Eight years have already passed. Eight years! You were about to say goodbye to us forever. Anguish had taken hold of us, more specifically, me, because there was no quick and true solution to save your life. What they told us in the Hospital was "you have to wait; maybe a liver will appear for you." But he did not appear, and on more than one occasion they discharged you, sent you home to "wait," and that you were better off at home than in the hospital, where you ran the risk of a serious infection.
That Friday, May 13, 2016, you had been discharged. The usual speech: "Wait at home; it will be better there." The departure was after doing Dialysis in the morning. But this didn't happen in the morning... nor in the afternoon... maybe it would be at night. That cut short your departure, because on the weekend, and especially at night, no patient can leave the hospital.
Dialysis was about to end, when a group of doctors, nurses and others arrived at the unit, urging them to disconnect you because they had to take you. That's how it went. On the way a nurse asked you "do you know where we are going?" You replied, "Yes, to Nine Center," which was the area where your room was.
"No, let's go to the operating room," the nurse said. You, scared, asked why? Is something wrong with me?
"We are going to transplant you... we found a liver for you."
At midnight the very complicated intervention began.
At six in the morning on Saturday, May 14, 2016, you were reborn. That liver that saved your life is the one donated by that wonderful boy who went to Eternity the night before, Owen Muller.
Your rebirth was - and is - the enormous joy for those of us who love you, for those who adore you beyond Eternity, your Ivan, your Leonardo, me.
Here we are. Here we continue as always. Both. But now with a family that we adore and that loves us, the Mullers.
New York, 05-14-2024
Leonardo (Ivan) Argudo
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