When I donated a kidney to my stepfather almost 10 years ago, I was, well, almost 10 years younger. At that time, even though I wasn’t super young, I was younger-enough than my stepfather — that my kidney seemed like a nice, shall we say, upgrade for him. Some people who get donated kidneys end up needing more than one over the course of their lives… And, so far, knock on wood, my kidney still seems to be supporting my stepfather pretty well. I’m very grateful for that.
But, when you’re a person who would be willing to donate an organ, and you find out, as I have, that another person in your family… a person who is dear to you, a person who has their whole life ahead of them, a person who deserves to have the healthiest, most vibrant life possible, now also needs a kidney … it’s a little gut-wrenching to realize that, not only are you no longer a spring chicken, in possession of a nice upgrade kidney, but you only have one left and cannot give it away.
This is my current situation. I recently learned that that my super-amazing nephew, 25 years old, a producer on a morning tv show, a music-lover, musician, actor, extremely bright, pensive, introspective, humorous, lovely person… finds himself in kidney failure. And I – the only-one-kidney girl –must accept that I have … Only. One.
It’s just not fair.
After I spoke to my sister (his mother) the other day, when she gave me the news, I felt a little bad that I didn’t cry and freak out and get exasperated over the reality of the situation. But I guess I was just focusing on what the solution might be. (I tend to be able to do this when it’s someone else’s problem. When I have a problem of my own, I tend to just focus on the problem, not the solution. I should learn from myself!)
I remember when my stepfather first got sick many years ago. It was really hard for my mom, and she was at her wit’s end a lot of the time. And I remember telling her not to freak out, that it would be okay. I look back on it now and wonder if I seemed really callous or something. I should have *worried with her.* But I wanted to see the practical side of the situation. It was way before we got to the point that he needed a kidney transplant. So, I had no idea that I would eventually help in the way that I did. But I felt sure that he would come through it okay.
Now, when talking to my sister, I also feel optimistic and practical… confident that someone will come forward and donate a kidney to my nephew. Even if I had one to give, I would prefer that someone younger would do it. He doesn’t deserve a thoroughly used kidney. He deserves a fabulous, vivacious, energetic, enthusiastic kidney.
Maybe I am naïve or weird to think that it will be so automatic for someone else to do this. I should realize that everyone doesn’t see this type of thing the way I do. But I wish so hard that someone will.
Perhaps my role now, as a slightly older ookgirl, is to share my experience with whomever that is, so they know it can be such a gift to give of oneself. And so they know they can have a wonderful, normal life afterward.
I’m here for you, whoever you are. I’m waiting. I’m praying. I’m hoping you’ll hear this call I’m sending out. Maybe you are someone I know or someone he knows. Maybe you are a stranger. Maybe we will never meet you. But I feel you are there.
His life is so worth it. Your life will be worth more for it. Trust me.
“Strangers passing in the street. By chance two separate glances meet, and I am you and what I see is me.” –Pink Floyd
Never before had I teared up while standing to face the flag for the National Anthem. But this time, I was 18-years-old, and I’d just completed my first day of basic training in the U.S. Air Force. Although it’s likely my eyes had filled up due to fear as much as patriotism, there was also an overwhelming sense that I was now part of something greater than myself.
Serving in the military gave me so many things. It got me out of the house and out on my own. It gave me excellent training and funding for college. It allowed me to see and live in other parts of the world. And, of course, it’s where I met my husband, Craig.
“There are two of us on the run
Going so fast, every doubt we had is coming undone..”
So, on a recent morning in late November, when my eyes filled with tears again, I was sad that Craig wasn’t standing next to me. Don’t worry, nothing had happened to him. He had ducked out to take some things to our car just before the JFK 50 Mile ultramarathon that we were about to do. In the pre-race briefing, the race director talked about the history of the race and how so many active duty and former military members participate in it each year. He asked those of us who fell into that category to stand, and everyone applauded. Once again, my eyes got watery and I was filled with a sense of something greater than myself… and, let’s face it, a little bit of fear about what we were going to attempt. I wished Craig had been there just then, because he embodies everything I think of when it comes to grit, endurance, and service to those around him.
Race Director Mike Spinnler held up race number 1 and explained that no one would be wearing it in this year’s race. It belonged to William “Buzz” Sawyer, who organized the first edition of the event back in 1963. Buzz passed away at age 90 in February. So this year’s race would be a memorial to both him and its name sake. As a high school coach, Buzz had pulled together a group of his athletes to join him in a 50-mile challenge, inspired by the one President John F. Kennedy had given to his generals and administration around that time. Buzz kept it going for 30 years before turning it over to Spinnler.
