One Year.

One year ago this morning, I woke up very, very early. Despite the lack of food in my system, I was not hungry. Nor was I particularly nervous despite the magnitude of the day. The whole scene felt so surreal - it was my first time checking into a hospital and I was as healthy as I get. They had proved it with all their poking and prodding. There I was, removing a perfectly healthy organ from my body.

But for such a good cause.

One year ago this afternoon, I woke up (or tried to) as a nurse said my name. My very first thought (and question) was about Amy...had it worked? Was she okay? Whether the nurse could actually understand my drugged mumbling, or whether she was just intuitive, I don't know, but I was immediately reassured that Amy was fine and doing her own recovery from the cocktail they mixed to put us to sleep.

It was some time before I worked up the nerve to touch, or even look at, the incision. It wasn't pretty - all black and blue, red and white - that slash across my abdomen. Now it is my badge of honor. I look at it often, smoothing my fingers over the right side, where the severed nerves still shirk their responsibilities. I look at it and I think about the combined fragility and strength of this thing we call life.

It's been awhile since I talked to Amy - she's busy with all the chores that attend a healthy life. She plays and works and lives. And no matter how long it is between phone calls or internet chats, I know that I am a part of everything she does.

I love you, Amy. Happy Kidneyversary.