It's been 84 years....

Ok, not actually. It's been 4 years, and naturally, a lot has happened. Obviously the whole world suffered through a pandemic, but I don't want to focus on the pandemic, because it turned out to be the least stressful of the huge things that happened since I wrote last. So, for my first post since 2020, let's go back to March of 2020- the beginning of my second surrogacy journey.

The world was just beginning to shut down, but we had no idea yet what was coming. I had been going through embryo transfers for a year already, two fails and two miscarriages, and we were changing some things to see if this last attempt would work. I flew to Toronto for a second screening, seeing the facemasks here and there, but still, the world was operational. I was quickly approved for another journey, I had "the uterus of a 20-year-old!" (this is a fun quip that a well-known fertility doctor makes to all the uteruses that are approved to carry babies for other people.) I went back to Toronto for transfer and the airport was empty, the restaurants were all closed, and I couldn't find a cab at the Pearson International Airport to save my life. I spent the weekend alone in my hotel room, the embryo transfer succeeded on its first try and a baby was on its way.

Now, as everyone in Alberta may remember, March 15th hit, and everything shut down. Overnight, we were told that the schools were closed, and we could come and collect our children's things. They would be online schooling for the rest of the year. All of a sudden, I was responsible for running a learning bubble with a mix of elementary, kindergarten, preschool and infant aged kids. You guys, when I say I thrived through this, I am absolutely not kidding. I loved teaching those kids, we had so much fun together, and we all worked together to take care of the little ones. Covid brought my family and the families I worked with together in wonderful ways. We were busy, things got hectic, but we found so much joy and happiness in each other for those first three months.

Cut to June 26th, 2020. I got a call at 12:30AM from my mom, who had been living with non-alcoholic induced fatty liver cirrhosis, or NASH, for the last 19 years. She'd gotten the page on her transplant beeper, they had a liver for her, and could I bring her to the hospital? Did she even have to ask?

I remember that car ride like it was yesterday. We hit every single red light on the way to the University of Alberta. There was construction in the heart of downtown (at 3AM!), making it virtually impossible to get across the river. I took wrong turns. We laughed and joked that since her whole life had been fraught with challenges, and she was the poster child for Murphy's law, naturally getting to the hospital for this life saving appointment would be no different. I dropped her and dad off at the hospital, hugged her goodbye, and went home. Only dad was allowed inside.

At home, life continued as normal. It was a Friday, and I needed to keep my mind occupied, so the dayhome was open. I posted on Facebook about mom's surgery, and people called throughout the day to see if we knew anything yet. Finally, at 10:30PM, we found out the transplant team had called the home line two hours earlier to let us know she was out of surgery and doing well.

Mom had a new liver, she'd be coming home soon, and we could start rebuilding our relationship. She could be a present grandmother and watch the kids at their activities. She could go to Greece and travel the world. It was a new beginning.

Dad and I went to visit her the next day in the ICU. They extubated her, and while we thought she'd be asleep most of the day, she surprised us by asking for her phone so she could make a post that she was alive and feeling great.

Day 2 post op, we walked in to see my mother practically leaping out of the bed. She was full of pep and joy. She looked more full of life than I had seen in the last ten years. She was lifting her arms and legs, asking to get up and get moving, eating... it's the best memory I have of her to date. We were blown away by how quickly she was bouncing back from this huge and harrowing surgery.

Then day 3 came. Mom, having been a nurse for 30 years, told us that day 3 was always the hardest. She warned us that she would probably feel awful, it wouldn't be like day 2, but by day 5, she should come back around. It was crushing to see her go from the lively sprite she had been the day before to the deeply pained and miserable person she was now. We just had to make it to day 5.

Day 5 came and went, Mom did not come around. The doctor's were perplexed. Why wasn't she getting better. On July 3, Mom called me from the ICU to tell me that the hepatic artery had closed and the liver was dying, but by the grace of God, they'd found her another liver. She'd been placed on the very top of the transplant list for all of North America, and she was going back under the knife tomorrow for a second transplant. I visited her Friday night, before her transplant, and was shocked at how yellow her skin had gotten, how ill she really looked. For the first time in a very long time, mom told me she loved me. I hugged her goodbye, both of us expecting to never see each other again.

Saturday afternoon came and went, mom made it out of a successful surgery that took significantly less time than the first, and we were on the road to recovery... until we weren't.