From the moment I slipped from consciousness under anesthesia, nothing in my life has been the same.
NOTHING.
I awoke with Amy Donohue at my bedside, feeling more tired than I had ever felt in my life. It wasn't a tired like right after you have a new baby. That kind of tired is exhausting and panicked and satisfying and beautiful. I was what Amy described to me as "kidney tired", which I can only compare to a Xanax nap during a very bad bout of depression on a cold, icy morning in January in the south. I felt disgusting. And to make it worse, I was sure I had a urinary tract infection.
It fucking sucked.
I knew that it was going to hurt. I knew that it was going to make me tired. I knew that I didn't really have a uti; it just felt that way because my catheter was messed up. I knew all of this and I didn't care. I had expected to feel happy, proud of myself. I was hoping to feel a connection with a stranger on this new bizarre level, and instead I only wanted to roll over in my hospital bed and sleep forever.
Eventually, I woke up. I put my eyeliner on, and I walked slow and painful baby steps around the hospital in these ridiculous socks that the hospital provided. I was released the following day.
Over the course of the next few weeks, my friends took amazing care of me. My (former, now) husband lifted my legs into bed every night when I had to get up to go pee, because I didn't have the strength to pull myself up. I had friends come over to babysit. I had friends bring me food. Some friends brought me flowers. Others brought me weed. I got facebook messages and emails and texts and letters in the mail, and I was so thankful for all of them. I had never been so helpless in my entire life, and I don't think I can ever say thank you enough to the people who were there for me.
Six months ago, I woke up with one kidney. It wasn't working hard enough to compensate for the loss of the left kidney quite yet. But I still had one very healthy kidney. This means that I woke up feeling A PORTION of the lethargy that my new recipient had felt every day of her life for years. I still can't fully understand how awful it must feel to be in kidney failure, but that little taste of it was miserable.
My body is healing right on schedule, and my energy has returned with full force. I feel more healthy now than when I had two kidneys. I'm not sore anymore, and I could even have a glass of wine if I wanted to. Just no ibuprofen or mosh pits, neither of which I was a huge fan of in the first place.
If I could grow another kidney and donate again, I would do it right now.
After December first, I felt like I was free, more free than I had ever felt in my life. I was unafraid, and I reevaluated every aspect of my life that I had previously been too scared to look at. I ended my marriage. I moved to Tempe with my daughter and my pug. I changed my work hours. I started writing again. I made new friends. I covered up that damned tattoo. I make more mix tapes. I write more love letters to my friends. I do more yoga. I go on camping trips. I drive out to the desert by myself. I know these things are kind of dumb. These are all silly, small things in the vastness of the void of space, on this tiny rock with seven billion other people. I could have done all of them with two kidneys. But I didn't know that I needed to.
I am more myself than I have been in years, and I have a stranger to thank for that. I'm so, so sorry she had to go through what she did. But I'm inspired by her strength and her determination. I don't want to take time for granted anymore. I don't want to lose this feeling of freedom and inspiration. I don't want to ever feel tied down by anyone or anything again.
I get asked all the time why I donated a kidney to a stranger. During the process, my answer was that it just felt right. It did. I didn't know why. In hindsight, I can see that the answer was:
I donated my kidney because I wanted to feel love on a grander scale.
It is the coolest thing I have ever done.
It is my favorite story to tell.
...
so far.
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