11/18/2023 – Saturday

Katie woke up with a smile on her face that Saturday morning. It was not just her day off from work, but it was a deliberately planned day of self-care. Katie had booked a 60-minute massage appointment at Massage Envy with her regular masseuse, Tracy, at 10 am. At 11:30 am, she was going to get a gel-manicure and pedicure at Nail Nirvana. She had decided to get her nails painted in bright red since December was nearly around the corner. Katie heard her nail specialist’s voice in her head, “You’ll come back before Christmas again to get new red nails, right, Katie? These won’t last through the holidays.” Her last appointment for the day was at 2:30 pm. It was for a 45-minute facial at the Aveda salon with Amanda, her usual esthetician.

Katie took a quick shower and put on her favorite peach-colored sweatpants. She skimmed through her closet. The week before Thanksgiving was the perfect weather for warm, fuzzy and oversized sweatshirts. She decided to wear her new grey sweatshirt that she had recently purchased from Target. Katie had had her eyes on that sweatshirt for three weeks and was excited to finally get her hands on it when it went on sale around Thanksgiving. As she slid the sweatshirt over the head, the comforting warmth from her outfit almost made her want to crawl right back to bed, curl up with a cup of hot cocoa and binge watch Love is Blind on Netflix. But she immediately shrugged off that lazy thought. After all, she had put in a ton of mental math and meticulously planned to perfectly align her day of self-care, including the cup of coffee she was determined to squeeze in at around 2 pm, after her mani and pedicure and before her facial appointments.

It was 2:05 pm when Katie pulled into the shared parking lot that housed both the Aveda salon and a Kroger. “Perfect timing,” she thought, “Just enough time to grab a cup of hot Flat White from Starbucks.” She stepped into the bustling Kroger, ordered her drink at the Starbucks counter located in one corner of the store, grabbed it as soon as it was ready and began to head out but paused abruptly. She could close out this relaxing, wonderful day with a glass of red wine. She quickly scuffled her way to the Wines aisle, headed straight to the Red Blends. It took Katie less than 10 seconds to find what she was looking for – Conundrum Red. She picked it up and hurried back to the self-checkout machines at the front of the store, by the entrance. Her watch read 2:15 pm. She took a deep breath.

“Relax Katie,” she told herself, “Today is supposed to be stress-free and fun. You’ll be on time for your next appointment. The Aveda Salon is a stone’s throw away from here.”

There were six self-checkout machines by the store entrance, three of which were open for use. Katie headed to one of the open machines, Flat White in one hand and Conundrum Red in the other. It was only when she scanned the bottle of red wine that she realized she would need the Checkout Assistant’s help to purchase alcohol. Her ID would have to be checked. She looked around for help and her eyes met with the Checkout Assistant’s, a boy, who was helping another customer. Katie raised the bottle of wine signaling for help and the boy acknowledged. He was young, couldn’t have been more than 17 years. She could tell that he was new to his job and was fumbling with the other self-checkout machine. Her watch now read 2:20 pm and she was growing increasingly impatient. “Why do they let these young kids work in the front of the store without proper training,” she wondered rather annoyed. It was 2:22 pm when the boy finally walked up to her. He had a sheepish look on his face and apologized as soon as he walked up to her.

“I’m so sorry to keep you waiting, ma’am, Saturdays are always busy,” he said as he swiped his card to allow her to scan the only item in her hand, “Here you go! Thank you for your patience.”

The single ding from Katie’s scan of the Conundrum Red and the multiple, continuous bangs of gunshots went off at the same time. From the corner of her eye, Katie caught a tiny glimpse of the active shooter at the store entrance. Her brain began thinking at an exponential speed. She had attended several active shooter trainings at her workplace, as if these things are the norm. There was a protocol to follow. But her body didn’t seem to fathom any of it. Her gut reaction was to put her arm around the young boy and slam him to the floor to protect him. As she did that, she fell to the floor herself. Once they were on the floor, she looked at the young boy. His eyes were filled with fear, his body was trembling, and he was gasping for air. “Why couldn’t he breathe,” her brain quipped, “Had she hurt him when she pushed him to the floor?” and then, she barely managed to mouth the words, “Stay down and don’t move, you’ll be okay.” She put her hand over his mouth to prevent him from screaming and drawing any attention from the active shooter. She never figured out the rest. She remembered catching a glimpse of the young boy’s Kroger outfit, the empty Starbucks cup now lying on the floor and lots of liquid around her. Katie couldn’t tell if the liquid was coffee, red wine or her own blood.

When the destruction subsided, the air was grey, and the floor of the grocery store was strewn with bullets, death, injuries and damaged groceries. The clock on the wall at the Returns and Exchange counter displayed 2:30 pm through its shattered glass.

***

Four hours later, the surgeon along with his resident walked up to Katie’s brother and sister in the waiting room. Katie’s siblings had been anxiously waiting while their sister was in surgery. All they were told was that Katie had sustained a bullet wound to her brain during an active shooting in a grocery store and had been immediately hauled into surgery. It looked like Katie’s brother had been crying inconsolably for the past few hours. Her sister, on the other hand, seemed somewhat more collected and had her arm over her brother’s shoulder as she consoled him.