Kennedy had touted the importance of physical fitness even before he took office, when he wrote an article called “The Soft American” in Sports Illustrated. He wasn’t the first president to call attention to fitness, however. His predecessor, Dwight D. Eisenhower, a military man himself, had established the President’s Council on Youth Fitness, which Kennedy continued and expanded. And, it was upon learning about an executive order that President Theodore Roosevelt had given to his Marine officers in 1908–to finish 50 miles in 20 hours–that Kennedy decided to put the same challenge to his military. His brother and Attorney General, Bobby Kennedy, took on the challenge and completed it, as you can see in this short video.
The 50-mile challenge inspired other events around the country, by groups like the boy scouts and high school teams, just like Buzz and his athletes. Our friends, Jon and Terese, would be our support crew for the race; and it was cool to learn from Jon that his father had also completed one of the 50-mile challenges back in the early 60s. As a civilian working for the Operations Evaluation Group on assignment to Quantico, Va., his father had joined a battalion of U.S. Marines on such a hike to and from the Basic School, where they stopped mid-way for a steak lunch!
After JFK was assassinated in 1963, other 50-mile events around the country stopped running. But the one Buzz started continued and is today the oldest ultramarathon in the country. Buzz put together a route in Washington County that followed a similar path to the one we would traverse, including part of the Appalachian Trail (AT) and the C&O Canal Towpath. His group finished in just over 13 hours, and that is the current time cutoff for people doing the race. We would start at 0630 and needed to finish by 1930 (that’s 7:30 pm for you non-military types 😉 ).
I was most concerned about the AT portion, which takes place in the first 15.5 miles of the race. Craig and I had done a handful of trail runs, including some on the AT. But we knew that one mis-placed foot and a trip on the rocky, hilly terrain could leave you severely injured and derail your whole race. Because the first major time checkpoint on the race was at the point where you come off the AT, Craig instructed me that if he should fall, I was to keep going and not miss the cut-off.
We both knew that it would be hard for either of us to keep going if the other person fell. So, it seemed to work out well that I got ahead of him by running up the hill coming out of Boonsboro at the start of the race. This way, I wouldn’t be around to see if he fell… Many people chose to walk this steep incline (which was probably a smart way to save your legs). But I was afraid I’d be walking enough later in the race, so I kept running. That put me about 20 minutes ahead of Craig by the time I exited the AT. And that was my only goal – to get off the AT in one piece and before the cut-off! After that, I was going to accept whatever I could do… We had trained pretty well for most of the summer, getting up to distances of around 30-32 miles. But due to injuries and traveling schedules, our training had dropped off during the last month or so. Therefore, it was anyone’s guess whether we could finish this thing.
Jon and Terese, the perfect race-sherpas, were there at Weverton when I came off the AT and offered me food and the opportunity to change shoes or socks. I felt pretty good. I was actually amazed at how good I felt! But I knew the next checkpoint would come fast and I should keep going. I ran pretty well to the next major checkpoint which comes at about 28 miles. It was nice to run on the flat C&O trail, in the cool fall air and with the river keeping me company. The only nagging thing was that my GPS watch was telling me I was a mile further than the aid station signs said I was. I found out later that Craig’s watch was even worse – showing that he was up to four miles ahead of the actual distance. That really messes with your head!
At Anteitem, the second stop where we could meet our support crew, it was good to hear from Jon & Terese that Craig was doing well. He had fallen about five times on the AT, but didn’t really hurt himself. He joked that he was doing “emergency push-ups” each time he fell. I knew that once he was off the AT and could socialize with other runners on the course, he would do pretty well. I told them I wasn’t sure how much further I would go, but that I wanted to get beyond 30 miles. They thought I could definitely finish the full 50 with no problem, based on my current pace. But I was trying to take it bit by bit.
During the next section, as we pushed along to mile 38, I found that talking to other people on the course and trying to run/walk with them was a good strategy. It really pushed me to try to stay with a man and woman who were running together. Their running pace was a bit faster than mine, but they were run-walking, so I knew I could get a break every now and then. He was a heart-attack survivor and had done the race several times. He was closely monitoring his heart rate, and every time it got above a certain point, he’d stop and walk for a short period.
