Hi everyone,

I’m a little tired as I write this—Benadryl and narcotics will do that—but the good news is that I’m going home tonight!

Since I last wrote, my creatinine and GFR—two key markers of kidney function—have stayed stable. That’s expected at this stage. Things typically don’t start improving until after all the rounds of plasma exchange (where they filter toxins from my blood) and IVIG therapy (which adds antibodies to help support my immune system). My final plasma exchange is scheduled for April 28th, and hopefully that will be all I need.

A few days ago, I had a catheter placed in my chest. It sucks. Showering now has to happen like it did when I was on dialysis—so, back to awkward sponge baths! The placement is right near my jugular, so yeah, it hurts. Talking, swallowing, even just moving—it all aggravates it. Thankfully, the pain meds are helping, and I’m hoping to taper off them soon, like I did last time. But this round feels like a whole different ball game, with the combination of abdominal and chest pain.

The comic relief? Learning how to do my antiviral infusion at home. A no-nonsense, burly nurse came in to train us yesterday—she meant business. Since the catheter goes straight into my heart, there’s zero room for error. My mom looked genuinely frightened—every time she tried something, even in simulation, it was like she was afraid she might accidentally kill me. I think she almost fainted at one point, but she powered through—she’ll be helping when I stay at her house. My dad sat back, quietly absorbing it all, while Ian fired off every bioengineering question under the sun. I’ve done dialysis before, so I felt pretty comfortable, but watching the whole thing unfold was hilarious—to me, at least. The nurse? Not so much.

Mentally, I’m doing better than I thought. I’ve had some lucid dreams, probably a mix of medication, constant interruptions, and the sterile environment of hospital life. But for the first time in 15 months, I’ve been able to meditate again—something I haven’t been able to do since delivering Barney.

Lately, I’ve been envisioning comfort in something greater—a presence, a spirit, or a light. I sometimes call it G-d or the universe. It starts as a meditation, and then I drift into a lucid dream. For me, it’s not about religion—it’s about a sense of love, spaciousness, and connection to something beyond myself. It’s been helping me cope with the unpredictability of life, offering comfort when my body can’t provide it right now. It doesn’t promise a stable future or ideal, but I often receive a reassuring message like, “Everything is going to be okay.” It’s been comforting, and I’m relieved to have it back in my life.

I’ve also been connecting with people I love. I had a beautiful conversation with my friend Lori, and we took a trip down memory lane to our years living together in Denver. It reminded me of joy, adventure, and who I am outside of all this medical stuff.

And I spent the morning walking the halls talking to Brad for 30 minutes—my donor. It may sound strange, but I swear my kidney feels better after talking to him. Like some of the throbbing goes away and I just physically feel better.

My parents will be picking me up around 6:15 tonight. We’ll head back to my house to celebrate a small milestone: Ian and I’s five-year wedding anniversary. Then we’ll head back to my parents’ house where I’ll stay for the week since they’ll be taking me to my medical appointments while Ian takes care of Barney.

There’s a long week ahead—daily hospital visits, medications, healing—but tonight, I get to go home. I get to see my baby. I get to eat dinner with the people I love.

Thank you for all the love, support, and encouragement you continue to send. It really lifts me. I’m holding onto the hope that in a month, this will just be a small bump in the road. I’ll be back to writing about living donation, raising awareness, working on my memoir, and hopefully making a little difference.

Goodnight,
Love,
Danielle