The surgeon decided to talk to Katie’s sister. “We’re sorry. Katie sustained a bullet wound to her brain, specifically the cerebral hemisphere. We did try to operate and take the bullet out but the damage to the brain stem was extensive. She is now brain dead. She will not recover from this and we’ve lost her.” He paused to let that sink in as Katie’s brother fell to the ground and began sobbing loudly and uncontrollably. Katie’s sister let out a whimper along with quiet and painful tears and hugged the surgeon. She was unsure what else to do. The shocking news refused to sink in completely.

The surgeon continued, “I cannot begin to imagine how hard this is on you, but Katie is a registered organ donor. This implies her legal consent to donate organs. We’ve put her on a ventilator, are administering antibiotics and monitoring her metabolic balance to ensure that her organs and tissue are viable. I hate to bring this up right now, but we have a survivor from the shooting who needs a lung and Katie is a perfect match. We need to draw up the required paperwork to proceed with harvesting her organs immediately to save this survivor. We’d also like to ask you any questions you may be able to answer regarding her health history.”

Katie’s sister looked up from her silent sobs. “Yes, please,” she mustered the courage to utter coherent words, “Go ahead. It is what Katie would have wanted. To help someone in need. I’ll do my best to give you as much information as possible”

It was determined that Katie’s right lung, liver, and heart were viable for transplant. Since Katie had also pledged tissues for donation, her corneas and bone were deemed usable.

***

Katie Right Lungston was transplanted into a young boy. The boy, named Jake Lungston, was 17 years old and had survived an active shooting during his shift a Checkout Assistant at Kroger. Katie Right Lungston met Jake Left Lungston a few hours after she woke up.

Katie struggled to believe what had happened to her. It was as if she was waiting to get a facial one minute and the next, her life was reduced to a mere lung. She found it extremely difficult to adapt. She had been in a female body her entire life and she had been great at her job. As a female lung, she was good at diaphragmatic breathing or, in simple terms, breathing that requires more belly movement. Jake Left Lungston, on the other hand, was accustomed to thoracic breathing that utilized the chest and rib cage. It was his norm; he was a male lung after all. Katie, however, wasn’t the kind to completely ignore her job duties. So, slowly and steadily, she attempted to take diaphragmatic breaths.

It didn’t take very long for Jake to realize that Katie was out of sync with his breathing rhythm. He was already a larger lung in size, purely based on gender, so the lack in harmony was evident. But Jake was a patient and compassionate lung. His heart went to out Katie. He couldn’t imagine what she was going through. He was aware that organ transplants can typically mean unexpected deaths, so he decided to be supportive as Katie dealt with her new reality. But Katie gave him the cold shoulder. She refused to talk to him or even acknowledge his presence. Jake decided to pick up the extra work so the kid could continue to heal towards good health. He took deep and large thoracic breaths and tried to ensure sufficient oxygen flow to the entire body.

This continued for a few weeks. One day, an exhausted Jake reached out to Katie. He was aware that she was already struggling, even as she was trying to settle in her new space.

“Katie, I know it’s hard, but you do have to switch to thoracic breathing and get into rhythm with me. Jake Lungston is a tall kid. He needs us both.”

“Why do I have to learn to breathe like a man? I’m not going to live here forever. You and your sweet little Jake Lungston can reject me so I can go back to my life. I mean, there are literally no boobs here. How am I supposed to live in this inconducive environment?”

They say that denial is the first stage of grief. Katie simply chose to pretend that this whole thing was a dream. “I’ll wake up from this nightmare and it will be Sunday morning, and I’ll do normal Sunday things like laundry and then I’ll complain about how folding clothes is such a chore. This is just a dream,” Jake heard Katie whisper to herself repeatedly.  

“This is your new normal, Katie. This is it. You and I, we’re family now. We breathe for Jake Lungston. The boy you saved in the grocery store, remember?”

Katie Right Lungston ignored Jake Left Lungston. She was an avoidant, even in her life, so death couldn’t necessarily change that. If she denied it several times, the problem would simply go away. In fact, five years ago, when she walked up to one of the organ donation booths at the summer fair and filled out the paperwork to be a donor, she hadn’t really meant to donate her organs. She wasn’t going to die. She wasn’t dead! Jake Left Lungston doesn’t know what he’s talking about. This wasn’t it.

***

Katie Oliver woke up in a lot of pain after a strenuous and long surgery that she swore had lasted at least 10 hours. Her host, Maria Oliver, was 25 years old, and was suffering from severe Autoimmune Hepatitis. Maria had been waiting on a new liver for 77 days now.

The surgeon was ready to discharge Maria two weeks after her surgery. He carefully walked her through all the post-operative care instructions. He was very thorough. “This is very important, Maria,” Katie heard the surgeon say.

“My name is Katie, you moron,” Katie yelled at the surgeon, “You’re telling me that I have to take immunosuppressants for life so that Maria’s body doesn’t reject me. But you’re also saying that I could be prone to infection. How is Maria supposed to fight infection while you’re suppressing her immune system, you dimwit. Are you sure you went to medical school? And I’m supposed to never have another alcoholic beverage in my life? Are you serious? All I wanted to do was chill on a Saturday evening with a glass of Conundrum Red. Why is this happening to me. I don’t care about this Maria person. Just set me free. I don’t want to live here.”

Katie was trembling with rage. The rage was so intense that it turned into blobs of blood and tears. Katie hated it when her anger turned into tears. She felt like it made her look weak in an argument and she hated losing.

They say that anger is the second stage of grief.

***

To be continued..