Don't Ever Sell the Kindness of Strangers Short

Pictured here is my next-door neighbor Janet the morning after donating one of her kidneys on my behalf. By her side is her equally compassionate husband, Dana. She's wearing a scarf and hat handmade by Susie, the friend who donated one of her kidneys to her best friend's husband in the summer of 2009.

Though I've posted previously about the miracle of strangers stepping forward, this message bears repeating.

In late June of 2009, I moved into the apartment at which I currently reside. I had been walking in the neighborhood when I spied a FOR RENT sign that included the line "pet friendly." Exactly what I had been looking for, since I really wanted to get a dog. During that summer, I had several paramedic dramas and hospitalizations. Janet came to the rescue, scooping up a very protective Rasputin who would not let the paramedics near me. When I was home, we also went for afternoon walks with our dogs. So basically we were friendly neighbors but not yet friends when, six weeks after I'd moved in, she said she wanted to be my donor.

That was back in August of 2009, but I did not get on the transplant list until June 16 of this year. I had to fight and scratch to get there, having triple bypass surgery in November 2009 and then going through the long recovery process following a hip fracture in March of this year. Once I had graduated from a walker to a cane to my own unaided two legs, I started an aggressive cardiac rehab program to get my heart in good enough shape to pass the necessary tests. Finally after I was on the list, Janet could begin her testing to see if she was sufficiently healthy and blood type-compatible.

When we found out that Janet was A blood type and I'm O, we started looking into paired donations. To hedge my bet, Susie wrote a solicitation letter on my behalf. A former student of mine saw it and forwarded it to his friend Cindy in Phoenix, a 26-year-old who up until the end said that she would be my backup if this transplant didn't pan out.

One of the big messages of all this is that you never know from whom help will come. We tend to think that friends and family will step up to the plate, but that isn't necessarily true. They may have fears or hesitations or they may feel that they can help in other ways, such as my son who has been ever-ready to help all along. Had he been my donor, who would have done all the things he has currently been doing? Everyone has his or her role, even if that role seems to be no role. They perhaps are silent, do not send emails or cards, do not call, but are perhaps saying prayers or lighting candles or visualizing positive outcomes. Or they help out afterwards with shopping or cooking or, as I had this morning, a fantastic massage.

The fact that I moved next door to the woman who would donate on my behalf--what are the chances! That two strangers would want to save my life is something that continues to amaze me. The beauty of Janet's gift and Cindy's unflinching offer are miracles in themselves. Of course, add to this the miracle of me even getting on the list--the initial Kaiser transplant panel and the initial consulting UCLA surgeon wanted to nix me, but I was persistent, making my way through about a dozen paramedic dramas, a half dozen hospitalizations, bypass surgery, a broken hip, months of rehab for my heart and my leg, and an unending barrage of doctor visits, nightly dialysis, tests, tests, and more tests. And then to think I survived the last couple months when I was in such dire fluid overload and dialysis just wasn't working any more that I struggled to do the simplest tasks, like walking across the room or getting dressed, all the while doing my best to keep this from everyone. It sure seems as if the forces of the universe were in alignment for me to make this happen.

And then that I should feel so fantastic so shortly after surgery. Several nurses said they had never seen a recipient get up and walk the halls the morning after surgery or seen someone been released in four days, five days being the absolute minimum.

But I feel better than I've felt in more than a dozen years. In the decade prior to the onset of dialysis, my heart was dragging on me. For years I didn't lie down but rather slept sitting up because the weight of my own body on my chest was too constrictive. Everything from walking a few feet to climbing a flight of stairs to doing the laundry was a personal challenge. And yet I was often working 60 hours a week at several jobs, including teaching, freelance editing and writing, and massage therapy. Plus taking care of my mother for two years. It is a miracle I made it through this without keeling over.

So thank you, thank you, thank you to Janet for the gift of her kidney to a man in Virginia so that I could receive one from Brandie, my actual donor. Thanks to Brandie for literally giving me life. And thanks to Cindy for faithfully standing in the wings, ever ready to give of herself should other options fail. The kindness of strangers. Don't ever sell that short.