Why My Kidney Has a Name
In today’s world, it seems so easy to take a life; we see the heartbreak of mindless violence daily every time we turn on the TV or listen to the news, yet, recently, I had an opportunity to bring some balance into the world. For me, it was a simple choice. I decided to test for a kidney donation when I had a conversation with one of my sisters. She told me of a story posted to Facebook about an old friend in need and on a very long waiting list for a kidney transplant. After reading the information on her struggles myself and learning that the recipient had type O-negative blood, my first thought was that I had O-negative blood. That is the beginning of how uncomplicated this journey unfolded for me. If you could make the world a little more beautiful, lovelier, and loving, would you? That statement is how my kidney came to have a name, but the significance of that consideration unfolds more as you read on. Why? I’ve thought about this choice much in the last several months, and in retrospect, the first thing that motivated me was that I possess a rarer than most blood types. The mention of the blood type made the situation-specific in its needs for a particular outcome. Only 7% of the population in the United States has type O-negative blood. However, type O-negative blood is universal, meaning we can donate to any other blood type without complications. Still, a person with type O-negative blood must receive type O-negative blood. Does that make me extraordinary? As unique as I am, the smirk crossing my face reinforces that opinion as I type away, so yes, I am exceptional. Yet, my heart led the way here; I told my husband I felt a powerful need to help. There is much more to this story, as the recipient had other health issues, but mostly, her kidney was failing, she was on hemodialysis, and what I could offer her could save and change her health for the better. The only factor that would discourage my desire to remedy her afflictions would be an unfavorable workup on my health, so I investigated this choice on a deeper level. Subsequently, I connected with this person and related my desire to get tested for a potential kidney donation. She and her husband were overwhelmed, elated, and concerned about my sudden contact. A transplant surgery would be no walk in the park for me either, as I would have to endure thorough testing, surgery, and recovery. I understood and moved forward. We had not communicated in over twenty-five years. As life has it, we are young and indestructible one day, and the next quarter century flies by, mocking our inability to appreciate time and its precious existence. However, I lead a healthy life, I stay active, and although time shows up with wrinkles and some laugh lines, in my heart, I am capable, and my spirit is determined. Still, I continued to think if I could help in a way far beyond what I ever thought imaginable, why wouldn’t I? The need for kidneys for transplants has reached a public crisis. In the United States, there are about 90,000 people on a waiting list for a kidney. More than 5,000 new patients are added to that list each month. Daily, 13 people die waiting for a transplant. The wait time for a transplant is 3-5 years or longer. About 20,000 kidney transplants occur yearly, meaning we are not catching up. If you have type O blood, your odds of receiving a kidney are about 40%, compared to AB blood types being around 70%, type A 55%, and B about 42% This decision to show love and compassion to someone outside my immediate family or close-knit circle was not always met with warm and fuzzy discussions. I didn’t share my intention to become a living donor with many during the testing process. Why start a conversation about it when I wasn’t sure if the pairing had been medically verified? Upon discovering I was a match, I assured those worried that I had done my due diligence and that the statistics were in my favor. I understand that opinions vary, and fear may halt some, but I had researched much of the process to make an informed decision. I would openly discuss it with those who were unsure about the procedure. This was also an opportunity to demystify any misconceptions about living donor donations. By dispelling these myths, I hoped to educate and reassure. The comprehensive testing sealed my desire to move forward, and it was extensive, to say the least. I connected with two prior donors I knew and joined a living donor group on Facebook for support and the many questions I had about what would follow. Through my support group, I learned that certain items for post-surgery were a must, so I planned for that as well. It came to my attention that some donors experience a psychological loss of their organs post-recovery. I learned the emotional well-being of a donor is not always fully addressed, and some long-term effects, such as grieving the missing organ, occur for some. A phantom limb is the sensation that happens when you have an amputated limb but feel it’s still attached. Would the ghost of my kidney haunt me? Something else to ponder. As I told this to a friend, she immediately suggested that we name my transplant kidney, honor it accordingly for safeguarding me this far, and lovingly bid it farewell to give life to another. You must love and cherish friends like these. My next task before surgery was to name my left kidney appropriately and wish it well. Telling my husband that I needed to name my kidney still prompts jokes and digs, but he willingly threw out random names he thought appropriate. Naming your organ isn’t a task I took casually. The name had