I'mma pause in my retelling of my recovery to inform people of what and who I am, exactly.
You see, I'm a nice kid, I love to joke and make people laugh. I have always wanted to be a stand up comedian when I was young and I still wish to do that one day. I like to think that my entire point in life is to make others laugh. I could die happy tomorrow if I saw my friends laughing then live forever never making anyone smile.
That's just who I am. Even when I was certain I was going to die, (Before I went into the OR)I never cried infront of my friends, I cracked a joke that made them all laugh. I went out on a high note because that's how I wanted to be remembered.
But I am also a selfish person. While, I do try to make people laugh and smile, I also try to focus on myself and I love talking about myself and the stuff I went through. I know it gets on the nerves of people who have heard my stories a thousand times but I am proud of everything I've been through. Everyone tells me I'm so strong and whatnot but I don't see it that way.
The way I see it is I was just a kid thrown into that life. I never wanted it, I never grow up in it. Up till I was 13~14 I was a normal kid. I always told people about CF but I never really had it effect me. I was never worried about my life, I was only sick once as a kid, I was like every other stupid kid out there but that changed once I get sick.
The first few times didn't really bother. Infact, the only real thing to hit me was when I was 13, one of my Doctors told me that I would not live to see 25. That hurt me a lot inside and from that day forth I wanted to do my best to be remembered. I didn't want to die and then be forgotten about in a year or two, no fucking way. I want to be remembered for as long as possible.
I realize that my flavor of personality doesn't always agree with most people. I'm hyper, I love to chat, I love to be loud, and I love to joke. A lot of people get annoyed by this and my theory on why is because I'm something most people can't be(yes, I'm a bit of a narcissist aswell). Despite every shitty thing I've been through in my life, I'm still able to greet every morning with a smile. I live in a horrid family, I get depressed a lot, and I have friends that can't really understand what I've been through so me venting to them never really works.
The way I deal with my stress is I talk aloud to myself and use myself to vent. It's not the best and isn't what I want at all but it works. I'll admit there are days when even that doesn't work but those are the days when things are at their worst.
Like when my brothers both told me that they wish I never had my Transplant and wish I died. That hurt deep and I can never understand where their hatred for me comes from. They have lived amazing lives with a mother who gave them everything despite them being greedy selfish assholes.
Though, I will confess that my mother isn't a bag of peaches either. She's just as bad as my brothers. Granted, she hasn't wished me dead yet but the way she treats me at times feels like it. I'm in a family of completely healthy people who grew up watching a family member slowly die. Now, I know some others who have watched their family members slowly die and instead of resenting life and becoming a bad person. They did their best to enjoy life and make the most of it.
My family, no. My older brother, Matthew is in jail for murder because he joined a gang and shit went down. My younger brother is a selfish drug addict who told me to fuck off 2 hours before I expected to die. My mother is someone who will call you a waste of life over the tiniest of things and yell at you about said tiny thing for a solid 20 minutes. I've never really had a father growing up as he abandoned my family when I was just a baby. I have a step dad right now but he's just as bad as the rest of them. He was supportive for me when I was recovering but now he does nothing but fight with my mom and younger brother.
Anyways, back to me.
People don't really understand how hard it is to smile like I do and take everything with a smile. I have "friends" who constantly insult me(sometimes jokingly but sometimes not) and I just play along into it. A lot of the time those insults hurt but they never know that. I don't really want to say anything because it makes them smile. And I'm Okay with that.
I will admit I do cry a lot. It just builds up so much. A lot of the time stuff hits me in waves and it makes me question everything.
Like recently, my best friend past away, his name was Carl, he had a double lung transplant approx 3 years before me and I owe my recovery to him. He was the only person in the world who actually understood what it was like to have so much shitty luck. Just before he past away, my broken back started to get really bad. I wasn't sleeping, I wasn't as happy, I was becoming a rude prick again, and then one night I'm reading Facebook and I see from a friends updated Feed that Carl had died and it hurt me so much. My best friend was there for me when I should have died last year in Feb 2010 and I couldn't even have been there for him. I loved him more than my brothers and I had to find out from a fucking Facebook feed. I'm even tearing up as I type this.
We had plans to go to Hawaii this year as a "We survived" type thing. I was looking forward to it and now I'm pretty much going on my own.
But no matter what happens to me, I still smile.
Why? Because where would being depressed get me? It'd get me nowhere. Depression would make me workout less, that in turn would affect my lungs, and that in turn would affect my mood. It would be a crazy cycle that would end up killing me. Instead, I smile, I joke, I laugh, I hide the pain. I do my best to be the best to those I care about. No matter what, I want to be remembered as the guy who always laughed.
