Bittersweet

I've been home for a week and a half at this point. I've had two very successful clinic appointments with my heart transplant team. I've had two blood draw appointments and they were able to find a vein both on the first attempt. Score.

I sleep for 3+ hours for naps and up to 11 hours IN MY OWN BED. I shower without a half hour LVAD shower bag prep. My strength is gradually coming back. Every single day I feel better. I wear clothes that I choose and they don't have my ass cheeks peeking out of a very uncomfortable green robe. I lay in my bed just staring at my windows. Sometimes waiting for my brother or Missy to come in to bring in the 1st of 2 massive piles of pills. I welcome the interruption. 

It's quiet in our bedroom. I slow down my breath so I could try to hear my heart beat. I put my hand over my heart and I feel it. I hear it. I actually feel it. It's the first times in close to 15 years that I had a healthy enough heart that, I would be able to feel it pump as hard as it's been pumping. 

I keep my hand over my heart and I just think about who's heart it is. Who's "Mikey Baby", passed abruptly, way too early. Who's older brother/sister, made a wrong turn. Who's son/daughter got injured badly enough to be so amazingly selfless to donate their HEART to me. 

I am counting down the days until 6 months, where I am trying to figure out the words to place into a letter to thank their family, for giving me a chance to continuing living. Continue with my dream and hopefully theirs. I will die with this heart. But forever it will be bittersweet.

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Being wheeled to the O/R night of my transplant. 

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My family seeing me off to surgery.

 Walking out of my discharge  

Walking out of my discharge  

Mike Cohen