The title of this post is an example of autobiographical shorthand. It summarizes a week in the life of a weary wife/medical liaison/mom/traveler/writer/former foster mother/exercising chunky Controller (I am referring to my occupation, not my personality, thank you very much!). I will start at the beginning which means that some of you will feel compelled to stop at the beginning. Suit yourselves.
Dr. Goral is Attila’s kidney transplant doctor down at the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania. She is well aware that any news regarding Mr. Balla’s personal health must go through his medical liaison. That would be me. When I got the call on my cell phone, Carol and I were nine hours into our very pleasant drive to the Erma Bombeck Writer’s Conference. As Carol single-handedly navigated the last five miles to the Dayton Marriott, Dr. Goral gave me an update on the kidney biopsy that Attila had three weeks ago.
The results are as follows: 1) Susie (Attila’s third kidney) is negative for fluid collection, which is good, 2) there are no kinks (we won’t go there), 3) there is no sign of damage, and 4) there is no sign of acute rejection. The follow-up pathology tests do show signs of mild chronic rejection. This is common in transplant recipients and the condition is treatable with adjustments to the medication regimen. Yea God!
Carol dropped me at the hotel and headed to Cincinnati to visit her mom. I sashayed into the lobby to register. I was amused when I discovered that my nametag read ”Parkersburg, WV” instead of Parkesburg, PA. Don’t you just love auto-fill? When I brought the error to the attention of the Workshop Director he informed me that I would be required to move to West Virginia. Remember – this was a humor writer’s conference.
I had a total BLAST for the next three days. I laughed at incredibly funny keynote speakers (including Garrison Keillor), ate fabulous food, slept in an awesome hotel room on the concierge floor (I don’t know how that happened), attended informative classes, and met really terrific people. Four of us decided to form WAG - and I don’t even own a dog! Okay, it stands for Writer’s Accountability Group and it was created in an attempt to encourage each one of us to move forward with our writing. At the age of fifty I finally made a cheerleading squad!
Monday morning I received a very unexpected phone call from Leigha’s DCYF caseworker. If you don’t remember (or never knew), Leigha was our foster daughter for two years when she was ages 6-8. She is now 12 and lives at Devereux, which is a residential treatment facility for children with emotional, developmental, educational or cognitive disabilities. The school has been known to boast about alumnus Sylvester Stallone, who went on to make quite a name for himself (even if it was the name of a squirrel).
The caseworker informed me that Leigha has asked for us to visit her. Attila, Ashley and I are thrilled that we will be seeing her tomorrow afternoon for the first time in over a year. I start to well up when I hear her voice on the phone. She sounds so grown up!
Speaking of squirrels and Sylvester, the “Rocky” theme keeps playing over and over in my head. I managed to do my full workout at Curves twice this week, and did not experience a single episode of atrial fibrillation. I’m back! Victory is sweet.
Okay, I am guessing that “lei’s” is the word in this post title that has you the most perplexed. It refers to the lei I wore around my neck at work yesterday during my departing bookkeeper’s retirement party. The celebration had a Hawaiian luau theme. By sheer coincidence, my brother Bryn wore a Hawaiian shirt to the office. After all, it was Friday. I just assumed I didn’t get the memo.
So that’s it for Dr. Goral, Erma, Leigha, Curves and lei’s - at least for now. Aloha!
