0 for 4.

Long story short: I do not have a new liver. I have my old crappy liver.

The shiny new liver that was supposed to be MINE ALL MINE went through all the same testing and imaging studies that all organs do before they are offered to recipients, and was deemed *ideal* for me, even though there was slight trauma to the organ. My surgeon said he was going to do everything he could to work around the trauma to get me this liver, and said he was 95% sure that I would be getting my liver this time around.

I made it through all the same testing and procedures that I have three times before, and even got so far as getting to put on those hot-n-sexy anti-DVT compression knee-high stockings (hubba, hubba!)! I was whisked away to the OR, hooked up to all the necessary machinery, met and shook hands with nurses and doctors, signed all the right forms, and even made a nurse cry (I'm sorry! :( I didn't mean to make you cry.) when I told my husband and Dad about my wishes, should anything go wrong .

And then, my surgeon came out of the OR, back from examining the liver, with a Look.

To make this short, like I promised, the scans did not show the true state of the liver, and he found a frickin' TUMOR in the damned organ to boot.

So everyone tried to make me feel better, which of course didn't work. One very nice nurse tried to say how good it was to have a dry run under your belt, until we all told her at once I already HAD three other other dry runs, thank you very much. She backed away from the bedside slowly.

And then I got out of there, as fast as I could.

Without a new liver, again.