That I can ever forget is absurd. But much like the fires that engulfed our neighborhood, life can consume me. From bills, to The Book, to my burning skin, I forget. That there once was a time I struggled to walk, could barely hug you back, and urine was an elusive nectar my body no longer offered.
When I walked into Cedars today, I remembered. That after my blood was drawn, endless hours would pass when it would be impossible for me to breathe. Flashbacks of biopsies and ultrasounds and dialysis flickered through my mind. Until the transplant coordinator dissolved them all with a single call.
"No changes. We'll see you in a year."
After I wipe away the tears, I get to walk up to you, hug you, and then pee.
Because sweetheart, only you get that pee is the thing. The only thing.
Damn, McIntyre. You give good kidney.