March - National Kidney Month

Statistics show that one-third of those needing an organ will die before their name even reaches the top of the waiting list. According to the United Network for Organ Sharing (UNOS), in the time it takes to unload the dishwasher, one person is added to an organ transplant waiting list. On average, twenty people die each day waiting. Those who wait the longest typically need a kidney. Most of us have two, and I donated one of mine to my dad. Here’s our story.

Getting ready for bed, you might have thought Daddy was packing for the Titanic’s maiden voyage. I couldn’t fathom all the doodads he needed to stay alive. If you could even call him that. Yes, his heart beat, thanks to a pacemaker. Yes, he ate, thanks to the purple pill and insulin. Yes, he breathed, via Inogen. Yes, he slept, all day because the damn PD CYCLER screamed like a Howler monkey all night. Despite his forced laughter, I was watching him die. Debilitating diabetes was now consuming his kidneys, and his spirit was waning. One day, I overheard him whisper to himself, “I oughta just overdose on insulin.” No longer could I witness his suffering or his ballooned belly brandishing the silicone umbilicus that had become Daddy’s lifeline.

The decision to become his living donor struck me like a rattlesnake—only without a warning.

October 2009, unbeknownst to anyone—including me—my Daddy’s only child was flying from home to the U.S. to give him a kidney. I strolled toward the wavering mirage of puddles that vanished before me as I crossed Belize’s sweltering tarmac. Despite my carry-on tugging at me, my face was beaming—my blood type was a match! Like good husbands, Vince helped me collect my pee for twenty-four hours the week before. I had aced the first two kidney-donor tests. I didn’t think I’d be donating my kidney on this trip. Heck, we rescue, rehabilitate, and relocate crocodiles for a living. There’s a lot to consider and discuss with my husband before letting a doctor pluck a healthy organ from my forty-four-year-young body. Would I still be able to jump on crocodiles? I grabbed my bag, hugging it close as I clambered up the scorching stairs with rails that felt on fire. Stale cool air blasted me as I entered the plane’s belly. I settled into a front seat. Tissue-typing tests were the final step to confirm that Daddy and I were a hundred percent match. I giggled, knowing I had scheduled them for tomorrow. Daddy had no clue.

As I gazed through the scratched plexiglass, the vastness of lush vegetation rushing below filled me with wondrous fear. The rainforest is a life of its own. Its canopy of kaleidoscoping greens was dazzling at three thousand feet. In 2004, Vince and I made southern Belize our home and started the country’s first crocodile sanctuary. Despite my round-trip ticket scheduled to return me the following week, loneliness slithered into my chest as I left the monkeys, our crocodiles, our potlickers, and Vince behind. My sighs eased into hums as I thought about my new covert adventure… to save a human life… to rescue Daddy. 

My secret and I daydreamed as the greenery below shifted from emeralds to milky quartz dust then dissolved into turquoise. I envisioned Daddy’s oceanic blues twinkling and his rosé lips ho-ho-ho-ing thru his Santa-like beard as I told him, “If we pass tomorrow’s tests, you’re getting a new kidney!” My kidney! Sure, it’s filtered vast amounts of booze. It’s also sifted plenty of good ol’H₂O. Heck, that’s what kidneys do… or, should do. Then, my secret slipped from my mind via my heart to the corners of my lips, which spontaneously curled like the Grinch’s as he listened to all of Whoville sing “Dahoo Dores.” At that moment, my soul decided I was giving a kidney on this very journey. From deeper inside me than the sea below, an realization arose. Someone needed an organ. If I wasn’t a match for Daddy, well, as J.D. sang, “I want to share what I can give…” I can give a kidney. Even if it’s to a complete stranger. The rattlesnake struck. I was bitten. My envenomated secret grew. It was mine alone at that moment. But then, I shared it with every stranger I met. Because every secret wants to—needs to—be told.

“I’m going to my Daddy’s in North Carolina to give him my kidney,” I blurted to no one in particular.

Wide-eyed passengers looked at me with awe and contemplating disbelief.

Their look alone was enough for me to continue… 

I persisted, “Daddy’s a severe diabetic.” Then I wondered what that meant to someone else. 

To me, it meant pee strips in the bathroom; insulin in the butter tray on the refrigerator door; witnessing a plethora of finger pricks followed by at least three shots a day where needles would push past scar tissue; and months filled with longer days at the local VA. To Daddy, it meant the same — PLUS, heart fibrillations in his thirties, loss of vision in his forties, open-heart surgery in his fifties, neuropathy in his hands and feet, numerous stents, a pacemaker, kidney failure, and now the dreaded PD Monster Cycler.

“He’s on Peritoneal Dialysis. His gut’s tethered to a machine all night long,” I’d say. Strangers’ mouths would open. Only air escaped.

“I’m going home for my birthday, but I have been getting tested to see if I can give him my kidney.” My secret was so happy to be out. It revealed itself to every newcomer, becoming more real with each person. While my intentions were genuine, I never thought much beyond the idea of it. “The Secret” was transforming into a tangible reality.

People’s responses were similar: a smile followed by, “What a wonderful gift to give him.” 

All those wonderful words of encouragement from strangers propelled the idea closer to becoming reality. They will probably never know, unless they happen to be reading this, that I wasn’t just a match… but a Perfect Match! 

The transplant was a success. In a couple of months, I was back wrangling crocodiles in Belize, and Daddy was enjoying good times, the “Sunshine on My Shoulders,” with toes in the sand. Despite my kidney holding its own, the diabetes still gnawed away at the rest of him. His heart would need another valve replacement next, followed by a rotten gallbladder and an erupted appendix. Yet, for another six years and three months, Daddy and my kidney endured and lived his life to the fullest. On January 31, 2016, Daddy transformed. He and my kidney were cremated with full military honors. My memories of our extended times together are more than Titanic.

Share what you can give. You don’t ned to be a living donor to save a life. Please register to be an organ donor today at Donate Life America.