When I stopped to see Jon & Terese at Taylors Landing (mile 38), it was starting to get colder, and there was a possibility of rain. I knew I would be walking more from here on out, so I wanted to get my rain jacket from them in case I started to get cold. At this point, I only had a few miles to go before I’d be off the C&O trail portion and onto the road which covers the last 8.5 miles of the race. That was my new goal. Craig was about an hour behind me now and would be pushing close to the time cutoffs. I had calculated that I could walk the last portion and still finish in time. So, I was going to try to conserve energy now. Although I knew I could finish within the cutoff of 13 hours, I wasn’t going to believe it until it happened. So, I couldn’t relax too much.
I ran with another lady for a while on the final C&O portion. But her pace was a bit too fast for me, so I told her to keep going. When I got to the road, they gave me the “vest of shame” – which is the reflective vest they give to anyone who gets to that point after 3 pm. That was okay by me, though, because I had forgotten my head lamp, and it ended up being really dark on the road. I did have a small green light that Craig got for each of us. So, it was better than nothing. I pretty much walked the final portion up to the last half-mile, and then I ran that last bit across the finish line. It was only then that I realized it was raining. I didn’t quite beat 12 hours – finishing in 12:02. But just finishing at all was way more than I expected. It was definitely another emotional moment for me – to realize I had completed this bucket list item!
After a very welcome shower at the high school in Williamsport where the finish line was, I went outside to join Jon & Terese and wait for Craig to finish. It was raining a bit harder now. At this point, there was about 15 minutes before the final time cut-off. We didn’t know if he would make it, and we knew it would be a huge disappointment to come so far and get swept up by the sweeper van. With less than 10 minutes to go, I kept looking for his small green light. We knew he had a head lamp too, but only the green light would distinguish him from the other few people coming down the road.
The race announcer pointed out that we could now see the sweeper van coming down the road, too. A few runners were still in front of it. All I could think was that if it were me, I would refuse to get on it if it stopped me that close to the finish line! Just then, I could see that one of the runners was Craig, his green light shining on his left shoulder. It was so exhilarating to cheer him in! We knew he would make it at this point, and he finished in 12:54, with six minutes to spare!
We had no clear goals for the JFK 50 Mile – other than to try it. We knew it would be hard for us. Even though we are both Ironman finishers, neither of us are super-fast runners. But it was fitting to complete it together. We spent our military careers together, and we had marveled at the JFK 50 since Craig had supported one of our friends from the Air Force when he did it years ago. It was a really cool experience, and I recommend it to anyone who is considering it. If we can do it, you can do it!
Being on the AT and the C&O trail was really peaceful, almost transcendental. You feel stripped down to the core of your being. And then, you’re surrounded by people who are in the fight with you, so to speak. They’re all happy to help you and encourage you, while also trying to do their own race. It’s times like these that I feel barriers come down between people. In the divided political climate of our country right now, I want to believe in something true and honorable that make us all American in the best possible way.
I don’t know if we embody JFK’s idea of being physically fit and non-soft Americans. We were definitely sore Americans for a few days afterward! Still, it’s cool to feel a part of something so historic and bigger than ourselves. It made me feel nostalgic and hopeful.
“I stopped believing in black and white In politics Or in left or right I stopped believing in Hollywood In only the bad In only the good I stopped believing in dreams come true But I still believe in you…”
I didn’t want to write this blog post, but I felt obligated to level with you and let you know about something that happened to me… It’s not a huge thing, but it’s not a small thing. I’m not sure of the proper way to describe it. But if you’re a fellow ookster (i.e., an only-one-kidney -ster), it’s only fair for me to let you know that I’m not completely impervious. Yes, I’ve been going along with just one kidney — happy as a clam, no complaints. But recently, I had a bit of a health scare that I thought I should share.
Impervious means, “not allowing fluid to pass through.” But it also means “insusceptible.” I think those two meanings are interesting here, since the kidney is meant to filter the blood from its impurities, while also regulating the blood pressure, the pressure of the blood as it flows through the body. It turns out that my lone kidney… the one I should be thinking of always, and protecting, since I gave away its partner and asked it to soldier on alone… is not insusceptible… and it suffered a little recently.
Just over a month ago, I got a bladder infection, which was treated with antibiotics and–supposedly– went away. But then, two weeks ago, I ended up in the emergency room with severe “flank pain” on my right side. As you may recall, it was my left kidney that I gave away. So, I was pretty sure the pain was from my lone, right kidney. I wasn’t sure if it might be a kidney stone or something else. But it was p r e t t y d a r n p a i n f u l !!
They did a CT scan and did not see any kidney stones. But they did see inflammation and some other indications that I probably had a kidney infection. It’s not clear if this was a progression of the bladder infection or a new infection. But I think it was the former.
