I Donated My Kidney, Part 2

Giant Bean aka Cloud Gate at Millennium Park - front view

During the months leading up to my kidney donor surgery, one of the questions that I was asked over and over again (in many different forms) was:  “Why are you doing this?”

The simple answer was that if I had the opportunity to save someone’s life, I wanted to try to do it.  But, of course, there are no simple answers…and the question still honestly puzzles me.

Most of the time the answer I gave centered around an incident that happened more than five years ago.  I was serving as a rabbi at a large congregation in Columbus and had a member of my congregation who was in need of a kidney.  He had placed a sign on the back of his car that said “Got Kidney?  I Need One,” along with his phone number.  Someone eventually called the number and was a match.  I had gone to the OSU Medical Center to sit with the family during the surgery; I went into the immense surgical waiting area and made my way to the check-in desk.  I asked for the family of so-and-so, and a moment later a woman (who must have overheard my question) jumped up and asked if I knew that family.  HIPAA-be-damned, I told her I was the rabbi from the family’s congregation.  She informed me that her daughter was in surgery at that moment donating her kidney to him.  I was there when the two families met and it was one of the most incredible moments of my 20+ as a congregational rabbi.  I remember saying to myself that if one day I was able to do something like this woman’s daughter had, I should not let the opportunity pass.

The truth was that I had already let it pass a bunch of times.  Over the years, the congregation had done text study about organ donation (spoiler:  Judaism supports it).  I am sure that I had preached about it over the years.  Undoubtedly there were Organ Donation Sabbaths too.  It had just never occurred to me that this was something I could do (because of my medical history, or because I was raising a family, or because I was too busy, or because this was something that only “heroes” and “angels” do, or because….)  And those of you who read my last blog post know, I am still surprised that it actually happened.

So, back to the original question:  why did I respond to that FB post for someone I did not know at all?  

Growing up, I was always taught how important it was to save a life; in Judaism, one can violate almost any law in order to preserve it.  We were also taught that whoever saves one life, it is as if s/he had saved an entire world.  I knew this was an important thing but there was still a disconnect for nearly 58 years. 

Maybe my response this time was due to a nagging guilt on my part for having talked-the-talk about saving lives without ever really having walked-the-walk.  Maybe part of it was that I was fairly certain there was no way I would get approved so I was not really risking anything.  (Would I get “brownie points” just for trying?)

Like so much of what we study in our lives, we can learn about it, but when do we really get a chance to put it into action?  In this regard, unless we are medical professionals (doctors, nurses, therapists, technicians, etc.), how often are we able to save a life?  The opportunities are out there, but sometimes it is not so easy.  How many of us donate blood to the Red Cross?  (BTW, under doctor’s orders I am not allowed to do that; kidney=yes, blood=no!)  How many of us have been swabbed for a possible match for a bone-marrow donation?  Are we willing to take time out of our days to be inconvenienced to help others who need our help, whose lives we may not be physically saving but whose quality of life we may be enhancing?  Do we stick out our necks when we see someone being harassed?  Are we willing to stand up for what is right through more than just a social media post? 

We cannot do it all.  Pirkei Avot teaches us:  Lo alecha ham’lacha ligmor, v’lo atah ben chorin l’hibatel mimena, “It is not your duty to finish the work, but neither are you free to not do your part.”  The needs in this world are overwhelming–even paralyzing.  We must, however, find what speaks to us and do it because we know the price of doing nothing.  In the last century, so few people took risks to save victims of the Holocaust while the vast majority simply sat by and did nothing–which is all that was need for evil to triumph.

In the final analysis, I am still not exactly sure why I stepped up this time.  It could be that something in the photograph on the FB page reminded me of my own family; if I were in their position, would I not want someone to step forward?  It could be that I wanted to prove something to myself:  that this almost 58-year-old guy who was sick as a child and got picked last for sports teams, who had decided to get healthy and fit, was now capable of using his body to save someone else.  It could be that as I am aging I want to convince myself that I am young enough to do something like this.  Perhaps I am trying to assuage feelings that I have not really accomplished anything of significance or made a big enough difference in the world (I know it is not true, but many feel that way at times).  I certainly was not doing it for any health or financial benefit.  (To be completely transparent, I did get a cool Kidney Donor T-Shirt, pillow, water bottle and tote bag!)

There is an expression in Judaism:  Ma sheh-lo lishmah, ba lishmah.  Roughly translated, it means that something that you do for the wrong reason, in the end you will come to do for the right reason.  Often this refers to people who give money so that they will get their name on a plaque or get some other recognition; charitable giving should be done modestly, but better for the person to give for the plaque than not at all…because eventually they will do it even without the plaque.  

Whatever my motivations might have been to get into this whole kidney donation thing, I am not sure that it really matters.  In the final analysis, because of my actions Papa Phil got a new kidney, and so did two other people.  Does it really matter why I did this?  What matters is that I did…when it would have been much easier not to.  

I know this has been kind of preachy, but what do you expect from a rabbi?  I have learned a lot from this experience, and know that I will continue to do so.  My biggest takeaway:  we should never assume that we cannot make a difference.  I never would have believed that I would be qualified to donate a kidney, but here we are.  Of course, making a difference rarely calls for something this drastic.  Even the smallest of actions can have a tremendous impact, and it is never too late.

I know that I cannot complete the work; I cannot solve every problem out there in our world.  I am grateful to have had the opportunity this time to do my part. 

