3 Years

March 24, 2015. My first double lung transplant. Weird, first. You never think of having more than one. Actually, you never really think of needing one in the first place.

When my lung first collapsed on February 4, 2015, I knew I needed a transplant. I didn’t have to ask the doctors. I was at the hospital in Barrie and they didn’t know half the medications I was on. They didn’t even know how to treat me. They didn’t start antibiotics right away, which is normal protocol for every Cystic Fibrosis patient. They put in a chest tube and said I would be out of the hospital in a few hours. This turns into a few months. I can’t entirely blame the hospital for this, but I kind of can. They refused to contact my specialists in Kitchener, Hamilton, and Toronto. What kind of general doctor doesn’t want to work along side a patients specialist to do the best for their patient? It baffled me. When my declining health finally convinced the doctor to have me transferred to Toronto, I knew I was going to a safe place and I would get the help I need.

When I first arrived at St. Michael’s Hospital, I went straight to the ICU. There were just curtains separating the beds and two isolation rooms. I was in one, an inmate in the other. I was only here for a few days before I was transferred to Toronto General Hospital to be assessed for transplant. I was told the only way they would see if there was anything they could do for me, was if I agreed to transplant if that became the only option. Of course I said yes. I had a fighting chance. I was so sick and falling apart but I was still fighting. I never stopped.

My assessment took four days. Average time can be a few weeks to a few months, and then waiting to hear if they approve you to be listed. Day five we heard I was listed. 16 days later on March 24, 2015, I was having old, diseased lungs replaced with pink, fresh ones from a selfless donor.

I had a hard time after. I spent seven weeks in ICU. I had fluid around my heart, I went into cardiac arrest, I went into a second surgery to have the fluid removed. I weighed 90 pounds going into surgery and left the hospital seven weeks later at 100 pounds. I was able to walk on my own and without oxygen. I was able to continue fighting.

That’s the thing with chronic illnesses, Cystic Fibrosis, transplants, you never stop fighting. Even if you aren’t fighting health issues, you’re fighting for others who are going through the same thing. You become an advocate not just for yourself, but for others too.

Some may question why I am still so thankful for this first set of lungs I received. Those lungs gave me another two years of fighting. I was able to get a puppy, I was there the day my nephew was born, I’ve been able to attend multiple concerts with my best friends. I was able to start a personal training business and help people work towards a healthier life. I found someone who supports me through my good and bad days, making me feel like an absolute queen. I was able to LIVE two extra years I may not of gotten.

Yes, I went into rejection. Yes, I almost lost my life again. But, I got an extra two years. I will forever be grateful for my donor and March 24 will always hold a special place in my heart.

Here’s to another year.