In January my name was drawn at a live storytelling event hosted by The Moth. I spoke about the hours leading up to my heart-lung transplant and when I came off stage, my friend teased me for leaving the audience confused about my splinted hand. At that point it wasn’t story-worthy.
Days after breaking my fourth metacarpal I started to notice that my heart and lungs feel like, well, my heart and lungs. With as much trust as I have in the power of the mind, I developed a fear that my risk of rejection would increase if I failed to believe strongly enough that these organs are mine. Despite conscious efforts to convince myself of synchronicity, immediately after my operation I had an overwhelming sensation of segmentation. Even after my scars healed and swelling decreased, the soreness in my chest persisted. Recently I’ve found I can breathe more deeply without being limited by pain. The amount of air I can exhale in a single breath has increased dramatically (and I have beautiful numbers from the Pulmonary Function Lab to prove it)!
Now my heart and lungs respond how I expect them to when I exert myself. Or rather, I’ve learned what to expect. Learning how my body works—as an infant might, but instead at my advanced age of 23—continues to be surreal. I am gaining trust in my new abilities, as well as my mood. That’s why I put my name in a “hat” (folder) at The Moth, stood up when called, told a story on stage, and only shook for 5 minutes after I finished.
When public speaking with Pulmonary Hypertension, adrenaline overtook linear thought. Now I get plenty of oxygen to my brain and don’t find myself gasping for breath at the end of a loquacious sentence. I’ll admit I still tend to lose my train of thought when I’m speaking, but not to the extreme that leaves me standing silent in front of an audience for a full agonizing minute…like that one time in elementary school. Not that it was the least bit memorable. I’ve totally moved past that trauma.
Accustomed to a life replete with emergencies that put everything else on hold, I assumed I would have to cancel my flight to Seattle when I broke my hand. Instead, I kept my plans and enjoyed a transformative trip. I was able to go hiking with the friends who last saw me tethered to continuous oxygen and IV therapy at University of Washington Medical Center, and even addressed 75 Valentines by (left) hand while I was there!
I can overcome obstacles more easily now that I am not pushing myself to my absolute limits just to get through a single day with Pulmonary Hypertension. Tripping on a sandal may not be the epic drama I envisioned for my first broken bone (not counting my sternum, which surgeons have broken twice on my behalf), but with one limb out of commission, my body revealed its strength as a unit. Appreciation for this strength overshadowed my frustration with my injury and its banal explanation.
This morning Facebook reminded me of the last time I gave a speech with PH. I used to dismiss comments on my purple lips, preferring to hide my illness. Now photos like this leave me in awe of the remarkable effects my transplant has had in such a short time. I’m pictured below with some of the wonderful people who support me rain or shine, Pulmonary Hypertension or immunosuppression.