casual conversation

imagine having a casual conversation about a heart transplant? now imagine that casual conversation about YOUR DAD getting a heart transplant?

i’ve been thinking about what to write and how i feel about this for more than a week now. and I still don’t know what to say or how to feel.

I have never imagined that my father would get a new heart. first of all, it’s a very strange thing to imagine. even though medical advances allow such surgeries, i just never imagined that someone i know and love dearly would need any such thing. i’ve never wanted anyone i love to be sick enough to qualify.

when my dad was near death more than twelve years ago, there was brief mention of a heart transplant. to be honest, i don’t know exactly why we did not proceed then, when his heart was incredibly weak and attempting to heal from seven bypasses and a massive left sided heart attack. but i sort of remember talking to a social worker (we didn’t like her) and discussing the idea. and i sort of remember that the fact my dad is a recovering alcoholic was a strike against him. needless to say, he did not get a transplant. instead, he healed and recovered far better than any doctor might have guessed. he has done exceptionally well, in large part due to his stubbornness and diligence and in part because of his brilliant medical team.

but, now we are at a crossroads i guess… to transplant or not to transplant? really, we’re not there yet either; like i mentioned, this was a “casual” conversation. my dad is still “healthy” enough to function with a very high quality of life. but sometime, nobody can tell us when, perhaps in the near future, he may not be “healthy” and we may need to think about options. in terms of a heart transplant, obviously, the decision is out of my hands. it is out of the medical teams’ hands. and ultimately it is out of my dad’s hands. truly, whether or not my dad (or anyone) gets a vital organ is in the hands of someone or something greater than us. to get a heart transplant, somebody must die. and of course, it has to be the perfect someone – someone who matches your blood type and i’m assuming all sorts of other markers.

during my dad’s appointment last week, his nurse practitioner sat and calmly discussed transplant with us. she looked at some of my dad’s most recent tests to see if his “scores” are low enough to make him eligible. she asked his blood type because blood type O waits the longest on the list (my dad thinks he is A positive; so am i). she talked about some of the risks (cancer from lifelong immunosuppressants) and about some of the success stories.

while she talked, i sat in disbelief. tears welled in my eyes. for once, i didn’t have a lot to say. i couldn’t have gotten words out. my dad assumed my quiet and sadness meant i didn’t want him to get a transplant, that i am vehemently opposed to him taking the opportunity away from someone who is younger, sicker, with more life ahead (because this is something we have discussed in the past). but really, i think i cried because i was terrified. because if we’re talking about transplant, my dad is really sick. to me, it means that a heart that has served him for 65 years and loved my mom, my sister, and me for our lifetimes (albeit in strange and sometimes unsatisfying ways), might not beat very many more times. certainly not as many beats as i would like.

now my future - my dad’s future - looks a little different. instead of a gradual and steady decline like i have mentally prepared myself for, there is hope for something better. the possibilities are more complex and anything but casual.