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I do as he says, staring at the ceiling while he inspects. Like a child would make shapes out of clouds, I do the same with the ceiling tiles. There in the corner, a cluster makes a dog. Another looks like the sun.
“Everything looks great here. I’m going to send in someone to take your blood and I’ll be back to talk to you after those results come back—give it about thirty minutes. Any questions?”
“Not yet.”
“And you?” he asks Mom.
“You think she’s okay, right? No signs of rejection?”
“Well,” he starts, “I certainly can’t guarantee anything, but so far I’d say things look excellent. The surgery went perfect, the kidney came right to life like we hope to see. She started producing urine while on the table, which again we hope to see. Let’s get her blood checked and we’ll go from there. Okay?” He waits for my mom to nod and then gives her a thumbs up. “I’ll be back.” He smiles at me and slips from the room.
It isn’t long until the phlebotomist comes into the room with her cart and vials. I used to be terrified of getting my blood taken, but once this happened to me I had to get over that fear quickly.
I sit quietly while she puts the tourniquet on and sticks the needle in.
I hate the popping sound the vials make as she uncorks one and applies another.
When she finishes she sticks a piece of gauze around the site and wraps it with medical tape.
While we wait for the results to come back, I read and my mom fiddles on her phone, probably texting my dad.
Reading doesn’t do much to distract me in these situations, but I refuse to sit and dwell for thirty minutes, or however long it might take for the doctor to come back. Dwelling gets me nowhere but a one-way ticket to Downersville. It’s a real place, trust me.
When there’s a knock on the door, Dr. Marks comes in again. I shut my book and stuff it behind me.
He holds sheets of white paper in his hands.
“Everything with your blood work is excellent. It shows us the kidney is working as it should. I warn you it’s still early, that’s why we check you closely this first month—and once a month for the rest of the year. But so far, we’re seeing exactly what we want.”
“Thank you,” I tell him, fighting back a flood of emotions. “Thank you for saving my life.”
“Oh, Willa,” he breathes, his face softening.
I open my arms and he lets me hug him. Pulling away, I wipe at my face.
“I’m sorry for crying.”
“Don’t ever be sorry for feeling how you need to feel. This process isn’t easy—even when it’s good like now, when you’ve gotten a kidney, it’s still not easy. It’s very emotional.”
I nod. “Seriously, thank you.”
He nods back. “You’re welcome. I’ll see you back here in a few days, okay?”
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“Okay.”
He hands me a tissue. “You can call the social worker any time you need to talk. I know you have your family and friends, but if you need someone else to speak with I know she’d be happy to talk to you.”
“I know.” However, I have no intentions of calling her. Spilling my guts to a stranger is not appealing. I’ve met the social worker a few times but still haven’t interacted with her enough to feel comfortable.
“Be good.” He points at me with a playful smile and leaves for good this time.
My mom and I gather up our things, check out, and I get rid of my dreaded plastic medical bracelet.
On the way home, we stop and eat since both of us are starving.
By the time we walk in the door at home, I’m exhausted.
