I Got the Call!

I got The Call.

The one where you're sitting around after dinner watching a Seinfeld episode and the phone suddenly rings. With that area code. You know the one. The one from the transplant hospital. And you wonder, "why are they calling me at 7:45 at night?"

The one where the transplant coordinator says, "hey, we have some lungs for you. C'mon down. See you in a couple of hours!"

The one where, for a few seconds, it feels like the world stops turning while at the same time rushing past in a blur of thoughts and images. The one where my wife and I just stare at one another in shock, fear, anticipation, and joy.

The one where one moment I honestly think, "I can't do this! I can't let them crack open my chest and tear out my lungs."

The one where the next moment I'm thinking, "Oh, my God. I'm going to get new lungs!"

The one where my wife packs a bag because, honestly, we never in a million years thought The Call would come barely two months after being listed for transplant. The one where I'm freaking out and trying to get in touch with my support team people while my wife somehow calmly - at least that's how she looks - packs up what she thinks we'll need for our extended stay in Detroit.

The one where we finally - FINALLY! - get in the car and start the nearly two hour drive to the hospital, all the while listening to our nephew cracking jokes with my mother-in-law in the backseat as my wife maneuvers us down the dark highway.

I'm terrified, jubilant, nervous, scared, expectant, and half wondering if this is one of those "dry runs" they've warned us about. The one where you get there, get prepped for surgery, and wake up only to find out something wasn't just right and the transplant didn't happen.

But, this time, it's the REAL DEAL.

Yes, people.

I. Got. The. Call.

And my new lungs.