Photography by Kate Andreya | Washington, DC

When I was a curious child, I wanted to be Cinderella, a doctor, Madonna, a butterfly, an "In Living Color" fly girl, and so much more. I didn’t want to be sick.

I climbed bookshelves without hesitation and pretended they were giant trees in the Amazon awaiting my exploration.

I hid Babysitter Club series books under my pillow early in the day so that I could read them when I was supposed to be napping.

I made pretend pies with twigs, mud, crisp leaves, and rocks— and threw them into our old charcoal grill. By yelling "Abracadabra!" I had hoped my efforts would make it all into a feast of baked deliciousness so I could send them to the hungry children in other countries.

I was a rebellious teen. I wanted to do more than just the extra math homework my parents would assign me. I loved people and wanted to do something “more” in the world.

I was determined but, in my 30s, everything I learned about life was turned upside down.

People perceived me to be other than what I am as they would judge me solely on the content they’d see me putting out on social media. I remember a few conversations when acquaintances would admit they thought I was "fake" because they'd see me post only positive things on MySpace, Facebook, and Twitter.

The first time I opened up on Facebook about my health issues was when I was about to go into double organ transplant surgery. I was admitted to Inova Fairfax Hospital. I was a mixed bag of emotions and felt I should share in case it helped someone else or if I didn’t make it through: excited to be receiving organs that would work for me, sad that someone else passed and that their family would never see them again, happy that I'd have a new chance at life, scared because I didn't know if I'd make it through surgery, upset because I had so much to share with my daughter (I didn’t know if it was my time to go), hopeful that I would make it though, wary of what the post-op process would be like if I were to make it through, and so much more.

As I lay there with all of these swirling emotions, I thought I'd let the world know that I loved everyone in it. I truly did and still do. I felt a great push to actually write the post and let my fingers fly on my iPhone. My heart started to beat a little faster and tears welled up in my eyes as I typed, "About to receive my new organ transplants at Fairfax Hospital! Just in case, I love you all!", and put the phone down. Never before had I indicated that I was sick publicly, nor had I felt like putting that on my page. Letting everyone know how I felt at that instant was more important than anything.

I lay in the hospital bed preparing to be rolled into the operating room, tears rolled down my cheeks and I said to the universe, "Ok! This is it! I let everyone know! I just want you to know that I'm not going anywhere because I have a daughter to raise. She needs me and no one is going to love and raise her as I will”.

I commanded my spirit to make it through that surgery.

I had declared my strength, my will, and my love for life.

It was about 3 AM by this time. looked over at my sleeping father on one end of the hospital room couch and my brave-hearted boyfriend (now husband) on the other. I felt calm.

I felt victorious before anything had even begun because I had made the decision to stay.

Outro: I recognize that there are many conditions and situations during which a decision does not change the outcome. The decision was the beginning for me. I believe, in my case, I made it through this surgery due to a combination of things that began with my decision…

The Decision to Stay: Pre-Organ-Transplant Jitters