I Donated a Kidney, Part 1

Kidney Beans

A week ago today (May 25) I underwent a “donor nephrectomy,” which is to say that I donated my left kidney to someone with serious kidney disease through the Cleveland Clinic.  I have been home since Thursday and am slowly recovering, every day feeling a little bit stronger.

The process began several months ago when I saw a Facebook post about a guy in the Detroit-area (we’ll call him Papa Phil) who was looking for a kidney.  He had launched a campaign on social media and somehow it ended up on my FB feed.  I still am not sure where I saw it because we don’t have any FB friends in common; I thought I saw it on a Cleveland Jewish FB Group but cannot find the post anywhere.

I sent a message to his son as directed by the post; he told me to contact the Kidney Donor Office at the Cleveland Clinic which I did.  They asked me a few questions and sent me an on-line questionnaire…which I figured, given my medical history, would be the end of it.  To my surprise, I was not disqualified right off the bat.  After a subsequent phone call with a nurse in the Transplant Center, I still was not disqualified.  

What we did find out, however, was that Papa Phil and I were not a match; our blood types are different.  I had a choice:  either I could walk away at this point, or I could stay in the process and be part of a swap; this means that a yet-to-be-determine John/Jane Doe who matched Papa Phil would give him a kidney, and my kidney would go to John/Jane’s intended recipient with whom they were not a match.  I figured that once the kidney was out it did not really matter to me as long as Papa Phil would get a kidney when all was said and done.

Within 24 hours I got a call from the Cleveland Clinic and we were setting up times for me to go to the Main Campus for a full work-up (top to bottom, inside and out).  During this time, I was intermittently in touch with Papa Phil’s son; we had a nice line of communication–not bad for a Buckeye fan and a Michigan fan!–but I understood well that Papa Phil probably had dozens of others who were already in process…and further ahead of me too.  I decided that from here on in I would not contact the family; partially, I did not want to put a “jinx” on things, but I also did not want to allow myself or him and his family to get too excited by the progress when I knew that well over 100 people had already been disqualified or had backed out.

In mid-April, shortly after Passover I went in for my first day of testing.  The day did not start well.  First stop was the lab where I was to have a blood draw…30 tubes actually–which if they had told me in advance might have been the end of the whole thing!  They got the blood but I nearly passed out.  Luckily the rest of the day was easier.  I came back a week later for the second round:  a full day of meeting with doctors, surgeons, and others.  It was the day of the all-important GFR test to determine my kidney function levels; in order to give away one kidney, there must be enough function in the remaining one to allow me to still be in the “normal” range.  The hope was that after that second day of testing, they would be able to present my case to the transplant team that Friday.  Due to a few tests that came back a little concerning (although ultimately not problematic), I had to do some follow-up tests; the coming week I had also been scheduled for a routine colonoscopy (unrelated to the kidney surgery) and the team wanted to wait for those results as well; everything got pushed back a week.

By this point, I was filled with a mix of emotions.  On the one hand, I had gone through so much testing that I was hoping I would qualify to donate just so it would not have been a waste of time.  I also know that Papa Phil had come very close to getting a kidney from a posthumous donation, but that had fallen through.  I was really committed to this and wanted it to happen.  On the other hand, no one was more shocked and surprised than me that I was still in the running.  I reasoned that either they were really desperate for kidneys…or I was in much better shape than I thought.

The day of the Transplant Team’s meeting came and went and I heard nothing.  I, of course, assumed that this was a “no,” and they just did not want to ruin my weekend.  Saturday came and went with no notice on My Chart either.  But the phone rang on Monday morning at 7:30 am with the news that I was qualified to donate.  No one was more shocked and elated than I.

The next day I got a text from Papa Phil’s son simply stating that he had received an interesting call from the Cleveland Clinic.  I responded with a text asking:  “Will he be busy on May 25?”  The phone rang and we shared our relief and joy together; it turns out that due to privacy laws they had no idea what my status was.  They were not even sure it was me that had been qualified.

After that, things moved rather quickly.  The same day I was told that surgery would be in 3 weeks, May 25–the day after my 58th birthday!  We would be part of a three-way swap; within the span of a couple of days, three people would donate (including me) and three people would receive (including Papa Phil)–all of us part of a daisy chain of mismatches willing to match for others.

I won’t get into the details of all the preparation that needed to take place in 3 short weeks, but it was a mad dash for me to tell people who needed to know, arrange for substitutes for clients, and get legal stuff in order like a living will (signed at 4 pm the day before surgery!).  

On May 23, I went with my wife down to Columbus to see my kids to celebrate my birthday a day early.  My daughter baked an amazing cake, which luckily did not say “Farewell, Dad!”–although we did joke about it.  On the way out of Cleveland, we stopped in to meet Papa Phil and his wife face-to-face.  It was a short visit–maybe 15 minutes but I’ll remember it as long as I live.  What an amazing feeling to make this connection.  

You all know that I am a religious guy.  I still cannot figure out how I saw this post on Facebook.  I see so many requests for help on social media; why was I moved to act this time?  That will be the subject of an upcoming blog post, but I definitely think there has been some divine intervention in this whole process.  I have a few more thoughts on this subject, so stay tuned and thank you for sticking with this way-longer-than-usual post.

I am doing OK here, better every day.  Best of all, Papa Phil is doing great!!!  And we are both looking forward to the blessings that life ahead has to offer.