Commentary: God inspires decision to donate kidney
Commentary: God inspires decision to donate kidney
June 10, 2004
Kathy L. Gilbert United Methodist News Service writer
Kathy L. Gilbert United Methodist News Service writer
A UMNS Commentary
By Kathy L. Gilbert*
I
survived my first United Methodist General Conference, my daughter's
high school graduation and donating a kidney to my stepfather.
The only visible scar is from the operation.
Back
in college, I came up with this silly phrase that my roommates and I
would say to each other at opportune times: “Life ain’t nothing if it’s
not varied.”
You
just never know what might happen. I am a living, breathing,
walking-around-all-on-my-own organ donor. And because of me, my
stepfather is a living, breathing, walking-around-all-on-his-own organ
transplant recipient.
The
surgery on Feb. 11 was the climax of a long spiritual, emotional and
physical journey that started last August, when my stepfather, David,
was officially placed on a donor waiting list.
That
day in August, God let me know I was the one who needed to step up and
volunteer. I really can’t explain how God did that. I just knew in my
heart that I would be able to do this and that everything would be okay.
At
that dinner, she asked, “What if you had something you didn’t need, and
giving it to another person would save his or her life?”
Put
that way, I can’t imagine the choice would be very difficult for
anyone. It was simple. I am not brave or heroic. God gave me a wonderful
opportunity by providing me with a kidney that could save David’s life.
Most people assume that I am really close to my stepfather, that I love him very much.The truth is I never wanted anything to do with having a stepfather.
My
mother married David Long 12 years ago. I was a grown woman with two
small children of my own. My father was bitter about the divorce and
about David. On my part, it felt like a betrayal to really let David
into the family, much less into my heart. Until just recently, I would
never even use the term “stepfather” and would bristle when someone else
used it. I always referred to him as “David, my mom’s husband.”
When
my mother told him I was being tested as a possible kidney donor for
him, he was as surprised as anyone. He said, “I didn’t think Kathy liked
me that much.”
Those
words hurt me more than anything the surgeons or lab technicians did to
me. I am really sorry I spent so much time not getting to know him, not
letting him know me. Maybe that’s why God chose me to be the one who
could help.
In the beginning
David’s
kidneys were damaged when he was an 18-year-old serving in the Army.
His tonsils, which had been removed when he was a child, grew back. He
got them removed again, but poison from the infected tonsils had already
started damaging his kidneys.
At
age 60, he went on dialysis. If you want a glimpse of hell, visit a
dialysis center. When your kidneys fail, a machine is used to remove
waste and excess fluid from your blood. In David’s case, it meant having
at least three treatments a week, with each treatment usually lasting
about four hours.
He
was on dialysis for three years before going onto an organ transplant
waiting list. I had three years of not really knowing what he and my
mother were going through because they live in Louisiana and I am in
Nashville, Tenn.
As
a veteran, David gets all his medical care from the Veterans
Administration. The Veterans Administration has three hospitals in the
United States that do kidney transplants and, as fate would have it, one
of them is in Nashville.
First come the tests
I
made the first of what would be many phone calls to Jackie Ray, the
person in charge of kidney transplants at the Nashville VA. She asked
what my blood type was and then told me that I was probably a good
candidate.
Throughout
the testing stage, she emphasized to me that the doctors would not
under any circumstances take my kidney unless I was totally healthy.
I
underwent blood tests, urine tests, X-rays and interviews. I had at
least two EKGs to check on the health of my heart. The last test was the
scariest: an arteriogram. With this test, doctors put a needle in the
artery in your groin and inject dye into the kidneys.
So
many times during this process, I felt the hand of God. This time, God
sent me an angel, a nurse who was a devoted United Methodist. She stood
by me, stroking my hair and softly telling me everything that was going
on during the arteriogram. I remember how awed she was at seeing my
kidneys materialize on the screen next to my bed. I know she has seen
thousands of internal organs in her life, but she took the time to point
out to me how awesome God has made the human body.
“Even your insides are beautiful!” she said.
Blessed
Finally, the day came when Jackie called me and asked, “When do you want to do this?”
My
family asked me hard questions. What if something goes terribly wrong
during the surgery? What if you die? What if, a few years down the road,
you start having kidney problems? What if your husband or one of your
children needs a kidney?
I
listened carefully to all the voices; I heard all the concerns of those
who love me. But the voice that was the strongest and most persistent
was God’s.
At
6:30 a.m. on Feb. 11, David and I donned matching blue cotton gowns,
paper hats and paper slippers, and were wheeled into surgery.
I
was released on Valentine’s Day and am feeling great. David is still
struggling to get his medications at the right levels — he takes 40
pills a day — but he is free from the machine and living a more normal
life.
I
think now more than ever, I really understand the meaning of Acts 20:35
“It is more blessed to give than to receive.” I can’t begin to describe
the joy I feel knowing David is getting better. It is still hard for me
to believe I actually went through with everything.
Maybe
saying this is my year of living dangerously is a little over the top.
Maybe it is more accurate to say this was the year I stepped out on
faith and was richly blessed by God.
*Gilbert is a United Methodist News Service news writer.
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