Hi, love—

Thank you for the sweet note. My friend Sydni is receiving her pancreas and kidney transplants today!! Finally!! It's such a joyous (exciting, terrifiying) moment. We've been waiting for so long. We didn't know if she would make it. Last night was intense. Andre, coming home from yoga, rang the doorbell because she didn't have the key. I let her in, locked the door, she went into the kitchen to put food in the toaster oven and the doorbell rang again. The dogs went mad. I had no idea who it might be. It was Sydni, leaning against the doorframe looking like she was about to fall over. "It's time," she said urgently, her voice raw and raspy. My eyes widened superhuge. "I can't find T.," she continued. "Don't worry. We'll take you there," I said. I thrust my upper body back into the house and shouted to Andre, "It's Sydni! It's time! T.'s missing. I'm going to take her to the hospital. You want to come, grab a coat fast!" I threw on a jacket and snatched up the keys to the car. Andre put the dogs in the back, got a coat and one of her MCAT study books, which reminded me that maybe I should have my backpack, too, so I raced to the back of the house, grabbed my backpack and a work schedule (so I could get the next morning's shift covered) and we were out--all in less than two minutes. Running down the stairs and into the car.

Sydni was a wreck. I didn't know how she had managed to drive herself to our house. At first, I didn't know if she was okay, physically. And not knowing, I wasn't quite sure if I'd understood right that now was transplant time. Maybe it was just emergency-must-get-to-hospital-now scary-close-to-maybe-death time. Fortunately, it was just terror and excitement playing across Sydni's body (and the exhaustion of racing up the stairs to our front door).

She had been in dialysis when she received the call. Everyone was so excited for her. I guess there had been a few deaths there recently. She drove from Hayward to our house, couldn't find T., so knocked on our door and thank goodness we were there. Her timing was really impeccable.

Andre drove crazy fast (crazy fast for an Andre, not necessarily crazy fast for a Kelly)--doing 85-90 miles an hour across the bridge. We got to the city and the only three red lights we encountered, we ran. I slipped into the back seat halfway there, to sit with Sydni (who prefers the back seat) and hold her and run my fingers through her hair and try to be comforting.

Sydni seemed really excited and nervous about the upcoming procedure. They wouldn't know for sure if they would be able to do the procedure until morning. The organs had not been harvested yet and it might turn out that they're not okay. They wouldn't know for another eight hours or so. So it might be a whole lot of excitement for nothing. But there was about an 85% chance that they would be fine, that the procedure would go along as planned. That today was the day. Her new birthday.

We stayed with her at the hospital. She was really upset that she couldn't track down T., who she loves so much, who is really her emergency care support person, among other things. I was glad, though, that we could be there, and contribute and help and whatnot. We stayed there until T. was tracked down. She came through and we all hung out for a while, eating pizza and cuddling and laughing and dancing and taking pictures, silly and otherwise. Pretty much partying.

Doctors and nurses came in and came out, doing their things, asking their questions, offering their information. About the procedure. About pain. About the reality of the next however many years Sydni lives. “You understand that you’ll be trading one set of problems for another set of problems. One set of treatments for another set of treatments.” “This will be the last time you’ll have to take insulin. The end of your days of dialysis. But you’ll have to take these immuno-suppressing drugs for the rest of your life.” “Given how young you are, we think the trade is worth it.”

And I just sat there thinking, well, yeah, duh, of course it’s worth it. Because (as I explained to the nice man who was taking our pizza order), it’s not just like by getting these transplants she gets to have some pain alleviated. By getting these transplants, she gets to live, instead of to die. I mean, we didn’t know if our friend—this person we love so very very much—was going to make it to the day when the organs she need would become available.

Become available. When someone would die. A twenty year old boy from the central valley. With a head trauma. Who is still on life support right now, this very moment. Brain dead. His body alive to keep the organs he is donating fresh and viable. Who we think about with joy and gratitude and sadness. Whose family we will never know. His family, who is probably so very very very very sad right now, though we are carefully celebrating. The very things that probably make his loved ones most pained. His youth. That he was under the drinking age. Male. (Sydni tells us that apparently men have stronger organs than women do. She would not say this if it were not true.) Fresh. Clean. No toxins in his system. Conscientious or compassionate enough to become an organ donor. So young, the poor sweet boy, whose youth we are so grateful for.

Sydni goes under in a few hours. We’re going to try to be there when she wakes up, probably some time in the wee small hours. I love her so much. I’m so grateful that she gets to live. I had been planning to have Nadia not get her heart transplant. And then I couldn’t write it until Sydni did get her transplant, because for whatever loose connections the two have, I did not want to (call me superstitious) jinx Sydni. But now, I don’t know if I can withhold from Nadia her heart. I don’t know. It’s an interesting creative conundrum for me.

. . . . Anyway, I must go now. I love you. I’ll talk to you soon, okay?

so much love (and thanks for all the hugs)

ariana