still the strong/funny/loving woman she has always been. Her two sisters are made of the same strength and humor, but they each have two kidneys. We have a weekly family meeting via Zoom.
I turned in my ballot with plenty of time to spare. I’m still surrounded by trump voters but at least some of them are taking Covid-19 precautions seriously. Better writers than I have posted all manner of analysis of the election results. Read them and rejoice that we have a real, live, President and VP coming down the pike. “Keep your lamps trimmed and burning!”
My immune system is seriously compromised. putting me in a “high-risk” group. My twice-weekly blood tests are coming back favorably. They are still working to adjust the dosage of Tacrolimus, one of my immune suppressing drugs. I am now on the maintenance dose of prednisone. That’s a good thing because prednisone in high doses makes me a trifle crazy. The upside of prednisone is that it makes my lungs indestructible. Besides the craziness, prednisone plays games with my blood sugar.
Lots of “other hands” to ponder. I can only stay positive and take care of my self as best I can.
I’ve been walking two miles a day for the last three weeks. My blood sugar has been fairly stable. I haven’t had to take insulin too often. My blood pressure has been very good. My incisions are healed to the point where I no longer have to take even Tylenol. Lucky Angus MacPup turned 10 years old. He is now a “senior dog”. I am 61, so he and I are both old dogs. We both enjoy the long walks.
I have a scary, 5 inch long, crescent-shaped scar under my right hip pocket. When they took out my dialysis catheter it left me with an extra navel and a two inch scar next to my original navel. Dot-dash-dot is Morse code for “R”. Consequently, I don’t need to bother with an “r for ruleoflaw” tattoo.
I used to be pretty sure that kidney disease would kill me someday. Now I’m not so sure. I have a small aneurysm on my abdominal artery. They found it during the testing before my operation. It keeps me humble and careful; Like walking around with a grenade in your back pocket. All the more reason to be glad that my blood pressure is under control. The 10 months of kidney failure took a toll on my heart. I wear bifocals, false teeth and a hearing aid. I take a palm full of pills twice a day but for now, I’m still here.
Every morning, I eat a hard boiled egg with my breakfast. I always save the last bite for MacPup. He can be three rooms away, but when I crack the shell he is instantly at my elbow.
Nothing is guaranteed to old dogs. We live in the now and take what hope we are offered.
But old dogs can rely on the fact that water always wins. With that in mind offer The Lake Superior Suite. A good friend of mine is in the first trumpet section.
While you enjoy that, allow me to present a poem for my friend Polly Syllabic.
For Polly and Old Dogs
Charlie went the way all dogs must someday go.
He went quietly, surrounded by love.
After a suitable period of mourning
Polly went to the shelter.
She asked for the dog that nobody wanted.
They introduced her to Parker.
Nine years old, blind, rescued from a horribly abusive situation.
Perfect.
Adopting a nine year old dog is knowing your heart will break sooner than later.
Despite the scars and nightmares in his past,
Parker doesn’t seem to have a lot of issues.
He thrives on gentleness in a world of sounds and scents.
The feel of footsteps on the floor no longer frightens him.
He hogs the bed like all dogs do. His people don’t mind.
Scars will heal in time.
The horrors of the past are gone.
The future is not ours to decide.
Now is good enough for old dogs.