Kidneys, Cousins, & Consecration

Many years ago, I don’t even know how many, maybe something like 8 or 10 years ago, my cousin Jennifer called to tell me her brother Joe would need a kidney transplant. Not today but sometime in the future. One of his kidneys was shot and the other was declining. In his twenties my cousin Joseph was diagnosed with a congenital condition impacting his kidney function. No sooner had she told me this news and my immediate response was, “I’d give Joe one of my kidneys”. Because I would. And eventually, I did #spoileralert.

Fast forward to about two summers ago and Jennifer calls me regarding Joe again. And this time, it’s the trigger call, Joe’s kidney function has deteriorated to the point he needs a kidney transplant now. Would I be interested in completing an organ donation form to check for compatibility? Of course I would. And I did. But first I called my father to quickly discuss a few concerns. For starters, I’m a single mother. I have two boys, one with multiple disabilities. I’m the head of our household. What if something happens to me? They’re valid concerns since my existence, or lack thereof, would greatly impact my sons. Turns out that conversation was all the processing I needed. Saying those words aloud was the first, and almost the last time, I visited anxiety about this decision. But we’ll get to that later.

I got busy filling out a medical questionnaire for the transplant clinic. No sooner had I submitted it when this feeling of resolve washed over me. I somehow knew, outside of myself, that I was supposed to give Joe my kidney and that we would be okay. It was like intuition, but not. Like I knew intuitively I was supposed to do this, but that feeling came from some unidentifiable source outside of me. It’s not like I heard the voice of God or anything, but I do believe it was, at the very least, some sort of spiritual experience. I started telling family members and close friends, “watch, I’m going to be a match”.

The transplant clinic then began the process of vetting prospective donors. Joe and I Initially matched by blood type. The clinic ordered blood and urine tests while I was in Houston and my cousin was in New York City to see if we were compatible. All which determined that which I already knew, we were a match! Within a couple months I’d be flying to New York. First, there was some additional screening the transplant clinic needed me to complete. I participated in a virtual psychological screening to determine I comprehended everything the procedure might entail for my cousin and myself. That I wouldn’t easily emotionally unravel if presented with challenges. I’m happy to report I passed. I like to think with flying colors, but no one ever told me that. I told myself that. I also had to schedule routine annual exams to ensure I had no underlying health conditions that would impede me being the donor. I had been putting them off since COVID-19 began.

I quickly scheduled my annual pap smear and mammography along with my first colonoscopy. Which turned out to be fortuitous. I had one polyp found and removed during the procedure. The pathology on it came back somewhat problematic. One week later, and one day before I flew to New York, I had my second colonoscopy to make sure the margins were clear where the polyp was removed. Fortunately, they found they had gotten it all and I got the all clear. But good lookin’ out! If I had not been donating my kidney to my cousin, I would not have scheduled the colonoscopy so expeditiously. And we might’ve found this news out later when it was much more troublesome. Crisis averted.

It was mid-November, and in the middle of a pandemic, when I made my way to New York to get this show on the road. Our first appointment at the clinic saw them taking 27, yes 27, vials of my blood. I had diagnostic imaging exams of my whole chest and abdominal area. I met with a social worker who addressed some issues concerning my capacity to cope with bad news. What kind of bad news, you ask? Sometimes, no matter all the good intentions, the transplant may not work out for the recipient. They may do worse, the transplant can fail, maybe even lead to death. Wait, what!?! And Eileen, how would you feel about that? While I had not considered this prospect at all, I instantly knew I would feel horrible if that was the outcome. However, it did not dissuade my resolve to donate my kidney. It was destined to be my cousin’s.

An integral part of the reason this was an easy decision was because it was for Joe. A year younger than me, he was the cousin closest to my age. I always felt like Joseph and I shared a special bond. We just got each other. We enjoyed our time together and spent much of it laughing with one another. When our families would visit, Joe, myself, and our respective younger sisters put our active imaginations to good use playing together. One of those scenarios had us solving crime with the three girls as Charlie’s Angels and Joe serving as Bosley. He’d give us our assignments along with an imaginary Charlie.

I remember when Joe first took my ten-speed bicycle for a spin when we were young teens. He was riding it up and down my block. At some point he saw a car coming toward him and precipitously slammed on the brakes. Never mind that the car was at the other end of the block. Except he only slammed the front brakes. That instantaneous suspension of the front tire’s momentum threw him off the bike, over the handlebars, and he morphed into the perfect swan dive onto the asphalt below. I looked on in what can only be described as some slow-motion form of horror. You’re seeing what’s happening but can do nothing to stop it. Although scraped up from face to feet, Joe was able to walk away. Once he stopped writhing in pain, of course. It was an instant classic.

