Portal Vein Stenosis: aka The Stent Clot of 2019

If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my 31 years, it’s that we are not given tomorrow. I know we hear that and think it doesn’t apply to us. We close our eyes at night not even slightly doubting that we will ever wake up. We know God has numbered our days, but we assume that the number most definitely won’t run out any time soon.

As many of you know, I grew up with liver disease. I was pretty stable, and a transplant – or even death for that matter – seemed like it was meant for other people. Definitely not me.

Until it was.

Until it was meant for me.

A routine scan in May, 2010 revealed a random tumor, and just like that, I needed a transplant.

One day, my life seemingly hung in the balance when it was everything was normal just the day before. Two days before, I was having fun on vacation in Disney World with my family.  Little did we know.

I completed a dozen tests in a matter of days, and within two weeks, I was listed for transplant.

There were procedures. There was chemo. There was waiting. Yet somehow, my anxious heart found peace.

Within three months, I received a transplant. A teenage boy died so I could live. It was a surreal feeling that has never been lost on me. I still can’t fully grasp it. My parents’ daughter, my husband’s wife, my sister’s sister, my children’s mother… I’m alive because another parents’ son and siblings’ brother is forever gone. 

I fought through an 8 hour surgery, the ICU, remembering how to walk, breathe, talk, understand. I endured indescribable pain and somehow produced strength that I didn’t even know I had. My need to love drove my need to live, and I took life one day at a time. My family and friends held me up when I was too weak to stand. They built a hedge around me with their prayers, presence, and support, and I’m forever indebted to them.

As I healed, my body turned into an unrecognizable skeleton. Pounds fell off of me like it was nothing. My incision, 50 staples in three directions, reopened and didn’t completely close for eight weeks. Home care nurses and my mom worked hard to keep it clean and dressed.

I slowly improved. I regained a lot of my life, yet I wouldn’t feel completely normal for at least a year.

Within months of my transplant, my immunocompromised body caught Epstein Barr virus, and I struggled once again. Not too long after, we realized my spleen was absorbing all of my platelets and white blood cells. After a few months of painful procedures to rule out cancer, we scheduled a splenectomy.

My spleen was bigger than a football (huge) and once gone, my blood counts improved. Again, I healed for a week in the hospital. This time, I received all of my nutrients through a feeding tube. My transplant incision had been mostly re-opened, and I was thankful that it healed quicker this time.

While removing my spleen, my surgeon noticed my portal vein had been compromised. A month after the surgery, I had a stent put in to revive the portal vein. It was a simple procedure, and after one night in the hospital, I was home again and doing well. No pain.

Over the next two years, I had sharp pains all over my abdomen, sometimes mild, and other times, enough to drive me to go to the ER. We finally realized that I had a lot of surgical adhesions – nerves trapped in scar tissue.

The only fix for this would be another surgeon and a reconstructive surgery. My transplant surgeon sent me to a plastic surgeon who performed a reverse abdominoplasty with special care to remove any adhesions. The risk of the surgery would be more adhesions, but thankfully I’ve been free of adhesion pain ever since.

That was August, 2013.

The next several years were very uneventful. I had my tonsils removed, I had (and lost) ear tubes. I got allergy shots.  There were several hospitalizations for viruses with my weak immune system, several rounds of antibiotics for many different bacterial infections… All of this was my new normal. But nothing crazy or super shocking until April, 2019.

I woke up one morning a few weeks ago – one day after Easter and two days before Scott and I were to go to NYC on a fun getaway – sure I had appendicitis. I was in too much pain to drive. Scott was already at work, so I called my mom and asked if she could drive me to the ER. She came quickly, and it didn’t take long to see a compassionate doctor in the ER. He evaluated my symptoms and was in agreement that I definitely had a case of appendicitis. He ordered fluids and m0rphine, and I was a lot more comfortable. He suggested that we run a CT scan to evaluate exactly what was going on. Normally I try to avoid CT scans due to unnecessary radiation, but I was in agreement. Awhile after the scan, he came back to my room and said, “Well, your appendix is fine.” My mom and I looked at each other, confused. Then the word “but” left the doctor’s mouth, and my heart immediately sank. “There appears to be some sort of blood clot in your liver.” Time stopped. He said we needed to get me to the main campus of the hospital ASAP where my transplant team could handle whatever was going on.

An ambulance came and drove me to the main hospital. My mom followed behind. Another CT scan showed that my portal vein stent was compromised, so my team booked an angiogram for the next day, Tuesday.