Kidney infections (or any infections in the urinary tract) can be quite common. For most people, it is a minor inconvenience. You go to your doctor, get your antibiotics, and go on your merry way. But for an ookster, it can be a little scary, because you don’t want to damage the only kidney you have.
They kept me in the hospital for two nights and ran intravenous fluids through me at a swift pace, as well as intravenous antibiotics. Then, they sent me home with more antibiotics and probiotics. (I had all the biotics, people!) … After a few days, I was back to normal … for the most part. (Hey, was I ever normal?)
My consolation prize from all this (besides a renewed desire to take friggin’ better care of my kidney!) was high blood pressure. We aren’t sure if it was just caused by the original infection (my blood pressure had always been normal before then.) But it has stayed high since that first infection, and my primary care physician finally decided to put me on medication for it.
In fairness, it’s worth noting that high blood pressure runs in my family, and –by personality– I’m pretty high-strung. So, I probably had the makings of this condition, ookster status notwithstanding. Still, it makes me feel a little defeated. My doctor says we will see how I do on the medication. And with my healthy lifestyle (exercising, avoiding alcohol*, avoiding salt, drinking lots of water, etc.) – perhaps I can get off the medication down the line.
So, let this be a lesson from your Auntie Jenn… If you only have one kidney, and you think you might have an infection anywhere in your urinary tract – run, don’t walk, to your doctor’s office and get checked out. It’s not worth taking a chance on this small, but big, thing.
*Oh yeah, avoiding alcohol… I’ve been doing that for the most part since we returned from Vermont. It was something I wanted to do anyway. And now, I have an even better reason to. All that craft beer and the occasional glass of wine or margarita will just need to be enjoyed by other folks, preferably those with strong livers and two kidneys 🙂
I'm breathing in
the oxygenI'm holding it
through hard timesI'm breathing out
in the ultrasoundThings come around
in hard timesTen thousand miles of the new prescriptionsSo we open our mouthsAnd take 'em all insideOne pill at a time
“Hey, Jay … Do you mind raising my seat a bit?” I asked one of our Trek Travel guides as an unusually hot July day unfolded in Shelburne, VT. I hated myself for requesting the adjustment, because our group was anxious to go, and I knew the guides were working hard to get us on the road before we all melted in the sun. It was our first bike ride on the “Vermont Brewery Tour” that I had booked with my husband and some friends to celebrate my upcoming 50th birthday… part of my personal “embrace what’s next” campaign. (More on that later.) We would spend six days riding through the countryside of Vermont and stopping at various craft brewery spots to enjoy the food and tastes some beer. My vision for the trip didn’t exactly include the record-breaking heat we were experiencing. (The heat also squelched our desire to taste beer.) But Vermont was doing its part to supply the lush green fields, perfect red barns, rolling hills, quaint towns, and craft beer. Still, I could feel the rumblings of a bunch of potentially grumpy people if we didn’t get going soon.
In addition to our friends, Jon & Terese, we were joined by a father-daughter team from Florida, a couple from California, and another couple from Maryland. We’d soon realize what a great group we had, something you can’t take for granted when you get thrown together with complete strangers on a vacation. Our guides, Jake and Jay, took all our requests in stride, and were extremely professional and easy going. They rolled along with our group and helped to make the trip whatever we wanted it to be. I was amazed by their patience, their sense of what each person needed, and the way they worked their butts off (without making it look like work!) to ensure we always had full water bottles, pre-programmed Garmins, and bikes set up in a gear that would get us going up the hills straight away. We called them our bike ninjas. Sure, they’re getting paid to do what seems like a sweet gig, but it’s practically a 24-hour-a-day job. And I’m sure we only saw a portion of what they must do each day to get everything prepared. They took wonderful care of us and made us feel like a cohesive tribe. In addition to six bike rides, they also guided us on a spectacular hike.
Our friend Jon asked me several times throughout the trip whether it was all I had expected. It made me stop and think whether I had any particular expectations. I definitely did not expect the heat. But, otherwise, the trip was perfect. I got to escape for a while, do something a little challenging yet fun, be with friends, make new friends, and think about turning 50…
If you’ve read other entries in this blog, you know its main focus was my kidney donation… and then to check in from time to time to basically say, “I’m still here, living a full life…” For anyone who has reason to consider a donation, I want to be living proof that it doesn’t take anything away… It gives back. And, as always, I want people to know that my stepdad is still doing well also. But, as I get older, while I don’t want to slow down completely, I do want to stop and smell the roses a little more. So, this trip was a way to do that. Not doing anything extreme, but not laying around on a beach either.
