The sterile road to a land called Life

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There isn't much to see from the hospital bed. You may be being wheeled for miles, along stark white, occasionally jovial, often far too bright, corridors but there is only the ceiling to stare at. Sometimes a head or two pop into view. They disappear quickly. You can hear soft but squeaky footsteps, the hushed murmers of sleepy nurses and a telephone ringng, somewhere behind a closed door. The smell of a sterile landscape invades your nostrils, perhaps with a hint of death which lingers with no place to go. There is no sense of impending doom as the bed reaches its destination, there is only curiosity. Happy people in the latest surgical wear crowd around, look down and smile kindly at you. A brief flicker of thought suggests that you are to be a sacrifice and this is a creepy horror film, similar to Rosemary's Baby. If you're lucky, you'll awaken in an icy bath. You suppress a smile. You don't awaken in an icy bath. You do wake up with a pain in your side, lacking a left kidney. Four years later you write about it on a website and it seems surreal. Did it really happen? Did you really choose to put yourself through pain just to {perhaps somewhat selfishly} recover a semblance of a normal life with Husband? You write about it as though it was someone else's experience. You are not a hero. You are not brilliant. You are just a wife with only one kidney. Happy kidneyversary! May there be oodles more to come.