So, would I give this guy, my beloved cousin who only had 10% kidney function, one of mine? No brainer, of course I would. All my loose ends were tied up. I could continue to work remotely. My ex-husband was taking care of our boys and my little dog while I was away for a month. The only other challenge, besides the surgical procedure itself, was being in the middle of a pandemic. Since I came from out of state into New York I had to quarantine for two weeks once I arrived. I received text messages from the state marshal every few days reminding me of this fact. I didn’t want to contract COVID and throw off our timeline for surgery, so quarantining was easy. I only left the house for medical appointments and for solo morning walks. Plus, my cousin really needed that kidney.

Three days before surgery I had my last check-in with the clinic to review some details about the procedure and subsequent recovery. I was in the best possible hands. New York - Presbyterian performs more organ transplants than any other hospital in the country. I also felt confident in my surgeon as he is one of the pioneers of the laparoscopic procedure to extract kidneys. He also trains other doctors around the country to perform this kidney harvesting technique. I knew I was in expert care with him. The Weill Cornell Transplant Clinic nurse practitioner advised me to walk as soon as I felt up to it post-operatively. The combined effects of the nerve block, pumped air, and anesthesia would benefit from movement; it would help alleviate some of the pain and soreness in my abdomen and chest. Okay, I now had marching orders and would focus on being an active participant in my recovery.

But it was her last piece of news that threw me and started me down a spiral of worry just three days out. “Most donors feel fine by about 6 weeks out”, she said. “But I’ve got to caution you, some report they don’t feel like themselves for another 6 months to a year.” Once again, wait what!?! While I was steadfast in my decision to donate my kidney to my cousin, I was now full on anxious about possible complications. I considered how I should respond if I found myself in that predicament. Over the next few days, I’d attempt to swat the anxiety away as it crept into my consciousness. But it was now there in the background lurking.

Finally, the day arrived for our tandem surgeries! We got to the hospital @ 6 AM and were shepherded to adjacent rooms. We were each permitted one support person. Mine was my cousin Jennifer, Joe’s sister, and Joe had his wife, Sandra. Having Jennifer to talk to that morning was a great comfort and constructive distraction. The surgical team came for me first. I asked to speak to my cousin Joe before I entered the O.R. We told each other we loved each other, shared a long tearful embrace, and then I made my way to the operating room with a nurse. I’d somehow envisioned me being rolled in, already sedated, on a stretcher. But nope, I walked myself in and hopped up onto the operating table without assistance. The anesthesiologist talked to me a bit before placing the gas mask over my face and thankfully, that’s the last thing I remember.

I awoke in recovery and decided I could make do without the opiates for now. As much as they’d help to minimize pain, I thought they’d hamper my recuperation by slowing everything down. Not too long later my nurse told me my cousin was brought into the unit and his surgery was a success. I took my first walk, assisted by that nurse, to get to to the other side of the unit to see him. We both felt so relieved. Luckily, I felt like myself, albeit incredibly sore, by the next day. My anxious fears born of other people’s experiences were assuaged. 30 hours after I was admitted into the hospital to donate my kidney I headed out as I was discharged.

I wish I could say everything was smooth sailing from here on out, but I can’t. It was for me in my recovery. I listened to my body. I stayed hydrated. I made sure to walk and move every day without pushing myself beyond my limits. My cousin’s recovery was a lot trickier as he rode a roller coaster of medical challenges. His discharge from the hospital was short-lived and he was quickly re-admitted as his body was initially rejecting the kidney. Fortunately, the transplant clinic anticipates all possibilities and has a playbook of strategies to overcome them. There were some painful treatments, but my cousin fought off the rejection. Then surgical complications like a leaky lymphatic system reared its ugly head and that had to be figured out.

Months after those issues were finally being resolved a latent virus that lies dormant in all of us decided to attack his bladder and new kidney. Your body’s immune system must fight off viruses itself. Difficult to do when you are on immunosuppressant drugs to not reject your organ transplant. This treatment was a delicate dance and balance of easing up on those anti-rejection meds to activate his white cells to fight the virus. After several more months, its proven successful and the virus’ capacity to harm him is currently diminished and contained.

It’s taken about 15 months for my cousin to get to this new normal. His kidney function is much improved and he’ll continue to be monitored throughout his life to stay on a healthy course. Now here we are a year and a half out on the other side of this. I still cannot logically explain why I was so resolute in my decision, but I was. Despite well meaning friends and loved ones who tried to persuade me to reconsider. I have to admit, it was one of the easiest decisions I’ve ever made. I felt in my bones I was supposed to do this, and I let that consecrated decision guide me every step of the way.