An Extraordinary Ordinary Life

Hey! Look! It’s a blog on which I used to write! My life is full of the ordinary – shuttling kids to and fro and trying to time it to make the NPR top of the hour headline news, making meals, watching TV with Scot (current favorites: Justified and Archer), helping at the school and PTA, avoiding housework, the occasional special outing with family and friends and planning for future excursions. It’s everything life should be but it’s nothing to write about and so I don’t. But occasionally, in the midst of the mundane, a moment catches me off guard and I am flooded with intense emotions, memories and gratitude.

Today was an ordinary lung transplant clinic appointment – it’s been four months since I've last been there (for those who are counting, I am 16 months post-transplant). After a dropping off a grumpy Jack at his morning band practice and fighting awful traffic (an aside: it never ceases to amaze me how BAD WE ARE AT DRIVING IN THE RAIN. Seriously, it’s like everyone is stupefied by the wet stuff that is mysteriously falling from the sky and can’t manage to drive correctly. I get that in a place like LA…but here? COME ON PEOPLE), I was late arriving at UW. I used valet parking, donned my mask and briskly walked to get my blood work done, then down to the second floor for my pulmonary function test (which was down a tad from December but that could be just because I’m a little sniffy today. I’ll re-take the test in a month. No need for alarm, mom). I was hurrying past the coffee shop when I passed a man in scrubs carrying his morning Joe. As soon as I passed him, I realized it was Dr. Mulligan. My Mulligan. The Man Who Saved My Life.

I whipped back around and said, “Dr. Mulligan? It’s Kim Nunes.” And even though he does 50+ transplants a year, I’m thinking he probably remembered me…? He looked concerned and asked why I was there and how I was feeling. I answered it was just a routine visit and that I’m feeling great. He said “Awesome.” And then I could only say “thank you,” before turning away with tears in my eyes.

You see, I love, love, LOVE this life I’m living. I’m still trying to figure out where I’m headed but I’m mostly trying to get to a place where I can rejoice in the being.  It’s incredible that I’m here to care for -- and be cared by – Scot; that I can sing “Oh, What a Beautiful Morning” with the kids and not stop until they join me for a chorus; that I can frolic in the tulips with my mom; that I can walk down the hill to meet the kids at the bus stop (but only when it’s warm and there’s no trombone to carry back up the hill. I’m not THAT dedicated); that I can have dinner with Joby and stay at her houseboat and walk up that crazy steep staircase she has to get back to the street level; that I can have a girls night out with new and old friends; that I can go to Target, Trader Joe’s and Costco all in one day.

And even the parts that aren't always so great: the bickering with kids; the aches and pains and the extra weight; the deeper philosophical parts of understanding what my meaning of life is; the roadwork that has doubled my morning drive time…well, it’s these things that make the ordinary rise to the level of extraordinary. The contrast highlights how incredibly fortunate I am to have the people around me that I do and the luxury to have these minor inconveniences. I look at all that’s happened in these last 16 months (and for that easy and visual reminder, I thank Facebook) and know that if it weren't for Dr. Mulligan, my donor and literally hundreds of others that were part of my transplant, I wouldn't have had these last 16 months. And we’re not talking like I’d be here but with a decreased quality of life…all the medical professionals seem pretty certain I only had another month or two left on this planet.

So when I see the person who led that charge to get my life back, it’s really no wonder I get choked up.