Waiting......

We received a call about three hours ago.  There may be a kidney for Babygirl.  She's third in line this time, and they won't be able to let us know until after midnight. 

Six hours is a long wait.  I have actually packed, for myself and for her. I went and topped off the gas tank, and got some cash in case Curlygirl has an emergency when (if) we are gone. I went to Dunkin Donuts and cashed in the free coupons we got for donating blood, since they'll expire while (if!) we are gone.  Hubby is unable to consider packing.  This time I am calm, and he is emotional. 

Babygirl and I are scheduled to go to the local dialysis center tomorrow morning.  My mom has a doctor's appointment tomorrow afternoon, and as she spent the week in the hospital it's imperative that she go. I took the rest of the week off so I could work on painting in the house. Hubby needs to work on the kitchen.

These waits are pauses.  Like the dead silence that can suddenly descend on a room full of people, inexplicable and unnerving, these phone calls put a halt to every other purpose we might have. We have to carry on the routine, setting up the dialysis machine as if she will need to stay on it all night, not entirely sure how we'll shut it off if we need to leave. 

Should we go to bed? Stay up? Pack a lunch??? There is no limit to the absolutely ridiculous things that run through my mind.  No end of ways to avoid thinking about the dangers of the surgery, the suffering she'll go through, the grief of a family losing a loved one, the desperation of the people who are both ahead of and behind us on the list.

I met a man last week whose fourteen-year-old son died last month of Chronic Kidney Disease.  His little boy didn't survive dialysis, didn't survive long enough to complete his Make-A-Wish, or get his new kidney.  On my way home later that day I had to pull off the road and cry.  And go back to begging, "Oh please God, not us!  Not that!"  And the gentle touch on my shoulder, and the Voice saying, "You are praying for the wrong person." 

Of course I was.  I still have my Babygirl, the healthiest sick kid you'll ever see.  And that father - he has a huge empty hole where his boy once lived. 

I think, perhaps, that that awareness makes me a little less anxious about this 'maybe' kidney.  As much as I want it to be ours, I want it to go to a kid like his son, one who truly can't wait.  Not that I want Babygirl to wait until she is desperately ill, but I know she can still wait a while and be safe. 

And so can I.

DeeDee