So ya, that's who I am. I doubt that anyone reading this doesn't already know me but for the 1 or 2 people who don't know me, there you go.
I do my best to enjoy life, no matter how many times I get shit on and I'd like for anyone reading this to do the same. Remember, we're only on this planet for an extremely short amount of time. We might get shit on constantly by god, bad luck, or whatever but never let that get you stop you from laughing. Laugh and make others laugh.
I don't ask for pity, I ask for understanding. I'm not rude asshole because I'm a selfish jerk. I just pretend to be a rude asshole because, amazingly enough, it makes people laugh a lot.
That's all I got to say. I'll try to have some more recovery stories by the end of this week.
Monday, October 31, 2011
Sunday, October 23, 2011
Recovery Time
This post will focus on my recovery after transplant and how hard I pushed myself.
Right, so, where I ended off in my last post was....the cliffhanger.
Well, you guessed wrong, I didn't die on the OR, and this isn't my Ghost. I survived to annoy the hell out of many more people.
You see, I went into the OR at 5pm CST, they cut me open at 7pm CST, and I was wheeled out at 12:30am CST. The surgery itself was a total of 5 hours. I only know about 2 other transplants and mine was considerably faster. If I remember right, they were both over the 10 hour mark.
I get wheeled out of the OR and a few hours later I was being woken up so they could put a feeding tube down my throat. Now, this is where I owe my Friend Carl so much. Pre-transplant he had told me what to expect when I woke up and told me not to freak out. When I awake for them I heard his voice in my head telling me not to panic and that they just wanted to put a feeding tube in. I am 100% positive that if I didn't have his voice, I'd have freaked out and started ripping out tubes.
Just to further strengthen my point. When I was in a coma in 2010, I had to be forced awake because while asleep, I had an intubation tube in my lungs so I could breath. Well, I had forced that tube out of my lungs with my tongue.
That's right. While in a coma, I forced a tube that was in my lungs, out with my tongue.(Yes, Ladies, I'm single)
That's why I know that without my friend I would have freaked out right away and things would have gotten bad.
Back to the story at hand. They wake me up, tell me what they're going to do and that I have to relax. I do so and everything goes smoothly.
I pass out again.
I awake sometime later and I have both a breathing tube and my feeding tube in my mouth so I can't speak or drink anything. They gave me a writing pad and a pen to write with. From what I understand is that most people who write after transplant write gibberish. Not me, I wrote complete sentences and I even managed to flirt with Nurses via the notepad(I know, I'm just that good). I don't remember a whole lot of what I wrote. I think it ranged from "I'm thirsty" to "My chest hurts" to me asking "Hey cutie, can I get a sponge bath?".
A few hours later I began begging they remove the tubes that I'm so thirsty. I got a few sponges of water but that didn't help. I was so dehydrated. The Nurse at the time kept telling me that if I drank too much I'd vomit and that would be really really bad. We had a back and forth about this for roughly 10 minutes.
After they removed the tubes I demanded a Bottle of Pepsi. I told the Nurse that I wouldn't throw up. I'm not a bitch like that but she kept going on and wouldn't tell me otherwise. Luckily, I managed to guilt my Mother into getting me a Pepsi and I downed that entire bottle. I felt like I was going to vomit so badly but I held it in. I refused to prove that Nurse right. She was so adamant that I'd vomit that I just had to prove her wrong and I did. She didn't warn me about much after that. I'm still amazed that I stopped myself, to be honest.
I pass out again.
Some more time later I open my eyes to the Physio therapist and she wants to get me moving around. We do a few simple things, sitting up, turning, forcing a cough(which, I never want to recommend for anyone who has just had their chest ripped fucking open and had their lungs replaced. FUCKING OW), and some other stuff.
I was feeling cocky after all that and asked if I could try walking. Nothing huge but a nice little walk around the nurses desk. Couldn't have been more than 50 steps. It took a lot out of me to do so but I felt amazing. I wasn't even sure if it was real. To walk like that and not cough, it was like the best dream I ever had. I was so excited to walk like that far that despite the pain in my chest and the exhaustion from the small walk, I was reading to go again.
Once they managed to get me settled down, I rested for a few hours and did it again but this time I did 2 laps and with every rest I had more strength for a longer walk the next time.
I think I got up to like 6 laps over 2 days before I got kicked out of ICU and got my ass kicked into the Recovery Step Down Unit.
Once I was in recovery step down that's when things got interesting.
You see, I wasn't out of ICU for more than 30 minutes before I had my first "encounter". When I was wheeled into the my room, it reeked of piss. I mean, like, hardcore Urine. I have never in my life smelt such a strong thing of piss in my life. It was so thick I was coughing and like I said, that shit fucking hurt to do.
