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Living Kidney Donor

Life as Cliche

Some say my decision to donate a kidney to my sister is a reflection of my character. I think it reveals far more about other people.

As I’ve indicated, this is a process that began for me in early December when my dad told me Mary’s remaining kidney might be on the verge of failing. But with the exception of my SO, I kept my intentions to myself until I was certain no medical barriers stood in my way. By the time the news became public, it was almost – I did say almost! – as normal as any of the myriad projects cooking in my life on any given day. This has allowed me the distance to observe other people’s reactions to my choice, and it’s given me a fabulous indication of my relationships, good and bad.

Not that I am particularly high-maintainence, but no one is stable and untrembling all the time. In fact, what is courage if not persevering through your fear? I resist the urge to ascribe motives to those folks who have seemed apathetic or ambivalent to this venture, but I am disappointed by their disinterest. Perhaps if I understood the reasons behind their reactions?

But then there’s the friend who disappears for months at a time who called today just to check-in; who offered to come to the hospital; who offered to care for my dogs.

And there’s another, who took care of me the night it all caved in, when I was anything but the strong woman who slams her stiletto heel into world when it gets in her way.

And the strangers who find this blog and take the time to tell me about their experiences, making me feel like I’ve become part of this elite little club.

I am grateful to all of them. They remind me that heroism exists in the smallest gestures.

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