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.
