Rumble in Room #220 - Day 8

For the last three days, I have had what I can best describe as a “rumble” in my chest. The physiotherapist has been a bit concerned. At times it has sounded as though it’s coming from different areas in my chest, so she has thought it might be some trapped air that shouldn’t be there, moving around. At other times, the thought is put forth that it may be a bit of “junk” that needs to be cleared. Accordingly, she has worked on doing rib-cage compressions on me while I try to cough. I say try, because much to my absolute amazement, I don’t seem to know how to cough! Fifty one years of hacking, and now I don’t know how? Say what? I actually have to learn how all over again. Cheryl is greatly amused, and claims that I sound like a “huffing dog”.

Beth, the physiotherapist, doing compressions.

This morning, one of my favourite respirologists arrives and I talk it over with her. Today, I can distinctly feel a rhythmic vibration (playing in three different octaves) within my chest every time I breathe in or out, and by now I am quite worried about it. Turns out that it is a “pleural rub”, which is common in newbie transplantees and is caused by the lung rubbing against the chest wall. Normally there is a fluid lining which acts as a lubricant between the lung and the wall, but my fresh fluid to go with my fresh new lungs has not developed yet. I am very relieved to know that it is nothing serious and that it will go away (about 4 weeks later!).

Cheryl arrives after this visit, and washes my back for me. As I haven’t yet been able to raise my arms over my head with any amount of success, she also does a nice thorough hair wash… heaven. Today I manage two full circles of the ward, 3 half-circles later, and two trips to the elevator! Whoo-ee! I’ll be marathon-ing in no time…

Sleeping at night is very difficult. Tuning the pain meds and finding a comfortable position in bed turns out to be half science and half art. I’m probably averaging about 3 total hours of sleep at night. I spend a lot of time in the semi-darkness practicing deep breaths and silently giving thanks that I am actually here. I wonder who my donor was… how old? Male or Female? Why did they die? How is the family coping? It is very difficult to reconcile the fact that while my family is rejoicing, another is in mourning. How can I ever thank the family? Where will I find the words? Everything is kept very confidential with regard to donor & recipient, but I will be writing an “anonymous” letter which BC Transplant will pass on to the family. I hope that in time they will respond, and that my letter will not bring up sad memories and wound them further.