ARE YOU KIDNEYING ME?

WARNING: incoming non-sequiturs.

Since Lou died, I have this habit of sleeping with everything on my bed. My laptop, in case I wake up with an idea. A small bottle of ginger ale, should I wake up neesh in the middle of the night for any reason. A bottle of 365 (Whore Foods H20, the only affordable product on their shelves), if I don't wake up neesh. A pill crusher, it's a just in case (I can't swallow pills). Tissues for the sneeze fest that commences the moment I arise, without fail. Whatever book(s) I'm reading, and my remote control... for the television. A heavy sweatshirt at the foot of my bed. And finally, my blackberry. What bed would be complete without a crackinberry? Even more strange, if I do wake up in the middle of the night, I wake up with the song "More than a woman" by the Bee-Gees, stuck in my head. Weird, right?

It's been a surreal couple of weeks, hence my departure from blogging and such. I'm back now and in good spirits.

My brother and his wife flew in from Korea for a few days, which was awesome. I had the best time seeing him and meeting wifey. She's a doll.

My dad came in for a quick weekend, which was fabulous. We bought journals to pen something together. I'm looking forward to that. We dished hard.

At some point in my 30's I started to see my parents objectively. I became friends with my ma ages and ages, and aaaages ago. My dad and I really became friends during that quick weekend, and it's been great. I feel tremendously lucky. We share a love for dark humor. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree.

My middle brother got engaged. He video'd it and all. So sweet. He's 27, I think. I haven't met his bride-to-be, though I know she's a feminist and menschy squared.

My youngest brother (22) is much wiser than I gave him credit for. What a fabulous life lesson that was. When I didn't even know I needed him, there he was just being Nick.

I wasn't going to blog about this, but blogging is equal parts confessional and nonsense, right? Right. And writing is so cathartic. A proper essay is forthcoming on the matter (FYI). In short, two-weeks ago, my tale of two kidneys began. Thanks to a few very good friends (you know who you are), a tight family and a kick ass psychiatrist, I got through it and I am healthy, thank God.

Two weeks ago, I went to my endocrinologist (I really adore endogirl. If you need a referral in LA, e-stalk me. She's a gem. Thorough, brilliant and menschy). I'm not sure if this is routine or not, but she checked my creatinine levels and they elevated from 1 to 1.6. She asked me to come back the next day for a second blood test because it could've been a lab error. Unfortunately, it wasn't, my creatinine chose to fly up to 2.9.

Before I knew it, I was meeting my first nephrologist. Nephrology boy is so overly dramatic. Katie, you must take this very, very, very seriously. No shit, nephroqueen, now back-the-fuck-off. Worse, he wears wingtips, not even cool vinty wingtips. Thin Pierre Cardain belts in beige with the "P" and "C" buckle in gold, high waisted slacks and shark skin, shiny ass shirts. After keeping me waiting for two-fucking-hours, I was being examined, peeing in a cup and having more blood drawn. The next day, I learned my creatinine levels shot up to 3.9. Fab.

I was monumentally freaked out. As you know, I think, seeing doctors is a big issue for me. Trust is low. Fear is high. You know how I do.

My family was on kidney-donation-watch, each willing to sacrifice a kidney for my benefit if, if, if it got to that point. I had six-kidneys in waiting and one offer of a black market kidney from abroad if, if, if the meshpucha wasn't a match.

Now that I think about it, my family might be as dramatic as nephroqueen. Hmm... Anyway, moving the story along.

The next day my kidneys and bladder were on the big screen (ultrasound), courtesy of a delicious Ecuadorian fellow, I would've loved for lunch, but just wasn't feeling inspired. The soft lighting and crinkly papered bed I was horizontal on didn't get my juices flowing. My bladder and kidneys were quite hot according to my vegetarian empanada. Ah, a sigh of relief.

On Monday, 8 more viles of blood. After tallying up all of the viles I'd given (20), I realized I had supplied enough blood to feed any hungry vamp-clan. Of course, what nephro visit would be complete without peeing? By Friday, with more viles of blood under my belt, confident I looked like a heroin addict, an echocardiogram and EKG later, I learned my heart is in excellent shape, she's a butch Betty. My creatinine levels started coming down. Happy I was moving in Katie can keep her kidneys lane, by Monday 50 kidney-issue-causing-diseases I do NOT have seemed like cause for celebration.

Today, my creatinine levels are 1. Yay. All that's left in my tale of two kidneys is the joy of peeing in a bucket on Sunday, a date with nephro boy on Monday and, you guessed it, more blood.

I AM HEALTHY and in great shape. At the end of the day that's all that really matters...

Thanks for not breaking up with me, loverdeedo's and for being such awesome blogging, facebook and twitter friends. You made my days brighter and made me laugh through uncertain tears. A MILLION THANK YOU'S.