Today Robert and I celebrated our 18th wedding anniversary, just under four months after our 18th transplant anniversary. I learned recently that timing—the surgery preceding the wedding—was very purposeful. At least on Robert’s part.
17 years and counting!
It’s our 17th kidney transplant anniversary y’all! (Check out my latest video for “Real Kidney Talk with The People’s Nephrologist” where I talk about being a kidney donor.)
If it’s not obvious from our picture, my husband and I are both Black. And don’t let the fair skin fool you: We are unapologetically and proudly Blackity-Black.
introducing...the people's nephrologist!
I made a simple wish list for Christmas. Some new fuzzy Uggs since I wore down the last pair to fuzzless. A lavender candle or two for my bubble baths. And a pretty journal for writing.
If you knew my hubby (and holder of my left kidney for 16 years now), you would not be surprised that not only did he present me with new fuzzy Uggs, bubble bath swag, lounging PJs because he had grown weary of seeing me in the red plaid Target PJ set I bought at least three years ago, but also a trough of journals. And not just simple journals. No, the trough from my forever and wonderfully extra Robert was filled with soft brown leather-jacketed journals with a fancy wrap-around tie, each embossed with: Dr. Vanessa Grubbs, The People’s Nephrologist.
my mother been gone
My mother’s body died today. With the lack of hospital care available to Black people at the time and parents lying to children to keep them working the land a little longer, her body was 90 or 89 or 91 years old, depending upon which document one chose to believe. I think we’re gonna go with 90. It’s a nice round number.
But the mother I knew died years ago. I mourned her then, when she died—the woman who I spent hours upon hours alone with.