With a MAC (anesthesia), the interventional radiologist came in through my groin and went up my blood vessels to the liver. The portal vein was indeed closing – it was almost completely clogged – and other blood vessels nearby appeared to be a little thin.

My team wanted that same interventional radiologist to repair the issues, and he didn’t have an opening until that Friday. They kept me in the hospital and monitored my liver via almost-daily ultrasounds. I kept busy doing puzzles on my iPad, reading, and coloring in the coloring book my mom got me in the gift shop.

Friday came, and surgery was scheduled. Scott came up to support me. I was prepped and ready to go, and the doctor came in. First, he said he didn’t know if he could do the procedure if I still had contrast in me from Tuesday’s procedure. He ordered an X-Ray and thankfully, the contrast was gone so he said he could proceed.

Next, it’s routine to give consent for a procedure.  You have to hear the risks and then sign something. The doctor went over the risks of the procedure – bleeding, etc… all the normal risks. I asked if he had done this procedure before, and he said it was a very rare problem to have, so no, he had not done this exact procedure. He was hand-picked by my transplant team though, so I was okay with that. Nervous, but okay. Then he started detailing some negative outcomes from other similar procedures.

I quickly looked at Scott, and we both had fear in our eyes. Then the doctor said that I didn’t have to have the procedure – I could wait until the stent completely closed off and come in on an emergency basis. He said whoever was on call would perform the procedure.

That sounded much scarier to me. I think he could sense our uneasiness, so he said he would give us a minute to discuss. As soon as he left, Scott immediately started praying aloud. Transplant had let us know that this was a big problem, and I couldn’t imagine letting it go until it was a life or death emergency with 0 blood flow to my precious, transplanted liver. Scott agreed. We felt that God was leading us to proceed, so we told the doctor that we wanted to go through with it.

They wheeled my bed into the OR, and I kissed Scott and told him I loved him. I thought back to how easy Tuesday’s angiogram was, and I knew I’d be seeing him soon.

Regardless, I was so nervous. I asked the anesthesiologists give me something to calm me down. They gave me Versed while, unknown to me, Scott was calling my parents to update them on the severity of the procedure. They headed up to Cleveland while I was asleep on Propofol.

I woke up in the PACU. I was in pain. I had to pee and I was so thirsty. I wanted to see my husband. The nurse told me I had some bleeding, and that’s why they were monitoring me closely rather than sending me back to the floor. I was supposed to lay on my right side to put pressure on the bleed. I didn’t think much of it. They were still giving me m0rphine for pain, but somehow it felt a little worse. I begged the nurse for ice to chew or water with the swab. She kept reminding me that I was NPO because of the bleeding, in case they needed to put me under again. I didn’t care- I felt like I hadn’t had a sip of water in a week. Before long, Scott appeared with my parents. I didn’t even think twice about seeing my parents even though they weren’t there before the surgery. My husband snuck me more ice, and for that I was grateful. I was so happy to have my family.

The nurse came and told me that they were waiting for a bed to open up in the ICU. I was worried – only super sick people go to the ICU. The only other time I was in the ICU was immediately after my transplant!  The nurse told me it was just because of the unexpected bleeding, and it wouldn’t be for long.

Apparently my doctor went in through my side (at my liver) and once done, his tool would insert some type of plug to close off the blood vessel and prevent bleeding, however, it wasn’t working properly and he was completely unable to close it off. Therefore it bled until it clotted. I had a lot of blood free-floating around my abdomen. My liver was very irritated, and fluid started collecting as well, I would soon found out.

The few-hour-long procedure ended up taking 6 hours.

Once they took me to the ICU, my family went and ate dinner in nearby Little Italy because the ICU wouldn’t allow them to see me again until they got me transferred and assessed. I was highly annoyed. The nurse was redressing some of my lines, and I’m not sure what else she was doing but I just felt like screaming, “LEAVE ME ALONE.” Thankfully, I tried to be nice but I was tired of being looked at, touched, tested, talked to. Thankfully I didn’t remember that the plan was for me to go home the next day because that had obviously changed.

Again, I was so frustrated to be in the ICU. There were bright lights all over. I had 2 IVs, an arterial line, telemetry leads all over my chest, a urinary catheter, oxygen, and a pulse ox probe wrapped around my finger. Was I really in that bad of shape? Once they took my vitals, the doctor updated my med orders, etc., I was worn out. The ICU was pretty firm on only having two visitors at a time. My family returned and I said goodbye to my parents and my husband. I wanted Scott to stay with me so badly, but he was so spent already, and the ICU doesn’t allow overnight visitors.  Everyone promised to come back the next day, and somehow in all of my fear, I fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion. 