Now me, I would have just demanded that the cleaning staff get up here and clean this bitch but my mom....well...she's more "unique". She demanded a cloth and a bottle of Javex. She cleaned that entire room from ceiling to floor.
When she asked for new Curtains though, we got told "No, we hit our floors Curtain limit". Now, I know you're asking "But Randy, what is a curtain limit and why do they have one?". Well, the curtains apparently are so expensive that the hospital can only afford a certain amount per year, I guess and so they can't be all Willy Nilly with them. I think it's fucking retarded but what can you do. All we could do at the time was take it down and throw that thing out.
I think I'll end it here for now. I will be trying to update this at least once a week. If I'm able to I will make more.
Thanks for reading and I left you on yet another Cliff Hanger. Enjoy the wait~
Right, so, where I ended off in my last post was....the cliffhanger.
Well, you guessed wrong, I didn't die on the OR, and this isn't my Ghost. I survived to annoy the hell out of many more people.
You see, I went into the OR at 5pm CST, they cut me open at 7pm CST, and I was wheeled out at 12:30am CST. The surgery itself was a total of 5 hours. I only know about 2 other transplants and mine was considerably faster. If I remember right, they were both over the 10 hour mark.
I get wheeled out of the OR and a few hours later I was being woken up so they could put a feeding tube down my throat. Now, this is where I owe my Friend Carl so much. Pre-transplant he had told me what to expect when I woke up and told me not to freak out. When I awake for them I heard his voice in my head telling me not to panic and that they just wanted to put a feeding tube in. I am 100% positive that if I didn't have his voice, I'd have freaked out and started ripping out tubes.
Just to further strengthen my point. When I was in a coma in 2010, I had to be forced awake because while asleep, I had an intubation tube in my lungs so I could breath. Well, I had forced that tube out of my lungs with my tongue.
That's right. While in a coma, I forced a tube that was in my lungs, out with my tongue.(Yes, Ladies, I'm single)
That's why I know that without my friend I would have freaked out right away and things would have gotten bad.
Back to the story at hand. They wake me up, tell me what they're going to do and that I have to relax. I do so and everything goes smoothly.
I pass out again.
I awake sometime later and I have both a breathing tube and my feeding tube in my mouth so I can't speak or drink anything. They gave me a writing pad and a pen to write with. From what I understand is that most people who write after transplant write gibberish. Not me, I wrote complete sentences and I even managed to flirt with Nurses via the notepad(I know, I'm just that good). I don't remember a whole lot of what I wrote. I think it ranged from "I'm thirsty" to "My chest hurts" to me asking "Hey cutie, can I get a sponge bath?".
A few hours later I began begging they remove the tubes that I'm so thirsty. I got a few sponges of water but that didn't help. I was so dehydrated. The Nurse at the time kept telling me that if I drank too much I'd vomit and that would be really really bad. We had a back and forth about this for roughly 10 minutes.
After they removed the tubes I demanded a Bottle of Pepsi. I told the Nurse that I wouldn't throw up. I'm not a bitch like that but she kept going on and wouldn't tell me otherwise. Luckily, I managed to guilt my Mother into getting me a Pepsi and I downed that entire bottle. I felt like I was going to vomit so badly but I held it in. I refused to prove that Nurse right. She was so adamant that I'd vomit that I just had to prove her wrong and I did. She didn't warn me about much after that. I'm still amazed that I stopped myself, to be honest.
I pass out again.
Some more time later I open my eyes to the Physio therapist and she wants to get me moving around. We do a few simple things, sitting up, turning, forcing a cough(which, I never want to recommend for anyone who has just had their chest ripped fucking open and had their lungs replaced. FUCKING OW), and some other stuff.
I was feeling cocky after all that and asked if I could try walking. Nothing huge but a nice little walk around the nurses desk. Couldn't have been more than 50 steps. It took a lot out of me to do so but I felt amazing. I wasn't even sure if it was real. To walk like that and not cough, it was like the best dream I ever had. I was so excited to walk like that far that despite the pain in my chest and the exhaustion from the small walk, I was reading to go again.
Once they managed to get me settled down, I rested for a few hours and did it again but this time I did 2 laps and with every rest I had more strength for a longer walk the next time.
I think I got up to like 6 laps over 2 days before I got kicked out of ICU and got my ass kicked into the Recovery Step Down Unit.
Once I was in recovery step down that's when things got interesting.
You see, I wasn't out of ICU for more than 30 minutes before I had my first "encounter". When I was wheeled into the my room, it reeked of piss. I mean, like, hardcore Urine. I have never in my life smelt such a strong thing of piss in my life. It was so thick I was coughing and like I said, that shit fucking hurt to do.
