My donor (see...I still find myself wanting to say 'potential' donor...just in case) came to London on 17th September, to receive the results of the physical test: a test to ensure everything's working and up to par and that she can actually go ahead with surgery.
Turns out she's such a good match, the medical team actually had us listed as sisters. Mental!
I've an appointment with my specialist on Friday morning and things may get rolling from there. However, there's one more thing they need to check on her before we can fully celebrate and set things in motion. But if that's ok (fingers crossed mainly for her), then yes...we'll be going ahead. And the chances of that are looking good.
I feel the way I used to feel roughly a year ago or so when I got up in the morning, went to work, saw mates and did stuff. I feel...what's the word....normal (hah, or as normal as a person like me can get)? And.....cautiously optimistic. Things are going pretty damned well so far and I'm fairly accustomed to getting bitch slapped by life around now-ish when I receive good news. So although I appear to be very slowly leaving the box my sub-conscious had pushed me into, I'm very aware that at any point, something could happen to force me back in. And this time, if I go straight back in, it'll be with force and it'll hurt.
I'm informed there's a possibility the operation could happen in December or January. I'm not touching December as surgery will be followed by 6 months (plus) of monitoring with hospital visits, tests after tests, things potentially going wrong....and...I don't really fancy that over the holiday period or want to risk being in hospital for Christmas or New Year.
And I don't want to put her through the same. I think that'd be a touch mean. Especially if we have a choice.
Plus....not only will that be a hell of a way to start 2015, but my birthday's in January...a nice birthday present for 31 year old me.
After the last few months, I'm also slowly reintegrating myself into society after having isolated myself for my, and others, protection from my head state.
So yeah...I'm in a good place at the moment. I can still feel a leash on the back on my head, ready to pull me back when the shit hits the fan, but otherwise...I'm risking actually being a bit content. I've still got lots on my mind, but that's a given. That's just me.
I'm also aware that anxiety now has a place in my head and occasionally I can feel its threatening tug, but Tom and I had a conversation in the car this weekend and he confirmed that I'm no longer as bad as I used to be. They may still threaten (like one did a couple of weekends back when the most random moment set off a mini attack in my head and I had to briefly take myself away from company), but they're far more in my control and I'm still doing freelance work and leaving the house, which, as Tom pointed out, I was threatening not to do any more due to a growing agoraphobia.
That's the word....I feel....in control.