The next day, the nurse was gung-ho about the order to remove my urinary catheter. I told her it was a bad idea and that it took me forever to be able to pee after anesthesia. She persisted, and I proved to her that I could not pee on my own. I kept telling her I needed the catheter back, and she did a quick bladder scan on me probably half a dozen times until it showed enough urine in my bladder that I would most definitely have to go to the bathroom. She brought in a fancy “bedside commode,” and I proved to her that I indeed could not go. I won that battle, and she had the next shift’s nurse put the catheter back in.

I have nothing against young nurses. Heck, I used to be one. My next nurse seemed like a baby in comparison, but she was nice, and I didn’t care. Until she tried to put the catheter back in. She successfully placed it – twice – IN MY V@GINA! If you don’t understand a urinary catheter, it goes in the urethra, which is an entirely different place than a v@gina. If you don’t understand that, take an anatomy class. Catheters aren’t the most comfortable things to be placed, and even on m0rphine I asked her to find another nurse who had done this before to come handle it. I asked the first nurse if she had successfully placed a urinary catheter before, and she told me she had, possibly around 20 times. I assumed she probably meant on the fake person in her school’s simulation lab. The other nurse saved the day and they let me keep my beloved catheter until the next day, Sunday, when they finally allowed me to go back to the transplant floor.

It was funny because I had the exact same room as before the surgery. I had somehow gained a room mate, but I didn’t really care. I was just happy to be back on a regular floor and out of the ICU! No catheter, no arterial line, no large bore IV. I could walk, and I somehow was just more alert.

And, unfortunately, more cognoscent of the pain.

The hospital is a horrible place for sleep. The PCNA comes in all night (okay, every 4 hours) to get your vitals. Nurses come in to hang your fluids or antibiotics at midnight if needed. Lab comes in between 5-6 to draw blood. A resident or two comes in around 6 to see how you are and gather any new info to tell the other doctors. Food services brings breakfast in around 8, and between 9–10, the entire team of doctors – the attending, residents, physicians assistants, even your regular nurse – parade into your room to ask you questions. This is your one chance to request any changes in meds or tell them anything that might help them help you. Every single day I told them how bad the pain was and asked, “Are you sure the bleeding should be THIS painful?” And everyday, they reassured me, “Internal bleeding is one of the most painful things there is.” I told them how I felt cut wide open like when I was transplanted, and they reassured me every single day that the pain was normal for what I had going on. I still can’t understand it. I was really in agony. Thank God for m0rphine. But most narcotics make me itchy, so every 4 hours I got 4mg IV m0rphine with an IV dose of Benadryl. What a poor sight I was.

So Sunday, once back on the unit, I was really wanting to take a shower. I had been laying in a gross hospital gown for 2 entire days. My nurse explained that due to the bleeding, my hematocrit was really low (7), and it was too low to let me shower. If I fell or got hurt, it would be very dangerous. My mom suggested that she could wash my hair in the sink if only we had a chair that fit under the sink. My nurse saved the day and found the perfect chair! So I got a washcloth bath courtesy of myself and a blowout courtesy of my dear mama. I felt like a new person!

The days came and went. I was thankful to have the same nurse during the day for 3 days and the same nurse during the night for 3 nights. Transplant told me on Monday that I could go home whenever I could get onto oral pain meds. I knew it wouldn’t be that day or the next, and I told them that. I got ultrasounds most days to check the bleeding and fluid. The volume was slowly going down. My hematocrit was still struggling, so I received a unit of blood. That, with a few bags of IV fluid, really perked me up. I was still in pain, but I felt more like myself.

My hematocrit increased. I took a shower on my own on Tuesday. The pain persisted. I really wanted to go home.

I decided Wednesday was a good day to try to go home but I had the attitude of, if the pain was too bad, we’d simply wait a day.