Now me, I would have just demanded that the cleaning staff get up here and clean this bitch but my mom....well...she's more "unique". She demanded a cloth and a bottle of Javex. She cleaned that entire room from ceiling to floor.
When she asked for new Curtains though, we got told "No, we hit our floors Curtain limit". Now, I know you're asking "But Randy, what is a curtain limit and why do they have one?". Well, the curtains apparently are so expensive that the hospital can only afford a certain amount per year, I guess and so they can't be all Willy Nilly with them. I think it's fucking retarded but what can you do. All we could do at the time was take it down and throw that thing out.
I think I'll end it here for now. I will be trying to update this at least once a week. If I'm able to I will make more.
Thanks for reading and I left you on yet another Cliff Hanger. Enjoy the wait~
Sunday, October 16, 2011
I know you are
Now, I know that as you sit there reading this. You're thinking to yourself "My, I wonder why the URL is singmeeyeofthetiger". Well, let me tell you my thousands of readings. You see, on Dec 3rd at 10:55pm I got a phone call.
It wasn't like other phone calls. It wasn't free phone sex, it wasn't a telemarketer, it wasn't a friend asking to hang out. No, it was from a Doctor and that Doctor had some news. Both good and bad in my mind.
The night started out like any other night. I was playing some Final Fantasy XI and I was on Skype with my friends. We were chatting it up, having a blast, and just as we were about to do some stuff ingame my phone rang. Now, I'm thinking it's my mother calling me to make sure I'm okay(She used to call me like 20 times a day to make sure I wasn't dead). I pick up my phone and say to myself "God damn it, it's almost 11pm, what does she want now?". Well, I looked at the Caller ID and noticed it was the hospital. They have a super basic number so it was easy to tell it was them. In my mind I'm thinking to myself "Please let this be something else, maybe a wrong number or an appointment change".
I answer the phone and the call goes as follows.
Me> "Hello?"
Person on the other end> "Hi, Randy. It's Doctor Freed. How are you feeling today? Are you feeling sick?"
Me> "No, I'm fine. What's up?"
Doctor> "Well, we have your lungs in and were wondering if you could come down"
Me> "Uh....are you joking?"
Doctor> "I wouldn't joke about something like this"
Me> "Uh...okay...."
Doctor> "So, are you good to come in?"
Me> "Uh...ya, I guess"
Doctor> "Good, Admissions will call you in 10 minutes with the details."
Me> "Uh...bye"
Ya...that honestly was the worst and best call of my life. I know that you're that you're thinking "What do you mean worst? You're clearly fine, you have a super special awesome blog with hundreds of followers. Seems like a great call to me". Well, you see, I didn't know that I'd be okay. At that time I had only known two people to have a Double Lung Transplant before me and one of them didn't make it during his(More about that in another post). So, in my mind, I considered it my very death. It's not a bad thing to say that and I never mean to seem like I had given up on life. Far from it.
However, I am a realist and I was very very sick, I was on oxygen 24/7, I coughed so badly, with every cough came massive amounts(and I'm talking like a Cup full) of Phlegm and often with every cough came blood or vomit. I couldn't walk to the bathroom without doing this, I couldn't wake up in the morning without doing this, I couldn't even sit still without doing this. Life sucked. I knew how ill I was and how long my body. Fighting something like that is mentally and physically draining. I never gave up and let myself die, though. God, no. I may have accepted the fact that I wouldn't live long but I was determined to live out every day that I could. If Death wanted to kill me then it would have a fight.
Back to the story at hand. I hang up the phone, take a good 3 seconds to myself, and I turn back on my Mic(Remember, I was on Skype with my friends).
Me> Hey, Guys. I just got my phone call....
Them> What phone call?
Me> The one telling me my fucking pizza is ready. MY LUNGS.
Them> Oh, then why are you still on Skype?! Get going!!"
Me> Bye guys...
And with that, I shut down my computer and called my Mother. It was pretty much the same thing with telling her I got my phone call. She did an extremely illegal U-turn in traffic and came rushing to my apartment.
As my Mother drives dangerously in traffic to my place, I am crying my ass off. I realize that this is when I'm going to die. My life will now be over and I won't be able to make anyone laugh anymore. As I'm crying, I try to grab some clothes for the hospital because I know if I don't, I'll have to listen to my Mother bitch at me for like 30 mins. So, I reach into my Laundry hamper and just grab a handful of Clothes.
My phone rings again, it's Admissions giving me the details and telling me where to go. I hang up and get another call, it's my Mom telling me she's downstairs, I say to her I'll be right there hang up.
I make a post on my Facebook saying goodbye and text a few friends, I also look in the Mirror, say goodbye to myself and apologize for all the fuck ups I made and head out.
