A few weeks ago I let an important milestone
pass with limited fanfare. On May 12th, I celebrated my second lungiversary.
From the outside it may seem like my
lungiversary would be a purely celebratory day. And I definitely did celebrate!
I made lung-shaped cookies and brought them to my transplant and CF teams, to
the nurses on my usual hospital unit and the post-transplant unit, and to my
surgeon. Katherine and I also got together with my mom and Frank for a
celebratory dinner. My mom decorated the back deck for the occasion, and even
got me a gift! We already have a well established tradition to get me a little
stuffed animal every time I have a bronchoscopy (aka The Bronchoscopy
Collection), so my mom decided she wanted to start a new tradition and get me a
gemstone animal for each lungiversary. She began my new collection with a
beautiful lapis lazuli swan, which hopefully will only be the first of many!
At the same time, I am keenly aware of the fact
that on the day I celebrate life, there is another family somewhere out there
who is mourning the loss of a loved one far too soon. The fact that someone else
had to die before I could be saved is a sobering reality that I live with every
day. In Jewish tradition, on the anniversary of a loved one’s death, mourners
light a yartzeit candle which burns for a full day. This year I started the
tradition of lighting a yartzeit candle on my lungiversary to honor my donor
and their family. It’s a small gesture, but hopefully it will help me keep
their loss in my mind even in the midst of celebration.
In addition to this, I lost yet another friend
to CF a week before my lungiversary. My friend Jacob had a much-needed lung
transplant in January, but unfortunately it didn’t go well, and he died less
than 4 months later. It’s yet another reminder of the risks of lung transplant,
and the fragility of post-transplant life. I already struggle with survivor’s
guilt, as so many of my post-transplant friends are either already gone or are struggling
with significant health issues. Losing Jacob before he even had a chance to enjoy
his transplant is a bitter pill to swallow.
Under the best of circumstances, my
lungiversary involves complex and conflicting emotions. These were not the best
of circumstances, and once you add Covid to the mix, I really wasn’t up for
planning any big celebrations. I started off the day feeling very somber as I
lit the yartzeit candle at midnight, which is right around when I got the call
that they possibly had lungs for me. My mood picked up during the day when I
delivered the cookies, as everyone at the hospital was thrilled to see how well
I’m doing. And a quiet celebration with my family was the perfect way to end
the day.
Being alive and being able to breathe is a tremendous
gift, and I am so extremely grateful for it. Hopefully next year the world will
be a less dangerous place, and we’ll be able to celebrate the next milestone
together!