My team didn’t push for oral meds until they abruptly cancelled the IV m0rphine on Tuesday without so much as a warning. I had an order for 2 oxyc0done every 6 hours, so we switched to that. By evening, the pain caught up with me and my nurse had the doctor on call put in a or time order for another dose of m0rphine. I was discouraged, really wanting to be on oral meds so I could go home. By the next day, I was fine on the oral oxyc0done. Uncomfortable, but not in severe pain.  Then the physicians assistant told me the maximum she could legally send me home on would be one oxyc0done every six hours – less than half of what I was taking orally in the hospital. I’m not going to get into my opi0id reform rant right now, but that’s a huge jump. She told me I could alternate it with muscle relaxers and Tylenol once I got home, and that made me feel “safer.” I figured, worst case scenario, I could just get re-admitted if the pain was that bad. (Thank God it wasn’t, and I did well resting at home on the oxyc0done, muscle relaxers, and Tylenol, and I’m very proud that I only took the oxyc0done through the weekend and had 1 extra dose on Monday until I was completely off of it.)

That last day in the hospital though, that Wednesday, was hard. I was so exhausted from not sleeping well. I had been on m0rphine for 8 days. I had started wheezing because of all of the fluid in my abdomen. I was receiving breathing treatments for the wheezing and cough I had. (The cough is a very long story – I had it for about a month due to being sick and then allergies…. I still had it in the hospital and even completely lost my voice.  After the surgery though, it became a new, deep, productive cough… it was just a mess.) I had two panic attacks, and my physicians assistant only let me have half the Ativ@n I take at home until I asked to speak to her, broke down in tears, and she agreed to let me take the other half. My poor husband has never seen me as bad off as I was for those 9 days in the hospital. And on that Wednesday, I just sobbed in his arms. I was so overwhelmed, I feel like I was having a little bit of withdrawal from the IV m0rphine, and I was scared of the pain, a little scared to go home.

They had an ultrasound scheduled for that day, but they were late getting the order in, so my scan didn’t happen until 3pm. I got back to my room around 4, and the scan wasn’t resulted until around 5. It showed the bleeding in a different spot, so the plan was to do a blood test to see if my hematocrit was the same as it was in the morning or if it had dropped. A drop would indicate active, new bleeding. That took an hour to come back, but thankfully, my hematocrit actually increased! So the conclusion was that it was old blood just moving around.

We didn’t get home until around 8ish. I was so excited to see my dogs. Haylie nonchalantly greeted me, and Ruby jumped up on me and squealed in delight. Scott helped me get settled, and I slept until afternoon the next day.

The first few days home, my mom came over while Scott worked. Friday I had an appointment with my PCP and she helped answer some questions and transition me out of being hospitalized. She gave me a prescription for Zofran which I had been taking for nausea, and reassured me that everything was all right.

I rested and rested for the coming days, and I spent the following week (this past week) resting and laying low. My last dose of narc0tic was Monday, and Wednesday was my first day driving again. I had an appointment both Wednesday and Thursday (yesterday) and although I’m pretty sore and weak, I’m only on Tylenol for the pain and am determined to resume my normal life next week.

We’ve been so blessed to receive several meals from people at our church. I don’t have much of an appetite and have been losing weight, but I’m not up to cooking for Scott so it’s been great. We almost have too much food!

Right now I’m still sore and get exhausted by 4pm. I’m slowly getting over the 99* mini-temps and chills I’ve had since the hospital.  I have nausea and an awful appetite and am down just over 10lbs. I think my poor stomach and digestive system are just super confused. My doctors say to give it time.

I had a follow up with my transplant surgeon on Monday. A new scan showed that more bleeding and fluid had been absorbed. There was discussion of blood thinners while I was inpatient, and for now – thankfully – I just have to take a baby aspirin. My labs looked amazing, and everyone was really happy with my progress. I have a follow up scan next Wednesday, and we plan on doing ultrasounds every 6-12 months to make sure this doesn’t happen again.

So, you wonder what caused the stent to be almost completely closed off? “Low dose” hormones I was put on in October for premature ovarian insufficiency, aka “when your body doesn’t make enough estrogen, putting you at risk of heart disease and osteoporosis.” My surgeon told me they were not low dose as the OBGYN had told me. So I’ll deal with that when I visit her in a month.

I also want to add that in the hospital, my sweet friend visited me a couple times and my sister in law came for a great visit one evening before the surgery. The thing about being in Cleveland is that it’s an hour away from most of my friends and family, so that makes visits even more special.  I’m so blessed to have great friends and family. I received so many cards, texts, messages…. I felt all of the prayers and I thank anyone who prayed for me. 

I know this post was long, but my hope is the same as always: that anyone struggling with something similar can either find answers or courage from what I went through. 

