Healing is more than a medical term
Healing isn’t just something that happens in a hospital room or in the six weeks after a kidney transplant. It isn’t confined to weekly progress on my patient chart, my surgical scars being less visible, or positive weekly lab results. After my kidney transplant, healing was happening in places an experienced surgeon can’t reach or medicate. It was happening in my identity, in my sense of purpose, in my mind that had grown tired from the road I had endured.
Creativity helped me speak what my heart held
After transplant surgery, my emotions were scattered. And the surprising thing that helped gather those scattered pieces was creativity, which had been patiently waiting for my return.
I’m not talking about the polished kind of creativity meant for galleries or bookstores. The kind that lets you sit with a blank page, an open canvas for writers and whispers, “Let’s just see what happens.” The kind that helped me be myself again. My immense gratitude stood beside my ongoing fear. Relief still tangled with guilt. Hope had taken on many forms.
Trying to talk about all of it felt too heavy. But so did holding my emotions all in. But writing gave me a gentler path forward.
Creativity let me tell the truth from the side, through metaphors, characters, and humor, softening the sharp edges. When I wrote about my kidney as a character interviewing for a job, dating, or performing stand-up, I wasn’t hiding from reality. I was translating my imagination into a language I could better understand as a fun and interesting piece for my reader. And also for myself.
It helped me reclaim the pen
Chronic illness can make you feel like life is happening to you instead of along with you. Appointments, labs, medications, waiting. So much waiting. It felt like I had lost control of my own story, and I was running in all directions, trying to keep up.
Creativity placed the pen back in my hand. A pen full of ink.
Every time I wrote a blog post, I was taking back authorship. I was no longer a patient. I was a storyteller. A creator, shaping words into meaning instead of being lost in my circumstances.
It made room for joy again
There came a moment during my recovery when I realized I had been holding my breath for too long. Creativity helped me to slowly exhale. It reminded me that joy doesn’t always arrive with fanfare. Sometimes, joy comes in the form of a metaphor or a line that captures what it felt like to wake up with a new organ, no longer being on kidney dialysis, or imagining what it will be like to meet my donor.
In my post, How I Imagine Meeting My Donor, this line stands out just the way I wanted:
“The greeting would be simple, a genuine hello followed by a silence holding meaning in the unsaid, as we both might not have any idea what to say at that next moment.”
(And no, not because my work in progress is entitled Left Unsaid. I noticed “unsaid” during a revision.)
Humor became a release valve. Writing became my pill-free medicine. Creativity, small and steady and surprising, became part of my healing plan.
It opened doors to and for others
When I shared my writing, something happened. People reached out. They understood. They were seen. And in their responses, I felt less alone, and so did they. Creativity became a bridge between my experience and someone else’s, a way to say, “I’ve walked a road like yours.” Others responded without needing to explain every detail of what it is like battling their own medical issues while often feeling isolated, as I once did.
These new connections through writing mattered more than I could even wrap my head around.
It helped me see forward again
Illness can make the future feel like a hallway with the lights turned low, the path ahead present but difficult to make out. Creativity makes things brighter. It let me (re)imagine, set goals, and resume dreaming. It reminded me that healing is not only about surviving. It is about becoming the person I was meant to be.
And I am still becoming.
The work continues
I am not finished healing, and I am not finished creating. The two are woven together. Each time I write, I learn something new about who I am becoming. Each time I laugh or am moved by a line I didn’t expect to write, I feel a little lighter and breathe a little easier.
Creativity didn’t just help me heal. It helped me come back home.
And somewhere between the ink and the laughter, I’m beginning to see that healing is in the story still unfolding, inviting me to turn the next page and keep writing.
Related Post:
Turning Blessings Into Words