A Wild Kidney Comes Home, part 2

The Elusive Wild Kidney

tl;dr --my friend and I get dates to give a kidney and receive a kidney, respectively. the balance of delays and success leave me waiting, while I'm speechless that a person donated a kidney to a stranger, so I could live.

My friend's date was set: Dec. 20. A day forever etched on my heart.

My date was set: Dec. 11. A day forever etched on my calendar.

And then, My Date wasn't set.

Five days before The Date, I received another call in my office. The Date was postponed with promises of 'Soon'.

I know an organ isn’t yours until it’s nestled in your body. But, dang, it’s gut wrenching when it happens. To be so close, all you can do is hope. You walk around, you conduct your day: it's you and your brain and your body, hoping with all your being that it works out and works out soon.

The last two weeks of December were a blur. My body was in the final homestretch, sprinting; only to be told, just another mile.

On the night of Dec. 19, as I looked at my friend and her husband and enjoyed being with each other the night before she was rolled into surgery to donate her kidney, I couldn't believe it was all happening. It's like I was floating. It was an indescribable joy. I understood the phrase: 'the lightness of happiness'.

I reached over to get something from my purse, only to realize it wasn't there. That earlier, I had set my purse down and that now it wasn't there. Dinner was interrupted; I returned to reality. My insurance cards that I needed were there. I needed them to get the surgery. Marek and I drove around Durham looking for the purse, though my head was racing. I'm not sure I was looking for the purse* or if I was looking for some calm, some peace, perhaps a distraction, perhaps my sanity.

The next day, we visited my hero, my friend who was one kidney lighter. And all I could do was look at her. What do you say when you've say 'thank you' a million times? What do you say to someone who is in a hospital because you asked and she agreed? I don't know, honestly, so Marek and I brought her and her husband Ethiopian food and said 'thank you' a few million more times.

Then, it was Christmas, and on Dec. 26, I woke up to someone's positive COVID test on the kitchen counter at my parents' house. I didn't know whose it was; just that it wasn't mine. I woke Marek up, and we packed and left the house in less than 15 minutes. I saw my nephews' faces asking me what was going on. All I could do is eke out 'I love you' as I looked at them. I didn't have the words; I didn't know how to explain what I was feeling -- all the feelings that I was feeling. I looked at my mom, who had somehow immediately known what to do when she came downstairs, who put on a mask and helped load the car, and I squeezed her hand. And, then Marek and I drove away as I watched my mom wave a wave that felt like a hug. Down the hill from my parents' house we went, hoping to outrun whatever was going on.

After more COVID tests than I can count, Marek and I were reassured after a week. We had outdoor lunches with close friends, we laughed and felt joy, and we walked.

We walked around our beloved little town.

We walked to clear our heads.

We walked to focus on the tasks at hand.

We walked toward a new date: Jan. 3.

*We never found my purse, but I was able to replace my insurance cards, thankfully. That night, I turned off the airtag that was pinging from my purse and I felt at peace. It would be ok: things would be replaced. I would be ok: my kidney would be replaced too.

stay tuned for Part 3: A Wild Kidney Comes Home