This experience had reminded me again that life is fragile, and we are not guaranteed tomorrow. I was lying in the ICU when I was supposed to be having an amazing time in NYC with my husband. What a difference a day makes! I was so afraid to die, and thank God I didn’t.  I couldn’t imagine leaving my husband or my family and friends. I was seriously so afraid I wasn’t going to make it. Maybe it was the anesthesia or the drugs, but it’s scary when you are in really bad shape and are powerless to change anything. 

I have a renewed joy of life and love of each new day. I thank God for putting that in my heart and for reminding me how special this life really is.

Much love to you all.

Migraines

I’ve been fighting severe migraines for the past few months.  And I mean severe.

After three trips to the ER last week, I pulled some strings and got into the Cleveland Clinic Thursday morning to see a neurologist.  Dr. Appleby was a genius.  She took me seriously and worked with me to create a true treatment plan.

We added Neurontin/gabapentin, a medication used for all sorts of different pain, and we added Imitrex to take only when I have a migraine.  (I don’t find it works well.)

We also set up a regimen of IV infusion therapies to destroy the headache I’ve had for a few weeks, and an MRI is in the works for a few weeks.

In the ER, they gave me things like Benadryl+Reglan, Benadryl+Reglan+Toradol, and even Benadryl+Reglan+Torodol+solumedrol+magnesium (burns!!)+something else (I was asleep… thanks, IV Benadryl.)

Dr. Appleby said I need to have 5 consecutive days of 5 hour treatments which is impossible with my schedule, so we’re doing what we can.  During my first treatment, things were going well and I was resting with boyfriend by my side when they gave me the DHE – dihydroergotamine.  Within seconds, it was hard to breathe, and my chest tightened up unlike I’ve ever felt before.  The drug causes brain blood vessels to narrow, thus reducing migraine, but as a part of that, blood flow slows down everywhere else.  We were at Medina/Cleveland Clinic (not 100% Cleveland Clinic) and the nurse didn’t know how to handle it. I pretty much had to tell her to call my doctor and that this was a reaction from the DHE.  I then told her she needed to take my vital signs.  It’s not good when an IV medication is giving you chest pain and as a risk of heart attack and stroke and the nurse is just sitting and chatting at the desk.

Needless to say, we went to Hillcrest Hospital today for my second infusion.  The nurses Teresa and Jennifer were fantastic, and the infusion center was very nice.  Teresa was even able to get me a bed vs. an infusion chair because of my back.

We’ve revamped things and removed the DHE, this time replacing it with an injection of Imitrex (burnnnns!!) For those of you who suffer with migraines, here’s what I got today (all IV except Imitrex): 25mg Benedryl, 10mg Reglan, bolus of saline, dexamethasone (steroids – reduces inflammation), Keppra &/or levetiracetam (I fell asleep by the time the Reglan was infusing so I’m not positive on this one – both are seizure medications that work on migraines), 1 gm Magnesium Sulfate, and at the very end, 0.5mg of Imitrex injected subcutaneously (and let me tell you it was the most burning shot I’ve received in my life!!)

I go back Friday again, and I’m praying for relief.  Please join me in that.  If you have migraines, listen to me right now. be persistent.  Go to whoever it takes for your symptoms to be treated.  No one should have to live with migraines!!  No one should have to take migraine medications that give them rashes, hives, or cause weight gain, and no one should have to settle with “second best.”  It’s 2012 and someone can help you with modern medicine – some doctors just aren’t willing to take the risk.

Also, some of you may know that Haylie ingested approximately 1 days’ worth of my transplant pills last Sunday (9 days ago) and was on the edge of fatal doses.  I almost lost her, and watching her suffer like that – having no idea what the prognosis was going to be – was truly agonizing.  We rallied and prayed for my little fur ball, and God confirmed that he cares about even the smallest things.  My baby couldn’t keep her eyes open and had serotonin syndrome and was literally running in circles because she couldn’t walk straight.  They said the Prograf (immunosuppressant) was a major fear and it would take one week to see if she processed it okay.  Praise God, she did.

Haylie is now in the clear, and I want to thank all of you who prayed for her or would have if you had known about it.  It’s unbelievable how nothing in the world matters when your “baby” is sick.

