Tears from Outer Space

Just a few days ago, my friend Susie donated one of her kidneys to her long-time friend's husband, Ron. Besides some severe pain caused by the pumping of gas into her system, Susie is fine. Ron, as I just heard from Susie's mom, is looking the best he's looked in 10 years. He now has some color, and his lab markers are normal. The transplant seems to have been a big success.

After I hung up the phone, I began weeping. Not just a little wet in the eyes but sobbing. I can't really say what these tears from outer space are about. Vicarious joy that someone I've never met has been given the gift of life? Is it because no one has said to me, "Heidi, once you get on that transplant list, I want to be tested as a possible donor"? Or is it that, the longer this process of getting on the waitlist drags on, the more I feel I'll be tied to a dialysis machine for the rest of my days?

I am happy for Ron, no question. It's the same sort of happiness I have often felt when I've seen people in love. I think that any love in the world makes love for others all the more possible. Though I may not be with someone, here in front of me is evidence that love and romance and passion are possible. Possible for me. So it is the same with Ron. Someone stepped up for him, so it is possible that someone will step up for me. He received a kidney, so it is possible that I may receive a kidney too.

But it is exhausting sometimes to remain positive, day after day, decade after decade, that healing and good health are coming my way. And it's a lot of energy to maintain the archetype of the happy person with health challenges.