Something serious was happening.
As I returned to my home after visiting them one day, I was in my kitchen washing dishes when a heaviness hit my heart like nothing I’d ever felt before.
Something’s wrong with dad. That’s what that dream was about. God, what’s going on?
As I continued washing dishes, I started crying and praying.
Then in mid-spring, my dad held an unexpected family meeting that would change all our lives forever. He hesitated at first, and as his voice started cracking and he started crying, he said, “Well, I wanted to talk to ya’ll to tell you that I have kidney disease. I went to the doctor with your mom, and we discussed beginning dialysis.”
As I took in what I was hearing, my heart sunk. I immediately grabbed my dad and started crying. Turns out, that dream I had was God preparing me for this moment. Although, nothing can fully prepare you for processing news about something serious happening with a loved one’s health.
When I cried, so did my mom. I remember her repeatedly saying, “Don’t worry.”
As my dad expressed the same, he shared that his diagnosis wasn’t a death sentence. When he and my mom met with his doctor, my brother and I learned that his medical team had really been encouraging our parents to share everything with us. My mom told us that she told his team, “Our kids have their own lives, though.” And while this is true, there’s no way we wouldn’t have wanted to know what was going on. I could tell my dad was relieved, but my mom seemed sad, and my brother seemed disappointed.
My brother and I began talking about different people we knew who lost one or both of their parents and how we understood that this is something that we all will eventually go through. We both spoke with our parents about not keeping things from us again and to just tell us about anything that’s going on with them. No matter what. “We’re not little kids,” I said. “Even if you feel like we have our own lives, just tell us what’s going on.” “We can handle it,” my brother added.
As we all processed this news and eventually parted ways that day, I remember spending the rest of the day mostly crying and praying. I also called a few of my closest friends and told them about what was going on. They were very understanding and encouraging. And one even offered to come over and just sit with me.
As the day closed and I continued praying, I thought about one of my former college professors, Dr. Caramine White, who donated one of her kidneys to a student’s family member in need of one when I was in college. I’d be willing to do the same for dad, I thought. So I prayed. Lord, you know what’s going on. I’m praying that I’m a donor match for dad, and for your permission to donate if I can. No matter what happens, you’re still so good whether I get what I want or don’t.
A few days after my dad shared his diagnosis, I contacted his medical team about being a kidney donor.
Do We Have A Match?
This process involved a lot of steps – including completing a donor screening form, meeting with a donor evaluation team, moving through a series of medical and mental health evaluations, and taking a blood test to determine if I’d be a match. I also spoke with my mom and brother about how they felt about what I was looking into.
My mom shared that it was my decision and that I had her support. My brother expressed reservations about whether my dad would accept a donation from either of us. But I was willing to take a faith risk. When I decided to move forward with everything my mom said, “You’re wise beyond your years. We couldn’t have asked for a better daughter. I love you.”
After a series of evaluations and tests, and a thorough review of the risks and rewards of becoming a kidney donor, on June 30th, 2023, I received a phone call from my donor advocate that my blood type was a match. I’d be able to proceed with the next steps of donor evaluation.
The remainder of my summer involved completing different medical tests and going in for labs to ensure I’d be healthy enough for donation. While I was happy to take steps toward helping my dad, there were times when this part of the story felt sad, scary, and isolating. My mom and close friends knew about some of what I was doing, but being in and out of a hospital alone was hard sometimes. Waiting for updates on test results was difficult at times too. But I didn’t want to worry my mom or my friends, so I moved through it all as best as I could.
On August 24th, 2023, I received another phone call from my donor advocate sharing that the medical board reviewing my labs, tests, and evaluations approved of me donating my kidney to my dad. I was relieved and couldn’t wait to tell him.
I was nervous at first, but I sensed my dad was happy. He’d feel better and be in better shape with a living donor kidney. I learned that the wait time for recipients waiting on a deceased donor is between 3-6 years. So our chances were better with me being a living donor.
As we worked to get a surgery date on the calendar, I moved through my day to day as best as I could before the surgery day arrived.
It’s not easy moving through “life as usual” when one of your parents is sick and coping with moving through a serious surgery. Which is why anytime anyone came to me whining or complaining about some of the most petty and trivial things ever or began giving me a difficult time at work or outside of it, I kept telling myself, “Stay the course. They have no idea what’s going on.”
Surgery Day
When surgery day finally arrived, my spirit was calm. I knew I had to stay calm to get through the day. One of my best friends picked me up and we were in front of the hospital check-in area at 5am. My parents arrived shortly after.
As I prepared for my pre-operation check-in, I sent messages to some of my close friends, did a little reading, and talked with my parents before my name was called. Once I was called back, my dad and I fist bumped and I said, “I love you” to my mom and met with a nurse for morning labs and to change into my hospital gown.
So, the labs were fine but having to remove all of my clothing to step into a backless (from top to bottom) hospital gown wasn’t fun. “Underwear needs to come off too?” I asked the nurse. “Yes, they’ll need to be able to get to your kidney,” she replied kindly. So I changed and got in the bed set up for me. The first nurse who got me set up shared that I could have my mom come into the pre-operation room with me until it was time to go. And I told her, “I’ll see her when I wake up.” I didn’t want my mom seeing me laid up and hooked up the way I was, so I figured she’d be fine… or so I thought. My mom was with my dad in another room a few doors down and popped her head in every room along the way, looking for me, and asking if she could see me.
The nurses that I spoke with before surgery (and after) were some of the kindest and most professional nurses I’d ever met. They praised me for my choice to donate my kidney to my dad. One nurse said, “You know, I once heard that there’s no love greater than someone laying their life down for another person.” (John 15:13). Then another one of the nurses asked if he could start telling me bad dad jokes shortly before it was time for me to go into surgery. I said, “yes” and as he told the jokes and me and the other nurses started giggling, the anesthesia kicked in and I was out.
