Today, about an hour or two ago, my aunt (my mother’s sister) spoke to my mother on the phone. She informed her that one of our other relatives who is a doctor in the UK (well, I think he’s retired but still working, I’m not entirely sure… anyway, that’s not the point) mentioned that a UK hospital he knows of is top notch and that he would look into whether or not I can get a transplant there.
I’m trying not to get my hopes up, I really am. The disappointment of a rejection could be really bad for me – psychologically speaking. In fact, I’m really scared of hoping that it might happen. When we started looking into other countries, like Spain or the US, I wasn’t this nervous. Sure, I was excited, until Spain didn’t work out, but even then, that rejection didn’t make a great deal of difference to me.
But somehow I’m scared of investing hope in the idea that I might go to the UK. Why? I’m not sure. I mean, I’d get to see all my friends. At least, I’d like to think they’d make the trip to the hospital to see me if it ever materialised into anything more than a vain hope. Also, if it did work out, I’d have a transplant.
To tell the truth, I’m scared of what happens next. The life after transplant terrifies the s*** out of me. I don’t know what I’d do, where I’d go, how I’d even earn a living. Right now, I’m only coping better than most because I bury my head in fiction and learning all day. What’s going to happen when I have to actually start living?