We get to the hospital and I head to Admissions, sign in, and my friends start showing up 1 by 1. Some of them got there extremely fast. Strangely enough, once all my friends arrive the lady behind the counter tells me to go up to my usual Ward and to wait.
We all head up, all the Nurses I know come and hug me and say they're happy for me. I put on a strong face for everyone and just smile. I wanted nothing more, though, then to just burst into tears for the entire time but I knew I couldn't. I had made peace with what was going to happen to me, I know that the others didn't. Not with what I've been through. I couldn't let them see or know that I knew this was the end.
I get put into a room because they tell me it'll be a small weight. After like 20 minutes of waiting a Nurse comes in and says that I should be going to the OR(Operating Room) around 4am.
I would have stayed awake for those 5 hours but there was a problem. I was seconds away from eating when I got my call. I had made myself a nice giant plate of several Chicken Breasts, my home made BBQ Sauce, and like 3 pounds of Potatos. It's the kind of dinner that I enjoy greatly. I was tired and hungry and when I get hungry, I get massively bitchy. So instead of attacking my friends with what would have been humorous but mean insults, I took a nap.
4:30am comes by quickly and I wake up. I go ask the Nurse whats going on and she tells me that it'll be just a bit longer. I head back to my room and my friends start joking around. Telling me I should ask my Doctor to sing me Eye Of The Tiger before they put me under. I wasn't sure if I was going to do that or not. While it was funny at the time, it was a serious thing going on.
I pass in and out of sleep for the next 10 or so hours. It turned out that my Donor was in such good health that his Lungs weren't the only thing that could be transplanted. If I remember right they ended up taking the Heart, the Eyes, the Liver, The Kidneys, and I'm sure much more. He helped save many lives.
3:00pm comes around and my Younger Brother came up to me. He was tired of waiting and wanted to go home and take a nap. Here's how this enjoyable conversation went.
Jason>Randy, I'm tired. I'mma go home and take a nap
Me> Jason, I could go into the OR at any moment
Jason> I'm tired
Me>Whatever, Jason
Jason> Go fuck yourself, Randy
I know you're wondering what age my brother is and if you stop asking questions, I'll tell you. He was 21 at the time.
And so, with that, my brother walks away and I think to myself that those are the last words my brother and I will have together. That hurt me deeply.
Another 2 hours pass and the Doctor comes into my room holding the chart. All my friends, my mom, and I are in the room. He walks up to me and asks
Doctor> What's your name and Birth date?
Me> Randy Kyle McIntyre, Nov 21, 1987
Doctor> Good, now, do you know why you're here?
And I shit you not, this is exactly what I did. I looked him straight in the face and said
Me> Ya, for my Sex Change
He had the greatest look of confusion on his face. He stopped and reread my chart over to make sure he had the right room and about 10-15 seconds later the entire room bursts into laughter. Was probably one of the funniest serious moments of my life. I'm glad I said that to lighten the air in the room. Everyone was way too scared and serious.
After the room calms down, he wheels me out to a stretcher and prepares to take me to the OR. I say my final good byes to my friends and Nurses on the Ward and begin my journey. It was a short ride to the OR.
The Surgeon leaves me in front of the OR with my Mom and Step Dad and goes to get ready. I say my final goodbyes to them and I tell them that when I don't come out of there to tell my brother that "I'm disappointed in him". They both start crying their asses off. Was a very touching 5 minutes
The Doctor comes back out and wheels me into the OR. Him and the Nurses are getting me an IV and my Epidural.
As they're doing this I ask my Surgeon if he could sing me Eye Of The Tiger before they put me under. I point out that this could very well be the last moments of my life and hearing that song would help me. He refuses cause he said he had a sore throat.
What a spoil sport.
And with that. I'm put under.
Till my next post!
Ah ha....Cliffhanger....will he make it out alive?!
It wasn't like other phone calls. It wasn't free phone sex, it wasn't a telemarketer, it wasn't a friend asking to hang out. No, it was from a Doctor and that Doctor had some news. Both good and bad in my mind.
The night started out like any other night. I was playing some Final Fantasy XI and I was on Skype with my friends. We were chatting it up, having a blast, and just as we were about to do some stuff ingame my phone rang. Now, I'm thinking it's my mother calling me to make sure I'm okay(She used to call me like 20 times a day to make sure I wasn't dead). I pick up my phone and say to myself "God damn it, it's almost 11pm, what does she want now?". Well, I looked at the Caller ID and noticed it was the hospital. They have a super basic number so it was easy to tell it was them. In my mind I'm thinking to myself "Please let this be something else, maybe a wrong number or an appointment change".
I answer the phone and the call goes as follows.
Me> "Hello?"