So to all of you who live around here and like me, can you please just join my team already? We have a lot of participants but WE NEED YOUR HELP!!  Check out lots of information here: Team Race for Amanda and clear your calendar for Saturday, August 12.  If you want a unique, amazing (free) Race for Amanda tshirt, you need to register soon so I can get them designed and ordered.  This is going to be a huge day, an amazing family-friendly event, and you are not going to leave feeling disappointed.  I’ll get a video up soon to work on RECRUITMENT.  😉

xoxo
Amanda

Two days later…

It’s been 48 hours since I’ve been hanging out at the Cleveland Clinic.  They’ve given me huge amounts of antibiotics to prevent and treat the pneumonia.  We’re praying they can have me switched to 100% oral antibiotics soon so I don’t have to either 1) remain in the hospital just to get antibiotics in IV form, or 2) get an actual port inserted and have Home Care come to manage it and administer the antibiotics.

But rewind… the night when I arrived at the Clinic, the halls were empty – just like the night I walked in the doorways knowing I wouldn’t exit with my same liver.  It was such a happy time to catch up with previous nurses like Jackie, Kat, and Chrissy, as well as new (to me) nurses like Krystal and David.

That first night, I was up most of the night getting “admitted.”  Vitals, tests, Xrays, EKGs, assessment by the nurses, waiting on doctors to enter orders into the computer.

Then the past two days have been a lot of meetings with my doctors, a lot of new tests, and a lot of consulting going on.

We now know that my spleen is coming out by July.  Unfortunately, that’s because it’s absorbing all my extra white cells and platelets, as it’s done for all of my sick life. This is the only solution out there for the blood cell problems I’ve been suffering from for the last several months. This has to work.  Please pray with me that the right thing is able to be done.

And then there’s the pneumonia-antibiotic thing.   Please pray I can go to oral antibiotics (vs IV) by tomorrow so I can go home very soon!!

Lovve
Amanda 

Biopsy results – Part 1

This morning, I had my first liver biopsy in over a decade. It was pretty much as bad as I remembered it to be, but I got through it. I’m feeling tired from the versed, fentanyl, and zofran they gave me, and I have a massive headache from all the drugs, but that’s not the worst part. It feels like a needle is lodged deep into my side, and there’s stinging and pressure. Dr. Chuck, my interventive radiologist, said to expect it to be around for 2 days.

I had a terrible nurse for half of the day, but for the beginning and the end, I had a sweet nurse named Cheryl. She kept calling me her “little friend” and was so kind, gentle, and could definitely place a mean IV! 🙂 We later found out she shared our faith, and having a nurse like that is so special.  Cherly said she’d be praying for me and encouraged me by saying, despite my suffering, my story is touching so many lives. That makes it worth it.

I had a lot of pain and nausea after my twilight-sedated procedure. I actually remember the entire thing. Anyways, once they were sure I was good on the meds and the pain was better controlled, I went home and slept until about 5pm.

Then within an hour, Haylie somehow got into my room and found some chewing gum, and to make a long story short, I’m typing this from her vet’s office. Now we are relieved she’ll be okay, and we’re just waiting on her discharge.

It seems I’m going to sleep well tonight!

So as for results – the preliminary results of the biopsy showed NO REJECTION, only inflammatory changes which are nonspecific.  The bottom line is, from a rejection standpoint, there is nothing to worry about.

However, one more test is pending as they found a virus in my labs on Monday. Hopefully it will solve the elevated liver enzymes/fatigue issues, but until tomorrow, we will wait and see. If the virus is only in my blood, that’s one thing, but if it made it to my liver, there could be severe problems depending on the details.  My infectious disease doctor, who manages my immune system, started me on Valcyte, an antiviral, to start working on the virus, but everything could change tomorrow once we find out if it hit my liver or not, and if so, how badly.  And so we wait.

Another day over… hopefully a full lifetime to go.  🙂

The LORD is my light and my salvation; whom shall I fear?  The LORD is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid? 

          Psalm 27.1

Love,
Amanda

Biopsy update

Hello sweet friends,

Just an update to say I just got out of the OR. The liver biopsy was very painful, and I’m now in the recovery room. I’m writing this as tears drop onto my iPad as I’m having a deep, sharp, pounding pain in my side. I’m still freaked out as I had twilight sedation, and I felt the while thing. Shots, tissue extractors, the whole bit. This has not been a good experience. Hopefully we (my transplant time and I) will get the results of my tissue samples by tomorrow so we can figure out where to go from here.

Also, my labs Monday indicated I have an inactive virus that can potentially harm my liver. Please continue your prayers. My nerves are so bad lately, I’m trying to resume school in January, and I’m honestly tired of all of this suffering.

Thank you for being here for me. Your emails, texts, comments, visits, cards, etc. give me so much hope.

Love,
Amanda