My friend Crystal, who is actually a little younger than me, inspired me to stop coloring my hair and let the gray start coming through. I absolutely hate it, but I’m trying to embrace it like she does. She’s always encouraging me to ‘own’ things, while Jon encourages me to have some ‘swagger’… I guess that’s what I was trying to do with this trip. I love Vermont. I love the way it makes me forget about the rest of the world and just focus on the ones I love and simple pleasures.
For part of our trip, we were in Middlebury, VT, where I had spent a summer back in 2006 –when I truly fell in love with the place. I had gone to Middlebury College for a language immersion program. A sort of sabbatical. I still don’t know why I went, except that I was searching for myself. I was sort of a good Russian linguist years before in the Air Force, and I wanted to see if I could be really good at it. Plus, I was pondering a career change. But I didn’t end up loving that career idea after all. I guess I realized that it wasn’t what I was meant to do… Anyway, during that summer, I would go running on a trail around the golf course. I found that trail again while we were there on this trip and ran down part of it. I found myself saying thank you to the trail for still being there… like a good friend.
I think it was only when I was running on that trail 12 years ago that I was really finding myself. There’s something about the solitude of a good run and the peace that it brings you. The same is true of a good bike ride. You feel the road beneath your wheels and the breeze in your face on a good downhill. So much peace. Maybe it’s not your occupation or what you do for a living that defines you, but the peace you carry with you and share with others. Since I’m naturally uptight, I need to feel more peace and share more peace. This is a self-improvement goal I have.
Somehow, we were all nicer people at the end of that first hot day of our Vermont Brewery Tour. We burned off all our stress and melted away our insecurities. So grateful were we for a cold drink, some air conditioning, and the feeling of accomplishment. That hot ride made everything that came after it better. Here’s to 50 and all that comes after it!
“No Free Water” said the hand-written sign taped to the wall in the hospital room. It seemed like such a funny thing to say, but then you see the “Gatorade only” written beneath it and you figure out that it just means, “no plain water.”
Here I was again, sitting in a hospital room in Atlanta, GA. But it was a different hospital, and I wasn’t here to donate a kidney, even though I wished desperately that I could spare another.
My mother just had by-pass surgery to unblock some arteries leading to her heart. Her electrolytes were running low, so they wanted to make sure she didn’t flush any more out by drinking plain water. This surgery only came about because the doctors finally (FINALLY) realized that she has Peripheral Arterial Disease (PAD) in her legs and the arteries leading to her kidneys. One kidney is already non-functioning, and the other one is at risk. In about six weeks, she’ll have another surgery to unblock those arteries.
Now, her mission is to get stronger so she is ready for that surgery, which she is keen to have sooner rather than later. After caring for my step-dad while he was on dialysis, I suspect she doesn’t want to go through that herself. She’s already had what must have been the most distressing several months ever, where doctors thought the pain she felt in her legs was caused by sciatica. She even had what turns out to have been a totally unnecessary back surgery that, needless to say, did nothing to relieve the pain. She must have thought she was going crazy… or that the doctors thought she was.
I’m so grateful she is finally getting the treatment she needs, and not a second too soon! One thing that was throwing off the doctors was that her heart is still quite healthy, and nothing was pointing them in a vascular direction. I always knew my mom had a strong, beautiful heart!
As we sat for many hours in her recovery room, we got to hear the doctors, nurses, and physical therapists encourage her to breathe into her inspirometer and do at least three walks per day around the ICU corridors. Only by getting stronger, they said, could she go home and start the road to full recovery… and then prepare for the next major surgery. The message was clear: She still had a long way to go.
That sort of threw me into “coach mode” and I became a little overbearing with my mother. I was asking her over and over if she was ready to go for a walk. And, as you would expect from someone feeling nauseous, weak, and in pain, she was apprehensive and wanting to rest ‘just a little while more’ before getting up to scoot her walker around the nurses’ station. Inside, I knew she deserved a break after all she had been through. But on the outside, for some reason, I felt the need to play the tough-love card.
It made me wonder why I wanted to push her so much. I’ve thought a lot about it. And, I guess that when you’ve trained for an Ironman, you have a different perspective. You’re constantly looking at the goal and thinking, “I won’t ever be able to go that distance if I can’t first go half that distance…” I knew that if my mom only walked once yesterday, trying to do it three times today was going to be hard. And not just physically, but mentally. It’s almost more about what you *think* you can do. And, proving to yourself that you can go to one limit, allows you to think you can reach the next.