When I woke up, everything looked blurry. I was in an anesthesia recovery area, with a nurse by my side asking me to state my full name, date of birth, and if I could wiggle my feet and toes. I checked all the boxes, and overheard her telling another nurse, “I keep calling her mom but it’s going straight to voicemail.” In my haziness, I said, “Can I give you some other contact numbers?” I believe the signal in the hospital may have been why my mom’s phone was going straight to voicemail, but I knew I’d see her eventually.
After another nurse placed my bag of belongings at the end of my bed, I was rolled away to my room. I was so grateful to be awake, and though I was still drowsy, I felt okay. It took me a moment to realize that I was hooked up to an IV, had a catheter inside me, and that I wouldn’t be able to keep food down as soon as I thought I would. For the next few hours, nurses, different doctors, advocates, and visitors were in and out of my room, to the point where I felt like I barely got any sleep. Though I was grateful, I couldn’t wait to be back home.
The first check in was with my nurses – again, the kindest and most professional ones I’d ever met, who got me settled in and let me know what I needed to do if I needed anything. The next visitors were my grandparents. I was pleasantly surprised to see them because I know my grandma had been battling health issues of her own, so when I saw her and she hugged me and kissed me, I burst into tears. She told me how proud she was of me and what a story this would be. She sat and talked for a while and then placed the balloons and card she brought me to the side of the room.
As soon as my grandparents left, my college professor (who had been through the same procedure I’d been through years ago) arrived next. She came in, shared some kind and encouraging words, and told me she’d be by my house later that week with food. I was still taking everything in but felt so blessed to already have visitors.
When my professor exited, my mother arrived. She initially didn’t know where to find me and I told her that the nurses tried to reach out, but it didn’t matter because it felt so good to see her. She told me my dad was awake and that he was okay too. I was more than relieved. As we sat and talked, my mom’s best friend arrived, and as soon as they saw each other, they immediately hugged, and my mom started weeping. I know she’d been scared and nervous about me and my dad, but I maintained that God would take care of us. Once the tears dried and things settled, I fell asleep as my mom and her best friend talked.
When I woke up, more nurses were still in and out of the room, and I had my phone nearby to check in with my loved ones. When I was awake, I began taking in the fullness of what I’d just been through and how relieved I felt as I recovered. Though I was experiencing discomfort, it was worth it for my dad.
My hospital stay only lasted for one night. I could go home the day following surgery if I could walk on my own, use the bathroom, and keep food down. I was super determined to check those boxes because I felt recovering at home would be much better – I’d at least be able to sleep without interruptions and navigate how I’d adjust to my new normal.
Recovery
When I returned home from surgery, one of the first things I did was make my way to the couch. My sister-in-law, niece, and nephew were my ride home and were present as I settled in. And as exhausted as I felt, it was really nice to be in the presence of some joyful family members – and with my fur baby (Sophia) too. Once they left, I almost immediately fell asleep. Sophia sat at the other end of the couch near my feet too.
When I woke up, I was in some pain and didn’t begin taking my medication right away – especially on an empty stomach. I wanted to eat something first, but since my appetite was slowly returning, it was difficult to make myself eat. I was nauseous, and my stomach also felt full, uncomfortable, and fully bloated from the air that was pumped into my belly for surgery. My bloated stomach looked like a small pregnancy bump, and I was told the bloat would go away from physical activity (which I couldn’t do for at least two weeks) or would disappear on its own in the same amount of time.
I couldn’t keep food down my first night home without throwing up, and because I was in so much pain, I decided to start my medication so I could try to sleep through the night. My mom also called and insisted on staying with me my first 24 hours home after she heard how I sounded. I also didn’t look my best and was very weak, so having someone home with me was helpful. My mom is amazing because I knew she’d been at the hospital most of the day with my dad, and then spent her evening with me.
When I woke up the next morning I tried eating again, and thought a bland diet would be best. So bland foods it was. With the bland diet, I was able to keep food down and felt better while taking my medication. One of the hardest parts of the recovery process was not being able to partake in any real fitness (except for walking). I work out regularly, so being still most days wasn’t fun. It also wasn’t fun refiguring out how to shower, navigating how to sleep on my couch comfortably, and figuring out how to position my body to get in and out of bed without putting strains on my incisions. Additionally, slowly getting up and down the stairs was a process that left me winded at first since my energy was down.
When I was home, each day got a little better and better. While I checked in on my dad and awaited updates about his discharge date, I had different family members and friends stop by with food, gifts, and well wishes for recovery. Having incredible people in my life certainly helped with my recovery, and I was reminded that I wasn’t moving through this process alone. I was also excited to learn that my dad was returning home two days after I was, so, God was and still is good.
I also spent a lot of time in prayer, listening to worship music, reading, and watching TV. Whenever I felt sluggish, I made myself get up and take small steps around the house, and again, I began feeling a little better each day. I knew it was important to take my time and not rush my recovery, but I also couldn’t wait to start feeling like myself again.
Final Thoughts
This experience has been a life changing one. I’m so thankful for life in ways that some people may never know. It’s an honor being a part of something bigger than myself, and I think it’s cool that my dad will always have a part of me with him for life too. I’m grateful that he’ll be able to move through life even healthier and better than before, and I hope that this story inspires others who are in positions to be living donors to consider changing and saving a life as well. Though this is the ending of one chapter of our lives, in other ways, I believe it’s just the beginning. Who knows what’s next? But the one thing that gives me peace is knowing that no matter what, I’ll always be in God’s hands.