Person on the other end> "Hi, Randy. It's Doctor Freed. How are you feeling today? Are you feeling sick?"
Me> "No, I'm fine. What's up?"
Doctor> "Well, we have your lungs in and were wondering if you could come down"
Me> "Uh....are you joking?"
Doctor> "I wouldn't joke about something like this"
Me> "Uh...okay...."
Doctor> "So, are you good to come in?"
Me> "Uh...ya, I guess"
Doctor> "Good, Admissions will call you in 10 minutes with the details."
Me> "Uh...bye"
Ya...that honestly was the worst and best call of my life. I know that you're that you're thinking "What do you mean worst? You're clearly fine, you have a super special awesome blog with hundreds of followers. Seems like a great call to me". Well, you see, I didn't know that I'd be okay. At that time I had only known two people to have a Double Lung Transplant before me and one of them didn't make it during his(More about that in another post). So, in my mind, I considered it my very death. It's not a bad thing to say that and I never mean to seem like I had given up on life. Far from it.
However, I am a realist and I was very very sick, I was on oxygen 24/7, I coughed so badly, with every cough came massive amounts(and I'm talking like a Cup full) of Phlegm and often with every cough came blood or vomit. I couldn't walk to the bathroom without doing this, I couldn't wake up in the morning without doing this, I couldn't even sit still without doing this. Life sucked. I knew how ill I was and how long my body. Fighting something like that is mentally and physically draining. I never gave up and let myself die, though. God, no. I may have accepted the fact that I wouldn't live long but I was determined to live out every day that I could. If Death wanted to kill me then it would have a fight.
Back to the story at hand. I hang up the phone, take a good 3 seconds to myself, and I turn back on my Mic(Remember, I was on Skype with my friends).
Me> Hey, Guys. I just got my phone call....
Them> What phone call?
Me> The one telling me my fucking pizza is ready. MY LUNGS.
Them> Oh, then why are you still on Skype?! Get going!!"
Me> Bye guys...
And with that, I shut down my computer and called my Mother. It was pretty much the same thing with telling her I got my phone call. She did an extremely illegal U-turn in traffic and came rushing to my apartment.
As my Mother drives dangerously in traffic to my place, I am crying my ass off. I realize that this is when I'm going to die. My life will now be over and I won't be able to make anyone laugh anymore. As I'm crying, I try to grab some clothes for the hospital because I know if I don't, I'll have to listen to my Mother bitch at me for like 30 mins. So, I reach into my Laundry hamper and just grab a handful of Clothes.
My phone rings again, it's Admissions giving me the details and telling me where to go. I hang up and get another call, it's my Mom telling me she's downstairs, I say to her I'll be right there hang up.
I make a post on my Facebook saying goodbye and text a few friends, I also look in the Mirror, say goodbye to myself and apologize for all the fuck ups I made and head out.
We get to the hospital and I head to Admissions, sign in, and my friends start showing up 1 by 1. Some of them got there extremely fast. Strangely enough, once all my friends arrive the lady behind the counter tells me to go up to my usual Ward and to wait.
We all head up, all the Nurses I know come and hug me and say they're happy for me. I put on a strong face for everyone and just smile. I wanted nothing more, though, then to just burst into tears for the entire time but I knew I couldn't. I had made peace with what was going to happen to me, I know that the others didn't. Not with what I've been through. I couldn't let them see or know that I knew this was the end.
I get put into a room because they tell me it'll be a small weight. After like 20 minutes of waiting a Nurse comes in and says that I should be going to the OR(Operating Room) around 4am.
I would have stayed awake for those 5 hours but there was a problem. I was seconds away from eating when I got my call. I had made myself a nice giant plate of several Chicken Breasts, my home made BBQ Sauce, and like 3 pounds of Potatos. It's the kind of dinner that I enjoy greatly. I was tired and hungry and when I get hungry, I get massively bitchy. So instead of attacking my friends with what would have been humorous but mean insults, I took a nap.
4:30am comes by quickly and I wake up. I go ask the Nurse whats going on and she tells me that it'll be just a bit longer. I head back to my room and my friends start joking around. Telling me I should ask my Doctor to sing me Eye Of The Tiger before they put me under. I wasn't sure if I was going to do that or not. While it was funny at the time, it was a serious thing going on.
I pass in and out of sleep for the next 10 or so hours. It turned out that my Donor was in such good health that his Lungs weren't the only thing that could be transplanted. If I remember right they ended up taking the Heart, the Eyes, the Liver, The Kidneys, and I'm sure much more. He helped save many lives.
3:00pm comes around and my Younger Brother came up to me. He was tired of waiting and wanted to go home and take a nap. Here's how this enjoyable conversation went.
