Its the Little Things

It’s the little things. You know, the things that should be no big deal. Those are the ones that  punch you in the gut when you are already down. I recently I had one of those experiences.


Part of what I need (and am being required) to do is to fund raise in order to ensure the transplant center I can meet the economic demands of transplant. I spent more than a week writing an appeal letter to send out to my friends and social networks. After a lot of research, I decided to have the NTAF  help me with fundraising, but that is another story. 


So it has been a back and forth thing. It started out 4 pages long and ended up at one page. I sent it several times to the Patient Services Manager at NTAF with whom I am working. The IRS is very picky about how things are phrased so that NTAF and I stay within the guidelines.


After days of sweating over this letter it came time to send it out. The first round was going out via email. I set up the mass mailing. I put in the letter. I choked.


I couldn’t hit send. It is hard even now to explain what was stopping me; why it was such a big emotional deal.


Part of it was it was one more step down the path towards a major life changing event - transplant. Even though I think I have accepted that PH (pulmonary hypertension) is running me to ground, and that the only possibility of getting my life back is through a lung or heart-lung transplant (depending on where I am at physically when the time finally comes), there is a part of me that just doesn’t accept the reality. That part of me wants this to all be some big mistake and that I’ll wake up in the morning and I’ll be all better. Pushing “send” meant facing that harsh reality all over again.


There was more to it though. We live in a society that frowns on asking for help. I have spent most of my life depending solely on myself. Some times have been lean. I’ve spent time living in my car and in some pretty questionable places. I’ve missed more than a few meals along the way. My one attempt at asking for money was of my foster parents after I had been down sick for a month with hepatitis from my job at the time. Their response was “Well, you’ve made it through so far so you should be OK.” I have never asked anyone for money for myself again.


Now here I am not just asking someone for some money - a  loan say - that I would pay back when I got back on my feet. Now I am asking everyone - even people I don’t know - for money; more money than I will ever be able to pay back. 


And last, or perhaps not, but last I can tease out of my emotions, is that this is just the first time. If I make it through transplant, I will need to ask and keep asking for the rest of my life. My life after transplant will depend on the ongoing kindness of others. So I was not just doing this once, it was the first of many times I am going to have to ask; when I am going to face the send button.


Stupid huh. It seems such a little thing. A necessary thing but a little thing. Write a letter and set it lose to the universe to go where it will and hopefully generate the resources and volunteers I need to make it possible for me to continue to live.



This process is demanding that I learn a number of things and learn them quickly. Admitting that I need help and that it is OK to ask for help are just two of those things. It is a lesson in humility and I am trying to learn that it can be a gift to let others give. I know that I feel that way when I can help someone else.