Kidney transplant 1

January 16 of this year I had a kidney transplant. Sometime in February it failed, for reasons that will be explained. During the next days I'll write about some of the things that happened during the few months I was in the hospitals (plural). I was at OSU Medical Center in Columbus, Ohio and that was where I stayed for a few weeks.

I was all set for the day, Friday. I had been checked out for eligibility for a transplant. I had found a donor, or a donor found me. I had written a Christmas letter and explained my need for a kidney and my wife's cousin Esther finally answered, took the required tests, and we were found compatible. So far so good.

Admittedly, I had a few reservations about going through with the process, but since I had a donor, and everything was a go, I figured it all would work out. So early in the morning of the 16th, I was prepped and ready for the big day. I had been on dialysis since May 2004 and this would finally end it.

Lucy and I talked with the surgeon and he explained the details of the operation. I asked if he could keep the same setup that I had since the age of three. He explained that I would be at risk of infection since I would be taking immunosupressant medication to keep the kidney from being rejected.

I hesitate to explain the details of my own medical history but there are readers who would understand. At the age of three my bladder was taken away and the ureters were attached to the sigmoid colon. It was something I was used to after all these years. When the doctor nixed the idea of keeping the same setup I told him to do what he felt was best. It meant creating a urinary diversion for the new kidney.

My wife Lucy was planning to be with me in the early morning of the surgery. I was due to go to the operating room sometime around 6:30 or 7 a.m. As the hour approached, I grew apprehensive about it and wished my wife were here to give me support. I found out later that she was on her way but not quick enough to be with me at the crucial time. I was going for a major overhaul and I realized that I would probably go there alone, something I was rather used to because I usually was alone quite often in my numerous hospital stays. But I grew apprehensive enough to question whether I should go through with it at all. I developed feelings of depression at the prospect, but I reasoned that the donor was gracious enough to come forward, why disappoint her. That logic may be weak under the circumstances but I certainly had ambivalent feelings which almost unnerved me.

I had my cellphone with me and I suddenly noticed it had a recent voicemail. I checked it out. It was Elisabeth, a friend of ours, saying that there was a song which was in her mind all day and she even played it on the piano and thought of me. The song--No Never Alone. I knew the song and as I was taken to the Operating Room I sang it in my mind all the way to the table.

I was transferred over and the medical staff prepared me. I lay on the table and they stretched out my arms onto two narrow boards and tied them fast. They explained that they needed to fasten them because they could fall when I lost consciousness. My initial thoughts were "Oh no, I'm being crucified!" But I also kept thinking, No Never Alone, which was a comforting thought. I breathed a fervent prayer for further reassurance as a technician injected medicine into the IV that had been placed in my arm. I soon blissfully relaxed into oblivion.