Jason>Randy, I'm tired. I'mma go home and take a nap
Me> Jason, I could go into the OR at any moment
Jason> I'm tired
Me>Whatever, Jason
Jason> Go fuck yourself, Randy
I know you're wondering what age my brother is and if you stop asking questions, I'll tell you. He was 21 at the time.
And so, with that, my brother walks away and I think to myself that those are the last words my brother and I will have together. That hurt me deeply.
Another 2 hours pass and the Doctor comes into my room holding the chart. All my friends, my mom, and I are in the room. He walks up to me and asks
Doctor> What's your name and Birth date?
Me> Randy Kyle McIntyre, Nov 21, 1987
Doctor> Good, now, do you know why you're here?
And I shit you not, this is exactly what I did. I looked him straight in the face and said
Me> Ya, for my Sex Change
He had the greatest look of confusion on his face. He stopped and reread my chart over to make sure he had the right room and about 10-15 seconds later the entire room bursts into laughter. Was probably one of the funniest serious moments of my life. I'm glad I said that to lighten the air in the room. Everyone was way too scared and serious.
After the room calms down, he wheels me out to a stretcher and prepares to take me to the OR. I say my final good byes to my friends and Nurses on the Ward and begin my journey. It was a short ride to the OR.
The Surgeon leaves me in front of the OR with my Mom and Step Dad and goes to get ready. I say my final goodbyes to them and I tell them that when I don't come out of there to tell my brother that "I'm disappointed in him". They both start crying their asses off. Was a very touching 5 minutes
The Doctor comes back out and wheels me into the OR. Him and the Nurses are getting me an IV and my Epidural.
As they're doing this I ask my Surgeon if he could sing me Eye Of The Tiger before they put me under. I point out that this could very well be the last moments of my life and hearing that song would help me. He refuses cause he said he had a sore throat.
What a spoil sport.
And with that. I'm put under.
Till my next post!
Ah ha....Cliffhanger....will he make it out alive?!
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
To Start
Hi, my name is Randy and this is my blog. I've decided to make this blog due to numerous people telling me that I should start one. I've had a blog before but that was for a video game.
Alright, so let me tel you about myself. I'm 23, I've had a double Lung transplant, and I've lead a very long and interesting life. You see, I was born with Cystic Fibrosis. It's a fun little disease.
See, CF(Cystic Fibrosis for short[And no, I'm not insulting you. I've had people who didn't know what I was talking about after I told them I had Cystic Fibrosis and then abbreviated it.]) affects many things. First and for-most it affects the lungs. The way I like to explain CF to people is it's like a row of Dominos. You start out putting up one at a time and as soon as you get your first infect, the row starts to fall over.
For me, my Dominos started falling at the rip old age of 13.
When I was a kid, I was stupid. As was any kid. I never grew up never thinking about CF as any sort of threat to my way of life. Sure, I'd constantly tell people I have it but for me, it was just something there. I never held myself back as a kid, I never missed anything school wise cause I was sick. I was basically a normal kid. But once 13 hit, it all fell apart.
At the ripe old age of 13, I had one of my doctors inform me that I wouldn't live to see 25 because CF would most likely kill me by then. While it hurt to hear it didn't really hit me like it should have. If it did, I would have taken much better care of myself. I was a very stupid kid. For me, I weighed anything health related on the outlook of my doctors. If they never worried, I never worried.
I was an active child, just like any child. I played Baseball, I roller bladed, biked, all that fun kid shit.(Yes, I do swear. I enjoy swearing). So, because I was so active CF never really hit me hard as a kid. I was sick only a few time.
The first time I remember ever being in the Hospital was when I was 5. It wasn't for a lung infection or being sick. No, that would be too simple. For you see, I was in the hospital for something much more....painful.
First, let me explain that I have a family, much like any human on this planet. I have two Brothers, and my mom. My dad wasn't ever really in the picture. I'll explain about him in a later post. Anyways, back to my family. I have an old brother, Matthew, a younger Brother, Jason, and my mother, Denine.
Both my brothers are extremely selfish and angry at the world. I don't know why they're angry but they are.
Back to the story.
Matt was having some friends over and they were playing Kickball in our Backyard. After sometime in, one of them hit the ball over our neighbors fence. Me, being the younger brother wanting to impress my older brother said "It's okay, I'll get it" and thus began my first embarrassing story.
I climbed the sharp metal wired fence, I got the ball, kicked it back over, and on my way back, I caught/cut/tore/ripped something on said fence. I didn't cut my leg, arm, or anything fun. No, that would be too simple. You see, I caught my penis on the fence.
