Lifesavers for Latasha

What does being prepared mean? The truth is it means so many different things to many other people.

Humor me a bit as we take you through a small portion of Latasha and my journey of preparedness, or lack thereof, with the benefit of hindsight. As I write this, I am listening to Randy Travis’ song – “1982” talking about how hindsight is 20/20. Oh, the irony of that.

If you know me well, being prepared is simple. Plan for the worst and hope for the best. That’s the warfighter in me. It’s my pessimistic view to harden myself for tragedy and adversity. I am also a no-plan survives first contact kind of guy. You have to plan the plan to adjust fire when all hell breaks loose. It works. It’s a solid way of solving problems. It’s harsh. It’s me.

So, let me tell you, I was unprepared for this battle. I spent the time planning and thinking about my logistics and support plans A, B, and C. I failed. I failed to account for the most critical aspect of the fight.

Me.

I have spent my entire life trying to be selfless and a servant to those around me, over and under me. But more importantly, to my wife and best friend, Latasha.

I forgot about me.

I was never important. I still struggle with the concept of me. If everyone worked off the principle of giving to others, the world would be better. That’s naive and probably the dumbest thing to think, but it would equal love, compassion, and charity to our fellow humankind.

Call me old-fashioned. (Pun intended if you know me)

To my point, I had the transplant plan. We had our plan! Our plan didn’t survive first contact. If I am being brutally honest, it failed because we didn’t think Tasha would get her transplant. Oh, the lack of faith.

Deep down, I feared my past life and the wrongs I’ve spent most of my life paying penance for would be cast upon Tasha.

Oh, the hubris of that.

When I say we prepared, oh, did we prepare – logistically. Tasha was mentally and emotionally strong for me and her. I was suffering in silence and didn’t know how to ask for help.

The dry run traumatized me and left me in a deep depression for two weeks about some of my aforementioned points. I was mad at the world for robbing Tasha of her chance. I felt relief, which drove massive guilt because I didn’t want to lose Tasha in a surgery gone wrong. I was sad to see my best friend sad. I was not okay. Truthfully, I still am suffering.

My point is that I forgot to prepare my mind and deal with the mental battle I was in. I have to be strong for Tasha; to do that, I should have prepared my mind and become her rock.

This journey has taught me a few things about our marriage:

1) I love and adore Tasha more than I can ever express.
2) My life is hers, and hers is mine. We are Team Warner. That’s beautiful and makes me proud of what we’ve built. It took work!
3) I rely on her for so much. Not being able to speak to her has hurt deeply.
4) Our dreams and goals drive us as a team. Together, we are unstoppable.
5) Resilience is about embracing the messy and chaotic and understanding the Yin and Yang of it all.
6) The only way through is straight through – head-on.

I am sharing this because I don’t think the hospital staff emphasized this part of the journey enough. I have my opinions on why, precisely because this transplant is so rare and not typically done for a young adult in the prime of their life. Most heart and lung transplants are for those in the last years of their natural life.

This is of note because Tasha has a lot of living to do and, if I am being frank, a lot to lose. It doesn’t make her any more special or worthy by any means. It’s just the truth.

Or I wasn’t listening, which is probably the most likely reason because I’m stubborn and had the attitude that I’ve been through worse.

Oh, the hubris.

This means that my mental and emotional preparation should have been better, specifically on my end. As I always do, I reflect, learn, and adjust.

So, if you’re reading this, remember this: no plan survives first contact. Plans and prepare, but be ready to adjust fire and get it done. Take the time to feel sorry for yourself (not too long), but don’t dwell. Talk to someone you trust, anyone!

Pick yourself up and go. Go head-on and straight through. It’s the fastest and most direct path through adversity. And never lose sight of where and why you are going through it.

For me, that’s simple: it is the love of my life and my best friend, Latasha Beth Warner.