My Day at UCLA

Today was my big day at UCLA. I arrived early to a small conference room in which prospective transplant patients were already filling out paperwork. Aaron arrived a few minutes before the slide presentation by an RN and a social worker began. They spoke about the program and didn't pull any punches with survival rates, wait times, post-transplant medications and insurance coverage.

Afterward, I was given a room in which to preform my mid-day exchange, while Aaron went to get us some lunch. He had to leave before my clinic visit.

I've been putting so much into this meeting, asking everyone I know to pray. Even the atheists in my life said they'd give it a whirl. I wore a wool suit. I even printed out my resume and brought my best travel clips from glitzy lifestyle magazines in case I had to make a pitch for why I'm valuable. Aaron had teased me: "C'mon, Mom. This is LA. You better bring head shots and a movie script!"

The first person to see me was a kidney-pancreas transplant surgeon, Dr. Gerald Lipshutz. He listened to my breathing and to my heart, took my pulse, peeked at my PD setup and insulin pump. He asked me a bunch of questions about past surgeries, recent hospitalizations, blood transfusions. (It seems as if traces of the donor's blood stays in the recipient's system, thereby complicating blood typing. I had three transfusions in late 2006.) He must have spent 45 minutes with me. He was concerned about my heart history and the findings of an angiogram that was done in November of 2006 when I had the stent placed. I know he wanted to say "no" to the whole thing, but said that besides for my heart, I look great, my BMI is fantastic, I've got a great attitude. I showed him my home records, and he was impressed by my faithful record keeping. Basically, he connected with me, especially when I told him I was a professor of journalism at Cal State and also a writer-editor, and so he didn't want to be the one to nix it. He said he'd consult with the director of the kidney-pancreas transplant program.

Fifteen minutes later, the very kind Dr. Alan Wilkinson walked through the door. An Afrikaner I initially mistook for a German. He warmly told me the story of how he had met his German wife-to-be in South Africa and then proceeded to tell me the very complicated tale of her last name. A handsome older man with a cheery smile and bright eyes. He also voiced concerns about my heart, saying that kidney-pancreas would be too much surgery for me--eight hours rather than the two for kidney only. He, too, spent at least 45 minutes with me, discussing the risks I would face. Besides, 50 is generally the cut-off age for pancreas transplants. I said I could live with that decision, provided I'm put on the kidney transplant wait list.

After some pleasant chatting, the nephrologist agreed to let me see the cardiologist, provided Kaiser approves. I had thought that the Kaiser review board had said that I was to meet with the UCLA cardiologist today. That after s/he made a decision, it would follow suit. Oh well, it was a long day as it was. I can come back.

I'm wondering if these kind souls are merely passing the buck. They went from "no" to everything to "maybe" for kidney on the sheer force of my personality, conversational skills and smiles. But will that carry me to a "yes"?

I really felt deep down inside that I would get the go-ahead. Now, instead it reminds me of my social life. Men are always telling me how fantastic I am, how good-looking. But why don't I have a date for Friday night? It's the same with the UCLA docs. I look great, wonderful compliance, fantastic hemoglobin A1C, beautiful PD home records, but no date!

I'm beginning to understand what death row inmates must go through--waiting, appeals, hope, setbacks, more appeals, more waiting. Well, I haven't yet run out of appeals. There's still hope.