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By the time you read this, I will have a new kidney. The donor is my wife. We celebrated our 45th anniversary May 9th and, three days later, she gave me the greatest gift of all — life. Without her gift, I would have been tethered to a machine three days a week, four hours a day. While this is all intensely personal, I wanted to share this with you.
For the last nine years we have known my kidneys were slowly failing, but it wasn’t until about a year and a half ago we learned I would soon need a transplant.
I vividly remember that fall day when we learned of my condition. I was feeling great and any thoughts of mortality were far from my mind. Going into the doctor’s office with her, my main concern — as usual — was where would we eat lunch? Our world soon changed dramatically when my doctor bluntly told me what we faced.
He told me my quality of life would be greatly improved if I could find a donor and avoid dialysis. It would take too long to get a kidney from an anonymous donor’s list, he added. I didn’t have that kind of time. What would I do? Where could I turn? My head ached as these questions swirled through my brain.
Without any hesitation whatsoever, my wife said, "I will be his donor." And so, for the last year or so, we underwent tests to ensure we were a compatible match and healthy enough to go through the transplant procedure. How’s that for irony — 45 years married and we needed some blood tests to prove compatibility.
I have often wondered if the situation was reversed, would I have had the courage to step forward without a momentary pause? One of my friends who knows me best offered the opinion I would have first tried to bribe somebody to offer their kidney in my stead. At the very least, if I had to volunteer, I would have griped all the way to the operating room and cursed my fate.
I apologized to my wife for placing her in this circumstance and all she said was, "You’re worth it." To which I replied, "Then how come you never serve me green peppers and onions when you serve sausage?" It’s one of my constant complaints, along with the lack of a nice vinegar salad to go with her fried meatballs. There is a nice Yiddish word that describes guys like me, but this is a family newspaper.
I know I do not deserve this kind of love and devotion. I only hope she does not find me out and asks for her kidney back. How do you repay this kind of love? Is it humanly possible to repay unqualified love in kind, especially when you weigh my considerable flaws (again that Yiddish word comes to mind). I can promise to turn into the kind of person she is, but are such miracles really possible outside of the movies? And to my wife’s credit (or is it my discredit?), she does not expect it.
My friends kid me it would take a really big piece of jewelry to show my appreciation — me, who has such lousy taste in jewelry. Maybe a cruise when I’m fully recuperated would help, if I could get through one without showing my boredom with the food or those goofy variety shows that pass for entertainment. I do not expect to win any more arguments. How do you win one against someone who donated her kidney to you?
I must learn not to immerse myself in a ballgame on television when she is trying to converse with me. I should learn to cook an occasional meal when she works and I am home. Maybe I can learn to enjoy the Home and Garden channel or, better yet, fix something around the house, but that is a real long shot. Maybe I should introduce her to a nice guy to replace her current inadequate husband?
What I do know is it’s better to owe your wife big time rather than some stranger. Or is it? I guess I will find out.
All I know is life will be different from now on because I owe my life more than ever before to my wife. My job is to never make her regret her decision. Maybe there’s a Yiddish word for that too.
