four more years!
Another year, another late night on T-Day.
I don't really have a great reflection for this year, as some of the highs weren't as great as I thought they'd be in retrospect (the lows stayed the same). And I think that's been the great problem with the previous T-Day entries: I've looking back too much.
Lennon wrote that "Life is what happens when you're making other plans." Looking quickly at the last four years, I can't help but think that life to a degree has passed me by without much in the way of other plans to show for it. So maybe it's time to end the heavily reflective "usual" of this post and make it sort of like a New Year's resolutions thing. I've got what really is a second chance and the same bad habits that I haven't had the care to break.
So here's a letter to myself:
Dear Andrew,
You like lists. Get on this one.
1) Get in shape. Enough excuses. Enough "I'm too tired." Most transplant patients look like hell because they're old and were beaten to hell beforehand. You? Night hiking about seven miles a month pre-transplant up Old Rag.
2) Eat better. Given that you do a lot of cooking, it means reinventing a few recipes. More vegetables. A lot more.
3) Do something out of my ordinary at least once a month. Once a week if you can. Anything from trying a new food to singing in public, whatever. Something. Nutshell: quit being a chickenshit.
4) Watch your language.
5) Travel as much as possible. See as much as possible. Do as much as possible there. Meet as many people as possible. You don't know when you're going to get back.
6) There is no rule six.
7) Don't give up on classics and Latin. Ever.
8) Let go of old grudges for good. Be kind and compassionate. Unless someone is really, really asking for it or is being a total douche. Then it's okay. You do have to laugh after all.
9) Find a schedule and stick to it.
10) Smile. Remember how lucky you are when there's tens of thousands of people waiting for what you already have. Take this chance and run with it in their honor.
11) Enjoy other people's company. Always find the good in people, even if you run the risk of getting hurt or disappointed. It might make you an actual human being again instead of an isolated one. You have to take the chance on the bad stuff if you really want the good.
12) Be happy. It's not that hard. You have been that way before.
The average life of a live donor kidney transplant is something like 10-15 years. What are you going to do for the next 60% of your time?
You can't go back in time, so your only option is to blaze a new path. This doesn't mean you have to completely reinvent yourself or abandon your beliefs.
Change is not a four letter word.
Love,
Andrew
Even with the change in tone, I still want to thank everyone for their unending support on this long journey. Eight and a half years since I first got sick, four years since I got (mostly) fixed up. I don't care if I'm not supposed to end a sentence with a preposition. I'm not letting it look like I got neutered.
But really, thank you to everyone that's come before, everyone that's here now and everyone that will be in the future. You've influenced how I've been, am and will be. And while I probably could've done it (miserably) without you, I'm glad I haven't had to. You've made this worthwhile.
I don't really have a great reflection for this year, as some of the highs weren't as great as I thought they'd be in retrospect (the lows stayed the same). And I think that's been the great problem with the previous T-Day entries: I've looking back too much.
Lennon wrote that "Life is what happens when you're making other plans." Looking quickly at the last four years, I can't help but think that life to a degree has passed me by without much in the way of other plans to show for it. So maybe it's time to end the heavily reflective "usual" of this post and make it sort of like a New Year's resolutions thing. I've got what really is a second chance and the same bad habits that I haven't had the care to break.
So here's a letter to myself:
Dear Andrew,
You like lists. Get on this one.
1) Get in shape. Enough excuses. Enough "I'm too tired." Most transplant patients look like hell because they're old and were beaten to hell beforehand. You? Night hiking about seven miles a month pre-transplant up Old Rag.
2) Eat better. Given that you do a lot of cooking, it means reinventing a few recipes. More vegetables. A lot more.
3) Do something out of my ordinary at least once a month. Once a week if you can. Anything from trying a new food to singing in public, whatever. Something. Nutshell: quit being a chickenshit.
4) Watch your language.
5) Travel as much as possible. See as much as possible. Do as much as possible there. Meet as many people as possible. You don't know when you're going to get back.
6) There is no rule six.
7) Don't give up on classics and Latin. Ever.
8) Let go of old grudges for good. Be kind and compassionate. Unless someone is really, really asking for it or is being a total douche. Then it's okay. You do have to laugh after all.
9) Find a schedule and stick to it.
10) Smile. Remember how lucky you are when there's tens of thousands of people waiting for what you already have. Take this chance and run with it in their honor.
11) Enjoy other people's company. Always find the good in people, even if you run the risk of getting hurt or disappointed. It might make you an actual human being again instead of an isolated one. You have to take the chance on the bad stuff if you really want the good.
12) Be happy. It's not that hard. You have been that way before.
The average life of a live donor kidney transplant is something like 10-15 years. What are you going to do for the next 60% of your time?
You can't go back in time, so your only option is to blaze a new path. This doesn't mean you have to completely reinvent yourself or abandon your beliefs.
Change is not a four letter word.
Love,
Andrew
Even with the change in tone, I still want to thank everyone for their unending support on this long journey. Eight and a half years since I first got sick, four years since I got (mostly) fixed up. I don't care if I'm not supposed to end a sentence with a preposition. I'm not letting it look like I got neutered.
But really, thank you to everyone that's come before, everyone that's here now and everyone that will be in the future. You've influenced how I've been, am and will be. And while I probably could've done it (miserably) without you, I'm glad I haven't had to. You've made this worthwhile.