I’m a pescatarian, asthmatic retired educator with adult children. Although I’ve always been active, I don’t tend to think of myself as an “athlete” since I don’t like to compete. The back of the pack is the place for me.
My running resume includes a ton of 5 & 10Ks, as well as a few spartans (Tough Mudders) and repeated participation in Bay-to-Breakers (the annual 12K footrace across San Francisco that attracts tens of thousands of people – some costumed, some wearing nothing at all). I have completed half marathons in the US & Bermuda and finished the Marine Corps Marathon twice (once while pushing my toddler in a baby jogger). Over the years my pace has gotten slower and slower, but I have kept going. I am now proud to be an official member of Martinus Evans’ Slow AF Running Club (really). Besides running, I love to belly dance, snowshoe and do Zumba. In addition, I grind my way through strength training, Tabata, PiYo (a Pilates/Yoga hybrid) and aquafit. I own a treadmill and walk rather than drive whenever possible. I take the stairs. Every so often I dust off my Concept 2 erg and reintroduce myself to rowing – a sport I did compete in (and coach) long, long ago.
I became a donor in Sept ’23 at age 61 because an old friend’s 20-something daughter — a trained chef and talented baker — discovered she had Alport Syndrome. I had never seriously considered living donation and wasn’t aware of her illness until my own daughter saw something on FB. This came out of the blue. Zakiya was super sick, hadn’t known what was wrong and ended up in the ER multiple times before eventually being diagnosed. I called the 800 number from the video she’d posted right away.
I started reading everything I could find online about kidney transplants as the formal evaluation process got underway. It took (seemingly endless) months. I’m not a particularly patient person. I don’t like needles. Driving back and forth from our farm in central NH to the Boston Medical Center (BMC) for testing got old fast.
I was still waiting to learn whether the transplant team would approve my donation when Zakiya’s kidney function began deteriorating rapidly. I worried that she might not be well enough for a transplant. Fearing that I might not be a match, I didn’t initially disclose my interest in donating to anyone who might not be supportive. I realize now that was a mistake. Matching isn’t essential – and I should have worked harder to assuage my family members’ concerns early on, well before the BMC team gave me the go ahead.
Zakiya was on peritoneal dialysis nightly by the time I was approved for direct donation. From there, time sped up. We got a surgery date —and I went public! My wise transplant coordinator urged me to let Zakiya know I was going to be her donor (up to that point I had not told her or her mom). Hugging her during our pre-op appointment was simply the best.
At 72 hours pre-surgery, I was ready to go! Zakiya was ready to go! There were green lights everywhere. I pushed send on a detailed email to family and friends outlining what would be happening when and setting in motion a whole train of events. My brother got on a plane from CA to Boston to act as my medical proxy. My Brooklyn-based daughter was going to hop on Amtrak along with my BFF from DC who had shelved projects, put off clients and taken PTO so that she could be with me post-donation. Everybody had copies of my advance directives.
Then BMC called — and time stopped. My surgeon had contracted COVID. Our surgeries would have to be postponed. When he would be ready to operate again? No idea. Would Zakiya still be well enough for surgery? No clue. My careful pre-planning went poof: Non-refundable tickets, hotel reservations … all suddenly useless. Ugh.
Fortunately, Zakiya’s condition remained stable. My saintly transplant coordinator was able to keep me calm —and miraculously managed to secure two operating suites once again. Twelve interminable days after our original date, I finally got to “share my spare”.
The surgery actually felt anticlimactic. Although Zakiya had a tough time post-op while the docs worked to balance her meds, I was OK immediately. The nurses had me up walking the hallways that evening. I was home in NH strolling my community center’s indoor track three days later. I really didn’t experience that much pain. Tylenol was enough for the discomfort. I donated on 9/25 and ran a Veterans Day 5K. It took a few more weeks before I could resume all my barn chores (hay bales are heavy). Recovery was seriously no big deal.
What’s different now? My kidney has enabled Zakiya to become healthy enough to put on an apron again and return to work. I’m incredibly grateful to the team at Boston Medical Center (especially my AMAZING transplant coordinator) who made this direct donation possible. Beyond that, not a lot. I threw away my ALEVE (NSAIDs are a no go, post-donation) and am even more obsessed than I was before with staying well-hydrated. I also joined the NE chapter of WELD*, signed up for Transplant Trekkers online and began volunteering for KDA. ;-}
*Donate for Life’s We Encourage Living Donation
