#but this little sliver not 10 episodes into knowing eddie

[dorkydiaz]

giffing the santa visit, and we really let them do that. like the look on buck’s face as he watches eddie take christopher? the little laugh and hand move he does before saying thank you? bonkers, truly.

[worddonor]

Lucky Luke

Watching an episode of the latest season of Rosewood this evening brought back some memories of my sister and I’s kidney transplant operation.  

SPOILER ALERT: If you intend watching it wherever you are (season 2 episode 19) then read no further. Anyway, the police captain – Capt. Ryan Slade (Eddie Cibrian) - had decided to donate one of his kidneys to Dr. Beaumont Rosewood Jr., effortlessly played by Morris Chestnut.  This of course was the culmination of their solid relationship built up throughout the brief time he’s been captain of the East Miami Police Department (from episode 1 of this second season).  Right before the show ends, panic ensues as one of the operating doctors informs Detective Annalise Villa (Jaina Lee Ortiz) that there were complications during the transplant operation.  The scene shows flashes of hurried activity and closes with Rosewood waking up to Det. Villa by his side, she looking quite distraught.  They then cut to the final image of Capt. Slade lying lifeless on the operating table with the familiar flat-line beep playing in the background alluding to his demise.

Without a whiff of an explanation, the episode ends there.

I suppose we’ll get more next week.  

It’s hectic to think that the captain is gone.  I was just beginning to like the bra, sherbet man.  That’s a bietjie sad.  It’s a bit ominous that ending and frightening to those possibly thinking of donating an organ or who are in the final stages about to donate.  That could very well have happened to my sister or myself, something could easily have gone wrong, but to those thinking of donating: there are thousands of successful operations that go buttery smooth every day in South Africa and around the globe.  My elder sister and I are living examples of this.  Also: the fact that we were both in our 20s with pretty decent health otherwise, the excellent nephrologists, urologists, doctors and nurses working on us, the hands of our Father in heaven under us and the support of a flood of prayers backing us up: we were blessed indeed.  

We are blessed and still strong and healthy 5 years down the line.

This was supposed to be a sad post (supposed to be?), but I feel like it’s gone the other way which is good, right?

I was going to talk of how I secretly hoped I wouldn’t make it and would die on that operating table, but no such luck – I wouldn’t get to be a hero so easy, lol.  The man upstairs clearly wants to teach me a few hard lessons first, I know he loves me though.  My flesh was even weaker then, I even wrote some flow (as in ‘not concentrated’ relating to a diluted cordial drink that consists of more water than flavour or ‘lame’ in layman’s terms, for those not familiar with the taal) poetry before the time to make sense of this hectic experience I was going to go through.  A part of me was excited that I might die – which is messed up I know.  Another part of me was genuinely nervous because, guess what: I might die! Or worse was that my sister was at risk too! It was a hectic time, but I must say there was a peace that came over me after praying about the decision to donate initially - and all the way leading up to the day - that things would turn out great. I don’t recall debilitating nerves at all (striking up a conversation with strangers or attending work meetings is WAY MORE STRESSFUL) – it just felt all along like the right way to go and the timing was excellent: the minimum age to donate is 25, I had done all the tests and was good to go and turned 25 in June of that year – we had the operation on the 6th of July.  The preparation for the operation and the op itself was stressful, more so for our family than anything, my sister’s op took a few hours longer than mine, naturally as they had to connect my goodie up to her thing-a-ma-bobs (insert astute technical terms here), but we both came out strong.  She is taking her meds diligently every day to keep her body from kicking out my organ and I’m making sure she remembers whose turn it is to make coffee…indefinitely.  Haha, nah just joking, but there are days when I just don’t have the energy to flip that translucent switch and pull out those ceramic happiness containers out from their resting nooks: those days I have to call in the VIP pass.  Forgive me Lord.  But no, truthfully dear reader: I am treated like a king even when I feel like a fool, which is most days.

 I suppose my job is not done, Jeremiah 29:11 again.  Ai, I want to complain, but deep down inside I know I’m pretty darn lucky.  I hope to be more useful than what I am right now, my head says it’s impossible for someone with as little drive and ambition as what I possess, someone who is so terrible at planning and believing in himself to succeed at anything.  For someone who is so incredibly afraid of being open and honest with other human beings in the flesh, for someone who is so afraid of asking dumb questions and of the embarrassment of feeling uninformed or ignorant even though it would be beneficial in the long run, for someone who stubbornly holds on to the foolish pride of appearing to know better by remaining silent even when truthfully knowing very little: for someone like this, doing anything right seems impossible…possessing any inherent value to society seems like a fairy tale to me, a probable reality only for the real hustlers of this world – the gritty brawlers who never stay down despite mud flung in their faces countless times, the movers and shakers who don’t have time to overthink things.

Despite the overwhelming evidence: there’s a tittle of hope.  A little sliver and a slice, a glimpse of joy and confidence every so often finds me…a kind word here: unexpected, a feeling of peace and unexplained joy over there: unsolicited, a specific scripture or Bible story popping up more than once in a day, seeking me out: unscripted.

The true evidence points to hope: “For you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb.  I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made; your works are wonderful, I know that full well.” (Psalm 139:13-14), “So God created mankind in his own image, in the image of God he created them; male and female he created them,” (Genesis 1:27).  “Let us hold unswervingly to the hope we profess, for he who promised is faithful.” (Hebrews 10:23)  “And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose.” (Romans 8:28)  I’ll take whatever I can right now and give back wherever I’m called to, I cannot argue with truth even when it seems contrary to reality – albeit the ‘reality’ that’s in my head.

Thank you Lord for never letting go no matter what.  Your mercy endures forever.