Dear Diary...

Dear Diary,

Today made me want to chuck my positive attitude and give up on imagining the outcome I desire. Today made me want to conjure up the worst that could possibly happen and just wallow in self-pity. Today was a day of discouraging words. Today was Duke Clinic day.

Oh, it wasn't all bad. The blood work-up and breathing tests went smoothly enough. It took just two attempts to get a good blood gas from my rolling veins, and I only had to play the dreaded Keep Blowing game three times. The best part was that I didn't have to perform the six-minute walk test. Best because the broken toe that happened on Duke Clinic day last week--the one where a nearly full oxygen canister slammed down on my left foot--still hurts like a son-of-a-bitch.

No, the discouraging words I heard came at the end of the day. They were uttered by Dr. Child Prodigy, who, judging from her apparent age--19-1/2--must be the newest member of the Transplant Team. As soon as she started speaking, I could tell she was smart. The kid knew what she was talking about. I had almost started to relax when I realized she was saying something about a delay in placing me on The List. Something about swallowing difficulties? The swallowing difficulties that I've been dealing with, diligently trying to exercise away, for two years? Those swallowing difficulties? Um, may I ask why this is coming up now? Yes, I realize that the paralyzed vocal cord is a new complication, but surely someone could have mentioned that those issues might be waving a red flag before now. Like maybe before I was subjected to all of those expensive--albeit really fun--medical tests. Before I put myself on the emotional roller coaster of having to decide if I even wanted a transplant. But you waited until now, when I've decided that I most definitely do want one--ASAP, please--before telling me I might have to wait even longer?

Diary, I'm afraid I might have lost it just a little bit then. But I didn't say any bad words, and she was really tough. I was the only one who cried. Then she told me she didn't want me to apologize. And then she apologized because she felt that perhaps she hadn't chosen her words very well. We were then free to move onto the next disheartening bit of information she had to share with me--antibodies.

Antibodies are something that I have also known about for a while. I have a lot of them...blah, blah, blah...make it harder to find a match...blah, blah, blah. And today I learned that the ones I have are mostly not the good kind...blah, blah, blah...bad performers...blah, blah, blah.

I guess what I'm trying to say, Diary, is that today kind of sucked. But you know what? Now that we've talked, I feel a little better. I have one more clinic day this week. I'm going to try to get back to my guided imagery happy place before then. Today was just a little bump in the road. I probably let things swell out proportion--like my damned foot. You know what--never mind. This is all going to work out. I can hear Missy now..."Don't worry, silly. It's going to be all right."

Thanks, Diary. I needed that.