Another thing that occurred to me was that in a race, you know where the finish line is and you know what the time cutoff is. It’s just a natural motivator. Either you’re going to reach that finish line and make it within the cutoff, or you’re not. If you haven’t trained for it, you can sort of guess what the outcome might be. But, in life, we don’t know where the ultimate finish line is. Or if we’ve done enough to get there. Is it next year? Next week?
If we knew, would we be more motivated to do those things that we know we need to do? Right now? Without waiting a while longer? Lose weight, quit our vices, exercise more, relax more, enjoy our family more.. What kind of inspire-ometer would that be … to breathe life into us and put wind in our sails?
Hello my old heart
How have you been?
How is it, being locked away?
Well don't you worry
In there, you're safe
And it's true, you'll never beat
But you'll never break
--The Oh Hellos
According to WordPress, I haven’t posted in 8 months. Yikes!
Well, I wanted to at least check in and celebrate the fact that on Friday, Dec. 9, 2016 – it was my and my stepdad’s pentakidneyversary! Five years ago that day, it worked out that I was able to donate my kidney to my stepdad, and I’m thankful to say that he is still doing well, and so am I!
A lot of stuff has happened this year that I’m not too happy about. But that right there is one thing to celebrate! Through this blog, I met another kidney donor and her recipient. We met in the months leading up to their donation. I wanted to be encouraging but not too pushy about it, because donating is really a personal choice. So, I kept my distance a little. Although her donation was ultimately successful, she did encounter some complications in the days after the surgery. It shook me up a bit. She’s fine now and doing many fantastic athletic things. So, I’m really happy that things worked out well for them! But, I also wanted to step back and realize how lucky my stepdad and I were, and that you can’t take anything for granted!
It’s also worth noting for the record that I was successful in my attempt this past June to complete the Great Chesapeake Bay Swim. I’m including a picture of me and my friend, Terese, who faced down the challenge along with me! We had big swells and a lot of wind. But even though it felt like a washing machine much of the time, the wind was going in our favor. And I ended up swimming it 20 minutes faster than I expected!
It was my last notable athletic achievement for a while. Unfortunately, while trying to do more longer runs later in the summer, I ended up breaking a metatarsal in my right foot (where I previously had had a stress fracture). And, now I’m fighting a losing battle at trying to make a big black orthopedic boot look fashionable. I am honestly not sure if I will return to long-distance running after this. Maybe I will become an aquabike girl. There are more races these days that offer aquabike (swim-bike) as an option. It’s not as prestigious, but at least you’re doing something! I’ve always said that ‘the run is the thing’. After all that swimming and biking, it’s on the run that people really show what they’re made of. But, alas, maybe it’s not my thing. We shall see…
In closing, I just want to say one thing… In 2016, I felt like I lost myself a little bit. But I hope to find myself again in 2017. Some crazy things happened in 2016, and I feel like life has been out of control. I’m glad the Cubs won, and I’m happy for my Army friends that Army finally beat Navy. But other things were topsy turvy, and I was no exception. I’m turning that around, though!
I leave you with a jumbled mix of old, melancholy, sad, new, upbeat, happy, emphatic songs. Reflective of my moods lately. Maybe I should rename this post moodygirl 🙂
I have to thank that person, because it made me think back to what the donation was like and all that I am grateful for now. I remember thinking through my decision to donate and all the “what ifs”. What if my body can’t handle it? What if my recipient’s body rejects the kidney? What if something goes wrong with one of the surgeries? The list goes on. You have to think through these things, because they are real. And, in the end, it’s a personal decision that only you can make.
But you know what is indisputable? It feels good to give. It just does. I challenge you to give of yourself and not feel good.
In fact, I will even offer you a way to give! … I am once again raising money for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society (LLS) through a program called Team in Training (TNT). It has nothing to do with my kidney donation. It’s just an organization that is dear to my heart. Since I was lucky enough to get selected in the lottery for the Great Chesapeake Bay Swim (4.4 miles from one side of the bay to the other), I decided to raise money for LLS while I train. LLS funds important research that will help blood cancer patients in the future, and a lot of the research actually has implications for other types of cancers. If you can find it in yourself to give, please visit my donation page.
I am only one,
But still I am one.
I cannot do everything,
But still I can do something.
And because I cannot do everything
I will not refuse to do
The something that I can do. ~Edward Everett Hale~