In early May, I celebrated 11 years with my living donor kidney. I received the Gift of Life courtesy of my close friend, Matthew, in 2014. I’m often asked how he came to give me a second chance at life and the truth is I owe it all to an electronics retail job we shared after college. We started as strangers but spent 40+ hour weeks together, endured stressful holiday sales, and forged a bond that only working in retail can provide.
As I reflect on the time since my surgery, I’m reminded of the ups and downs and all the major and miniscule moments along the way. I feel overly compelled to write a note to the version of Kevin who awoke in a recovery room with a freshly-transplanted kidney on May 6, 2014. I want to let him know what to expect and, most importantly, that things are going to be different, but OK!
The nurse has been calling your name for a few seconds, but with the general anesthesia wearing off and your hearing loss, it’s going to take a few extra moments for you to wake up and snap to attention. You’ll immediately recite your name and date of birth, before the nurse even gets the chance to ask you, and she’ll laugh. Your mind will immediately think of Matthew and you’ll learn he’s doing well in recovery. Your new kidney is making urine right away. Lots of it.
A few days later, back at home, you’ll hate walking up steps but the pain will subside in time. You’ll endure a temporary bout of insomnia but that’ll pass. A weekly pill organizer will become a part of your life as much as brushing your teeth.
You’ll be scared to be around large crowds, so you’ll mask in a society that hasn’t yet endured a devastating global pandemic. One time you won’t have a mask on and a small child will sneeze directly in your face at a pharmacy. You’ll be emotionally shaken but fine.
You’ll be scared to see the results of routine lab work…actually you’ll stay scared over the years. Sorry about that one. But you’ll trust your care team and listen to your body and that’s a solid plan. Eventually, you’ll become more accustomed to falling asleep without plugging into a dialysis cycler than the way it used to be for you.
You’ll get sick with random illnesses, as folks do, and require hospitalization. You’ll catch a virus that will cause the world to go on pause.
Connecting with fellow transplant patients will change your outlook on everything. One day you’ll talk less about transplant with these individuals and more about your favorite new TV shows. You’ll wish them Happy Transplantiversary every year and celebrate the birth of their children.
Working a typical 9-5 won’t be for you, so you’ll fall into renal patient advocacy and meet researchers, and nephrologists, and driven individuals who want to make life better for patients like you. You’ll travel all over the country and be inspired by too many folks to count.
You’ll go on vacation and swim with tropical fish and that moment of tranquility will be ingrained in your brain forever.
Your transplant-centric milestones and gratitude will only grow over time, as will your friendship with your donor and friend.
One day, you’ll write a blog about this long, strange trip and won’t be able to imagine life without it.
