Numb! It’s not a very emotive feeling like other emotions. It seems so much more appropriate to feel ecstatic, elated, overjoyed — or even terrified — at receiving the call from Mayo Clinic saying a kidney is available and the transplant is scheduled for November 15th. But numb is all I can get to right now. After all, this is a very tangible way of announcing an end to five years of illness, uncertainty and dialysis. Five years does not seem like such a long time, but it feels in some ways like a lifetime.
So in the immortal words of Pink Floyd, “I have become comfortably numb.” It’s not such a bad way to feel. The journey has been a long one, an emotional one, and now I think it’s time for calm. Numb is actually pretty darn calm, and after traveling this wild and fantastic journey, numb is okay. There’s something about numb that feels like serenity.
So many people have walked alongside me on this journey and, at times, carried me when I could barely take the next step. No one — and I really mean no one — could have been as dedicated and loving a caregiver as Fred. He is forever faithful as he has always been.
And oh, my friends, my friends nearby and far away from many lives past to this very day! Thinking of them just now and knowing how faithfully and deeply they have prayed for me brings tears to my eyes. I am grateful for extended family who cared for me and Fred enough to urge us to Georgia. They have supported us in so many ways.
No person could have had a more dedicated and caring staff of dialysis professionals as I have had. They have missed nothing, not a change in a blood test, not the signs of an infection, nothing! And they are the ones who have kept me healthy enough to get to today.
My friend who is donating a kidney on my behalf is living a life of selflessness, giving a very precious gift of immeasurable value. I think of him today with such unfettered gratitude.
God’s grace and protection have been near, so near at times that I felt a palpable sense of the holy — within me, surrounding me, above me and below me, behind and before me guiding me on the unknown path.
As I said at the very beginning, I am numb, and although numb is acceptable and appropriate right now, numb is not such a good crucible for words. So I have no more words right now. Except this good word:
I thank my God every time I remember you, constantly praying with joy in every one of my prayers for all of you . . .
— Philippians 1:3-4 (NRSV)
For all that has been — Thanks. For all that shall be —Yes!
― Dag Hammarskjöld
6 thoughts on “Numb!”
And I thank God on every remembrance of you! We are so blessed with your coming to Macon. We will continue praying for the success of the transplant and your return to health, while giving thanks for your donor. Peace be with you.
Thank you, Ruth. I have felt your prayers and encouragement for many months and am so grateful for you.
What a joy — so let us who have met you here on line or in various real landscape places have the joy while you just let yourself live in the numb as long as necessary. Prayers surround you.
I cherish your joy for me, and your prayers mean so much. Thank you. I feel like I am surrounded by a circle of friends giving me courage.
❤Happy for you!!! Maybe the numb you feel is grace. Numbness for me, has been a huge blessing @times and grace from feeling a lot of other feelings. You are so good at showing and sharing struggles and blessings you recieve!❤
So very grateful you are going to get your help! I hope your donor feels incredibly appreciated, loved and cared for!❤
Thank you, my friend. You have always been there for me.