Don't you always want to be first? Number one? The best?
But what if being first means being the worst? The one that needs it the most?
My dad got the call today. The one with his number on the transplant list. Want to guess what number he is?
Yep. He's first.
My sweet, loving father is FIRST on the list for a transplant.
It's mind-blowing, really. Less than two weeks ago, everything was status-quo. He was coughing, but happy we were there visiting (well, we would be visiting in two days). Now, he's on oxygen, his bags are packed and he's waiting on "the call."
He said today, "I'd rather do it now, when I'm healthy." He's got the best attitude about it. While I'm a tad scared (more than a tad, to be honest), he's quietly confident when we talk about it. I'm sure he feels the need to be calm when we talk so I don't flip out. I bet you didn't know I was the flip out kind of person, did you? I am excited that new lungs mean new life for my dad. I'm sad that he's sick enough to need to have a critical organ replaced.
I love my dad so much.