Best Day

Am I a horrible person because I don’t believe that “my donor’s worst day was my best day?”  One, it doesn’t make sense – not literally.  My donor was brain dead several days before I was transplanted.  I assume that was the worst day for his family and loved ones.  And while I feel very blessed to have new lungs, beyond grateful to my donor who decided to save the lives of strangers he would never meet, I wouldn’t say my transplant date is “the best day of my life.”  Life-changing, yes.  I received the gift of life.  And it’s incredible, amazing, and beyond words.  But all I remember from that day are going to surgery, and a little bit when they woke me in the ICU to prove to my family I was still there.  They woke me long enough for me to open my eyes a little and squeeze hands.  And honestly, is it the best day of my family’s lives?  They sat around, waiting to hear if I made it through surgery.  If I was expected to live.  And then they had to see me on a ventilator in the ICU, hooked to up to 12 plus different lines and IV medications.  I’m sure it wasn’t a particularly fun day.  Or a “Best” day. 

            I know since my transplant, my loved ones and I have had many “Best Days.”  My dad and I hiked Parfrey’s Glen this fall, and that was one of my “Best Days.”  The day I danced at Chris and Kyra’s 10-year anniversary party was a very Best Day.  I spent nearly 6 months in the hospital post-transplant, and the whole time nurses and physical therapists would ask what my goal was… and I always said, “I have to be dancing by May.”  I needed to be there and be dancing.  And I was.  I was there.  I danced.  I chased Astrid around on the floor and I told Luca sweet stories about how his parents fell in love as he made a grossed-out adolescent face. 

            One of my Best Days, I met my boyfriend.  I decided after my divorce that I was going to date casually, have fun, and get laid.  I was going to go out and about on the town like I couldn’t when I was married.  And the first date I went on post-divorce, was George.  We talked for hours, and we really clicked.  At the end of the evening, I went home super excited, super giddy, and super mad at myself because I really liked him, and could see myself dating him long-term.  I could even see my dad liking him – which was going to be important, since I lied to my dad about where I was that evening.  “Coffee with a girlfriend,” was actually “cheese curds at the Dane with a first date.”  But that was a “Best Day.”  I was able to park blocks away, and seem healthy enough to not scare an interested guy to death.  I was able to sit on a stool at a bar – something I didn’t have balance or energy to do before my transplant.  I was able to chat without taking long breaks to cough.  I was able to talk and laugh without getting winded.  It was definitely a Best Day. 

            Running on the beach in Hawai’I with Astrid was a Best Day.

            Showing Luca “Star Wars” for the first time was a Best Day. Returning to my beloved West Coast Swing Club to dance was a Best Day.  Hanging on to life in the ICU was definitely not a “Best Day,” but it was an amazing gift leading to many of the Best Days of my life.