As I begun to rip my penis on the fence, I let out a scream of extreme pain. Everyone stops and looks at me, I finish climbing over the fence and start to cry. For about 3 seconds everyone looked confused, then, the blood started to roll down my leg. Everyone had this look of worry and confusion as no one knew what I had cut. I think the starring lasted for 10 seconds before I dropped my pants.
That's right, infront of my older brother, his friends, and my younger brother, I dropped my shorts after I cut my penis on the fence. The looks of confusion then turned to looks of horror. My brother soon fainted and split his head open on the cement part of our backyard.
Now, it gets a little hazy after but that I remember I was laughing for a bit. I think the shock got to me and that's how I ended up handling it. I then remember my younger brother, Jason run inside screaming to get my mom. I vaguely remember her putting a massive towel on my dick and rushing to what I believe was a Taxi but she always said we drove.
Ya, that's my first hospital incident that I remember. After that, my whole life was.....blank in my memory till I was 10. I remember bits and pieces but I know I'm missing a lot.
So with that, I will end this first blog post and I will post many more. I wouldn't worry about running out of medical stories as they constantly continue to happen.
Till next time, and thank you for reading this.
Alright, so let me tel you about myself. I'm 23, I've had a double Lung transplant, and I've lead a very long and interesting life. You see, I was born with Cystic Fibrosis. It's a fun little disease.
See, CF(Cystic Fibrosis for short[And no, I'm not insulting you. I've had people who didn't know what I was talking about after I told them I had Cystic Fibrosis and then abbreviated it.]) affects many things. First and for-most it affects the lungs. The way I like to explain CF to people is it's like a row of Dominos. You start out putting up one at a time and as soon as you get your first infect, the row starts to fall over.
For me, my Dominos started falling at the rip old age of 13.
When I was a kid, I was stupid. As was any kid. I never grew up never thinking about CF as any sort of threat to my way of life. Sure, I'd constantly tell people I have it but for me, it was just something there. I never held myself back as a kid, I never missed anything school wise cause I was sick. I was basically a normal kid. But once 13 hit, it all fell apart.
At the ripe old age of 13, I had one of my doctors inform me that I wouldn't live to see 25 because CF would most likely kill me by then. While it hurt to hear it didn't really hit me like it should have. If it did, I would have taken much better care of myself. I was a very stupid kid. For me, I weighed anything health related on the outlook of my doctors. If they never worried, I never worried.
I was an active child, just like any child. I played Baseball, I roller bladed, biked, all that fun kid shit.(Yes, I do swear. I enjoy swearing). So, because I was so active CF never really hit me hard as a kid. I was sick only a few time.
The first time I remember ever being in the Hospital was when I was 5. It wasn't for a lung infection or being sick. No, that would be too simple. For you see, I was in the hospital for something much more....painful.
First, let me explain that I have a family, much like any human on this planet. I have two Brothers, and my mom. My dad wasn't ever really in the picture. I'll explain about him in a later post. Anyways, back to my family. I have an old brother, Matthew, a younger Brother, Jason, and my mother, Denine.
Both my brothers are extremely selfish and angry at the world. I don't know why they're angry but they are.
Back to the story.
Matt was having some friends over and they were playing Kickball in our Backyard. After sometime in, one of them hit the ball over our neighbors fence. Me, being the younger brother wanting to impress my older brother said "It's okay, I'll get it" and thus began my first embarrassing story.
I climbed the sharp metal wired fence, I got the ball, kicked it back over, and on my way back, I caught/cut/tore/ripped something on said fence. I didn't cut my leg, arm, or anything fun. No, that would be too simple. You see, I caught my penis on the fence.
As I begun to rip my penis on the fence, I let out a scream of extreme pain. Everyone stops and looks at me, I finish climbing over the fence and start to cry. For about 3 seconds everyone looked confused, then, the blood started to roll down my leg. Everyone had this look of worry and confusion as no one knew what I had cut. I think the starring lasted for 10 seconds before I dropped my pants.
That's right, infront of my older brother, his friends, and my younger brother, I dropped my shorts after I cut my penis on the fence. The looks of confusion then turned to looks of horror. My brother soon fainted and split his head open on the cement part of our backyard.
Now, it gets a little hazy after but that I remember I was laughing for a bit. I think the shock got to me and that's how I ended up handling it. I then remember my younger brother, Jason run inside screaming to get my mom. I vaguely remember her putting a massive towel on my dick and rushing to what I believe was a Taxi but she always said we drove.
Ya, that's my first hospital incident that I remember. After that, my whole life was.....blank in my memory till I was 10. I remember bits and pieces but I know I'm missing a lot.
So with that, I will end this first blog post and I will post many more. I wouldn't worry about running out of medical stories as they constantly continue to happen.
Till next time, and thank you for reading this.
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