I’m 69 years old.  When I was 55 I donated a kidney to a man who, at the start of things, was a stranger to me.

In 1950s and 60s, athletic pursuits for girls were uncommon, or even nonexistent.  That void included me.  By the time I was twenty-five years old and through with law school and the bar exam. I knew my quarter century of sedentary life would catch up with me soon.  I started running.  My first run through the neighborhood was followed by a week of hobbling and going down stairs backward.  But I went out again.  And again.  Over 40 years later, after a great career in the law as a practitioner and then a Magistrate, I retired.  At least twenty-five marathons, well over a hundred half marathons and countless shorter races after that first run through the neighborhood and I’m still running.

In 2008 Ralph, a dear cousin of my husband Joe’s, needed a kidney transplant.  Joe and I were both tested.  Neither was a match.  Ralph’s wife Diane ended up donating and Ralph was saved.  Joe and I were so happy and so moved that we vowed we’d donate to anybody, even a total stranger.  Less that a month later we heard, through Ralph, about a friend of Ralph’s who’s best friend was near death and waiting for a kidney donor.  His name was Ed.  Ralph’s contact knew Ed’s blood type.  Same as mine.  We got Ed’s phone number and called him.  What a phone call.  I told him, “You don’t know me, but I understand we have the same blood type and I’m ready and willing to donate a kidney if we’re compatible.” After some breathless and tearful conversation, we realized that Ed went to high school with my husband Joe.  The world shrunk in an instant.

Ed and I talked at length the next day   I told him I thought it best we remain distant.  I didn’t want to know him.  I didn’t want to judge him.  I didn’t want him to be wary of me.  If this all worked we were embarking on an intense journey and I thought we needed some rigid boundaries.  Ed and his wife Paula felt otherwise.  Next thing I knew they were in our back yard and we chatted over a tray of pastry.

Weeks of testing began.  It was tough but exciting.  I was very fit, very strong and we were totally compatible.  We got the green light.  

The procedure went without a hitch.  

A week later I was walking up and down my street.  A month later I was walking further, lifting with very light weights and stretching.  By month three I was jogging, l and soon I was running.  I ran my first post-donation race, a 5K, during month 4.  During the whole process I was very slow and deliberate, but within about six months I was back to normal.   I’ve run many, many half marathons and other distance races since the procedure.  I ran a half marathon about a month ago and did very well.  

Other than running, since the procedure I jumped out of airplanes a number of times.  I hiked to the bottom of the Grand Canyon seven times, and rafted 280 miles down the Colorado River.  A year and a half ago (at age 67) I repelled down a 28 story building as a fundraiser for organ donation.  Last summer I paraglided in the French Alps.  I think this might qualify me as a bone fide donor athlete!

People often ask me about short and long term effects of the procedure.  My answer, always, is that physically it’s as though it never happened.  I can still do pretty much whatever I want, and I want to do pretty much everything.  The only thing that changed for me, and for Joe, is that our hearts got much bigger.