I can’t believe I actually did it! I finally got over 100 likes on Facebook. Just kidding. Something that actually matters, I can’t believe I have made it the first week post-op. Honestly, the feeling is an overwhelming flow of gratitude and fear. It’s funny because I keep hearing words thrown around me like “strong” and “stoic.” While, I think highly of myself, the first word that always came to my head to describe me was lazy. Now that I have this new heart, I know I was never lazy. Just always tired.

Probably, what everyone wants to know is what it feels like.

Well, it hurts like a bitch. Not going to lie. There were apparently complications with my surgery, but all I knew was that I woke up. I knew where I was and vaguely what was happening, but I had no idea of the severity of the procedure. As far as I had known, I had fallen asleep and woken up (in a decent amount of pain). I didn’t think this made me “strong” or a “fighter,” I just thought it made me a person. You fall asleep; you wake up. But there was much more to it than that. While, I’m not the surgeon, overcoming this is certainly my biggest accomplishment to date. Despite, odds that did not completely round in my favor, I woke up. If I could reach around my back just yet, I would totally be patting it.

Waiting for the true feeling of gratitude was and is a process. All I know about my donor is that he was a young male. Was. I’ve had over a decade to contemplate what made my life worth it, and when the day finally came I neither had nor now do I have an answer. But if all Descartes could come up with is “I think, therefore I am,” then I probably shouldn’t think too hard about it. I just know this timing was perfect. It was strange. I was first admitted to the hospital on my Dad’s birthday, August, 9. Then the LVAD was placed two days after my birthday, September 3rd. I was discharged the day after my brother’s birthday, September 23rd. So my dad predicted that the next upcoming birthday of  his brother, on October 3rd would be my transplant date. Not sure how he guessed that, but he was right. The timing couldn’t have been anymore perfect because I was begining to question my own strength. There I was, being lazy again.

I  was not a fan of my LVAD —carrying it with me  everywhere and having to bathe myself with a bucket. These were practices with which I refused to acquaint myself. I was at my wits end. As much as that was trying to become my life, I wouldn’t let it and the struggle was taking a toll on me.

So, when I got the call, at the utmost superficial level, I was grateful. Grateful that I didn’t have to live so restricted. All the other freedoms that are soon to be mine did not really cross my mind. “Thank goodness I can have a REAL shower for the first time in over two months,” was my greatest excitement. Sort of understandable… Then slowly came the true gratitude. I am indebted to this incredibly gracious and brave donor who lived what I think to be a meaningful life, despite the fact I know nothing about him . I am being blessed with an utter fresh start. I have always known this life and nothing else.
I have always known myself to be the go-getter because who knows, tomorrow my heart failure might stop getting me from what I need to get done, done. Nothing is stopping me now.

When I wake up from a nap, I feel awake. Formerly, I thought sleep was the best thing in the world. In a legitimate interview for a service project I was applying to partake in, someone asked me if I could do one activity for the rest of my life, what would it be. I thought the obvious answer was “SLEEP!” It was 9 am and I wanted to go back to bed. What normal person wants to spend their life sleeping? Sleeping beauty didn’t even want that. The sad thing is I never thought anything disturbing of that until now. Mind you this was a very active service trip, and I told them my life long goal was to sleep my life away.

Now, that I can do whatever I want —not that I want to go to the gym, but owning 9 pairs of Lululemon leggings I feel obligated— I can actually put work out close to good use besides looking cute and pretending I work out. I have the option and the possibility, and in due time with recovery I will have the energy.

So how do I feel? I feel fucking good. I’d say excuse my French, but as I French minor I know better. So excuse my Swahili?

Well, if I wanna fly, I’m gonna have to risk the fall. Ps. I am totally keeping this wristband #Klutz