Yesterday was a full day. 8:30 blood work, wait.
10 a.m. gastroenterologist and surgeons, wait.
12 p.m. diabetes class, wait.
2 p.m., MRI, which took until about 4:30. Go home.
The diabetes class was certainly the most interesting. I had no idea that transplant patients so frequently developed diabetes after transplant, even if temporarily. The educators gave fantastic information and we got a chance to play with needles. And by "play," I mean get over my discomfort. One of the requirements was that we all give ourselves a shot in the abdomen to ensure all the caregivers and patients had a chance to practice on human skin. It was remarkably easy.
The class reminded me that all of this is actually happening. When the call comes, whenever it comes and if it comes, I will be completely responsible for my mom, up to and including potentially giving her injections. Honestly, I think the injections, should she need them, will be the easiest part.
The worst part of the day was seeing a young guy in our class who was all alone. I felt so bad for him. I'm not the patient, but I can't imagine going through half the shit my mom is by myself. Waiting by myself in a cold, empty room before I had surgery when I lost the baby was bad enough, but at least my husband got there in time to hold my hand before I was on the operating table, and my best friend was there to hold my kids' hands the night I didn't come home.
I hope he had a mom or a dad or a girlfriend or friend who will hold his hand. Everyone needs someone, but sometimes you don't know how much until the shit hits the fan.
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