Miracle | The Real Reality Show Blog

This will be my last post before the the western chunk of the Christian world begins Lent. Because I am part of that chunk, I thought today’s post should reflect some of the Lenten spirit. I hold a special spot in my heart for Lent, not because I am one who particularly enjoys suffering, but because I do enjoy miracles.

Ask most people to explain it, whether they do or do not celebrate Lent, they will respond with the simple, and simplistic, response, “oh, that’s when you give up something.” True enough, for those who never progressed past their kindergarten level catechism class, sure, that’s Lent. It’s something to do. In the Catholic world, we approach it with a near slogan observation that we celebrate Lent through prayer, fasting, and almsgivimg. Without getting into an extended theological discussion of the origins and meanings of each of those Lenten activities, let’s just stipulate that it is a better description than “when you give up something.” So where is this miracle?

Although many would like to believe Lent is there so we know when to celebrate Mardi Gras, there is a more prescient reason for Lent. Lent is a 40 day journey, from Ash Wednesday through Holy Thursday, of self control, self discipline, and preparation for the resurrection of Jesus on Easter. It’s a faith thing. There’s no explanation, other than to do it because we believe. And if we prepare ourselves well, we can participate in that miracle, the miracle of the Resurrection. Of new life.

If you had asked me to explain Lent eleven years ago, I likely would have answered, “oh that’s when you give up something.” If you had asked me three years ago, I likely would have answered, “hmm, let me get back to you on that.” Why? What was going on during those seven years? I am certain there are little miracles happening every day. Most of us are too human to notice them. There are some big miracles happening every day and we still may not notice them. Please sit back, and join me on a Lenten journey and see if we can spot a few miracles along the way.

Twenty-two years ago I was diagnosed with a condition we now call Granulomatosis with polyangiitis (GPA), then called Wegener’s Disease. At that time, before most of the current, common treatments had been developed, the mortality rate was between 28% and 45% at 12 months, the wide range due to different organ involvement. The current treatments, which have resulted in a close to 97% survival rate, were not commonly used until the 2010s. That I lived ten years to make it to the current treatment landscape is a miracle and an opportunity that I could live life anew. Of course, that was when I was young and stupid and was certain it just ”wasn’t my time.”

In January 2013 I was diagnosed with bladder cancer, “regional,” or what in other cancers may be tagged as stage 2, that is cancer that has progressed to other nearby structures or organs. The surgeries I underwent to clear the cancer were long and not without complications, such that I spent most of the first year after surgery in the hospital. The 5 year survival rate for regional bladder cancer is 38%. That I lived to make it to 2018 was a miracle, but I was slightly older and angry and “I had more to worry about than just cancer.”

In 2018 I was undergoing the first of the requirements to determine if I might be a candidate for a kidney transplant. By then I had been on dialysis for a little over 2 years, complications of GPA and probably not helped by having had an entirely new bladder and “removal” system rebuilt from other parts of me. The what seemed like endless orders of tests and procedures all had to be scheduled around the three days a week I was attached to the dialysis machine when I’d watch my blood flow out of me through one tube, and back into me through another after having had done to it whatever the magical combination of salts and electronics did to it while it was inside the machine. But tested and processed I was and a year later I had my transplant. The day after Memorial Day 2019 I was in the hospital and 2 days later functioning quite nicely without the help of my thrice weekly companion, the dialysis machine. And that lasted for 2 more days after that. Then blood clots set in. Unable to be cleared by drugs or surgeons, and at risk for even greater complications, the decision was made to remove the transplanted kidney and return me to dialysis. If I lived that long. And by the middle of June of 2019 I was back to the clinic, visiting my old friends more often than I wanted. But then something happened. Test results came back with unexpected results, output returned to almost normal levels. By the end of the year doctors were conferring regularly about “my case” and on January 21, 2020, I had my last dialysis session, displaying a far from normal but still quite adequate renal function courtesy of my one remaining “old” kidney. The doctors cited a lot of technical possibilities but most were happy explaining it as a miracle. Three times in twenty years I had been given chances of rebirth into a new life. This time I sat up and paid attention.

So am I approaching Lent as “that’s when you give up something,” or will I more likely use it to seek ways to follow my God more faithfully, and prepare for the miracle of Resurrection and a chance to again begin a new life with Jesus? I’ll take the miracle please.

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We interrupt today’s wailing and gnashing of teeth to bring you some good news. Naturally there is a lead in.

I was sitting around on Saturday thinking of all the places I’d most not want to be. This is unusual because for the most part I think of the places I’d most want to be. Usually it involves water, sand, palm trees, a boat, and female companionship. Specific female companionship if you must be that nosey (or nebby as we would say here). But last Saturday the thought was of the least desirable place, even with the right companionship. Not surprisingly, the place I’d least like to have been on Saturday would be a dialysis clinic.

Let’s think about that for a minute, then we will move on to the news. My county as many other cities, counties, states, and countries, now has a shelter in place order. The rule is pretty simple, don’t go out unless staying in endangers your life. And don’t go anywhere if you are experiencing symptoms. For the everyday ordinary dialysis patient (or more appropriately the every other day ordinary dialysis patient) it’s a no brainer that staying in is more hazardous than going to the clinic. And the everyday ordinary dialysis clinic staffer needs no fewer brain cells to also conclude that staying home endangers lives. But it’s the second part that is difficult to reconcile. No matter how you might be feeling, that trip is one of life sustainability. You can’t get somebody to pick it up for you while they are at the store.

I was in a good place to think the last place I’d want to be is at a dialysis clinic, the extreme dedication of the staff and their love of their mission to serve a population defining the area between a rock and a hard place notwithstanding. I was in a good place because I was in my own livingroom recliner rather than the one I spent so many Saturdays in at the clinic.

Yes, no dialysis. Okay, if you’ve been following along with me over the years you have a right to be confused. The last thing I wrote about my kidney health was that the transplant last summer did not take and I was back on dialysis. By the way, after still more scans and tests they are no closer at determining why the transplanted kidney clotted so rapidly and completely. But what they had noticed last fall was that my renal function lab tests were stabilizing. Then new questions arose. Everybody’s tests go up and down as function fluctuates, particularly in a patient like me whose renal dysfunction is induced by factors elsewhere in the body. But these were not fluctuating. They were improving. Steadily.

Adjustments in treatment were made, ultimately pared down to only 2 three hour treatments per week, fully half of what a weekly treatment total had been not too long ago. Weeks went by and weekly labs continued to return surprisingly encouraging results. On January 23 I left the nephrologist’s office a free man, well perhaps more a dialysis parolee ordered weekly outpatient lab test and every other week appointments with a call-in on the off weeks. Last week after nearly two month of that routine I was given a appointment three months in the future. I had stabilized! At least for the near future. At that point I thought comfortable enough to tell somebody other than my daughter and sisters and you guys get elected.

There is no good reason that kidney function should improve. It’s not unheard of but it is rarer than correctly picking all five numbers plus the white ball. I’m crediting my reprieve to Someone Up There showing a particular kindness to me and expending a miracle on that.

I feel particularly grateful, the break coming at a time when going to dialysis could be just as life threatening as life preserving, and pray that the patients and staff at clinics around the world will be safe and free of all complications, even those not COVID-19 related.

And I know now I have to figure out why me and what I am to do with this unexpected opportunity. Sitting around thinking of the places I’d rather not be is not it. I’ll keep you posted.

Now go wash your hands!