Part Two: Blood Work

I went down to the outpatient building by SLU Hospital this morning to have blood drawn.

I got to sit in what looked like a pistachio green adult high-chair.
They took three fat tubes of blood.
I'm always amazed at how much blood comes out, and how quickly.



The actual blood-drawng process only took a few minutes, but I was there for nearly an hour waiting to register, then answer a million questions about my occupation and my dad's occupation and my next of kin and my religious preference, etc. etc.

I did have plenty of time to get emotional though... and started to tear up a bit when I was watching the blood come out of me.

The nurse wasn't very talkative and I was surprised when she wished me luck on the way out the door.

"Good Luck..."

I was surprised at my reaction to that. "Good Luck..." implies that I'm hoping something good comes out of this whole thing. Getting wished good luck made me feel like I had just bought a lottery ticket.

"Good Luck..." made me realize how scared I am.

Part One: Phone Calls

My dad had been thinking about my offer for a few months, but finally broke down and agreed to let me get tested a month or so ago. He was in the hospital... again... this time because his dialysis machine had messed up and accidentally pumped a few air bubbles into his abdominal cavity or something. He had previously been in the hospital from another machine mishap... that time he had pumped twice the normal amount of solution into his body, which put stress on his heart and made him feel crappy.

My dad is not really responsible enough to be on dialysis. When he travels, he is fortunate to be able to take his machine with him... but that only works when you remember to bring all of the parts. I'll never forget when he came up for my graduate school commencement ceremony... and he forgot the plug for his machine, so he went to Home Depot... cobbled together a few parts, and rigged it up so he could plug it in at his hotel.

This is a big part of the reason that I want to give my dad one of my kidneys... I've gotta get him healthy before he tries to hotwire his dialysis machine and electrocutes himself or something. This is also a big part of the reason that I am hesitant to give my dad one of my kidneys. I don't really know if I trust him with such a precious gift.

(I keep reminding myself that I don't need both of my kidneys... so even if dad screws mine up somehow... at least I tried.)

So I guess my dad was laying in his hospital bed feeling pretty awful... and he told me that he would be willing to let me get tested. I gave him the responsibility of making the arrangements for my testing, since he had already done it a few times before. He drug his feet for a few weeks and then finally gave me the number of the SLU Kidney Transplant Coordinator.

It was strange to actually have that number in my hand. I wanted HIM to be the one to do it... to finally get this thing going. But he put the ball back in my court and it took me more than a week to get up the nerve to actually make that phone call.

I did it yesterday morning... and was so relieved when I got the coordinator's voicemail. I mean, really... what do you say when you make a phone call like that? "Hi... I'd like to donate a kidney please." My voice was so shaky as I left the message. I had a little bit of time to compose myself before the coordinator called me back. When I answered the phone, I was actually almost nonchalant about the whole thing... like I did this every day. I made arrangements to go in for blood work the next morning.

Introduction

My dad is in need of a kidney. Sometimes it seems like this has always been the case, but I guess it's really only been a few years now. My dad is fortunate in that he has a lot of friends and family who care about him. He's a nice guy... the kind of guy you'd want to give a kidney to.

In the beginning, he had offers. A couple of his brothers got tested... a friend from a nearby congregation went through extensive testing, only to be turned away at the last minute. And then he decided to just settle down... get on the list... wait, wait, wait... despite the fact that I had offered to be tested.

Yeah, my dad is a nice guy... the kind of guy you'd want to give a kidney to. He's a good dad... who can hardly bear the thought of taking a kidney from his own daughter.

After a while, I kind of forgot that my dad needed a kidney. It seemed absolutely normal for him to be on dialysis. But when I went home to visit... he looked so rough, so tired. When I casually mentioned my dad's health in conversation with friends, they would be so apologetic... "I'm soo sooo sorry. That's awful."

Somewhere along the line, I realized that I couldn't just sit around and let him wait for a cadaveric kidney. It wasn't enough that I had gone through the motions of offering my dad a kidney. I did a home blood typing test and determined that my blood type was 0... just like my dad's. With this important information in hand, I renewed my campaign to convince my dad to take my kidney...

Six months later... I'm on my way. Sit back, relax, and enjoy the show... because my dad has finally agreed to TAKE MY KIDNEY!!!