When I shared my spare, I didn’t think about having to say goodbye.
It was in February of 2009 when my friend Amy shared with us, a group of longtime friends, the dreadful news. She needed a new kidney. “Well, it’s certainly not what I wanted to hear,” Amy sighed. The silence was profound. Amy’s words faded, and the silence grew deafening.
We all spoke at once.
“When does this have to happen?”
“Are they sure?”
“Oh no, this is awful!”
“How can we help you?”
Amy was no stranger to health challenges following her diagnosis of a rare inherited condition called von Hippel-Lindau syndrome, or VHL. This genetic disorder raises the risk of developing specific types of tumors and cysts.
A tumor was growing on one of her kidneys, and the entire kidney had to go. Over time, the other kidney developed a tumor, too, and was operating at a mere 20% functionality.
In life, it’s essential to have good friends, and this wonderful group of eight women have been close for decades. We supported each other through cancer, the death of a spouse, the loss of one of our members, and a myriad of other ups and downs. Through it all, we leaned on one another. We lightened our burdens. We shared our joys.
The evening we learned of Amy’s fate, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. I felt a strong desire to do something. I didn’t know exactly what, but… something.
That night, I went home to research living kidney donors. I wanted all the details—the good, the bad, and the ugly—so I could make an informed decision about whether I would “share my spare.”
A few days into my knowledge gathering, I decided to talk to my husband about it. He was taken aback and immediately urged me not to do it. His reaction came from concern for my safety and long-term health. As we sat together and I shared what I learned, I could see him relax, but only slightly.
Once I had committed myself to donating my kidney, I told Amy and her husband, “I want to be tested to be your donor.”
At first, Amy was afraid to believe it. A family member had agreed to be tested but then changed their mind at the last minute, leaving Amy feeling sad and betrayed. She worried I might change my mind, too, but I kept reassuring her of my commitment. In my heart, I knew without a doubt it was meant to be and I was confident I would be confirmed a match.
And I was!
While the transplant process began in February 2009, the actual procedure didn’t occur until August 16, 2012, at Emory University in Atlanta. Shortly after the transplant, Amy learned the “Golden Champ,” as she called her “new” kidney, started working the moment it was placed in and connected. She wanted a name worthy of her gift, referring to her new kidney as a friend.
My organ now belonged to Amy, leaving a void inside me where it once was, but I felt no different without it! This just further confirmed it was meant to be. Years passed, and Amy’s health remained as stable as possible with a rare disease. The Golden Champ was living up to her name!
Early last year, another health crisis reared a very ugly head for Amy. She was diagnosed yet again with another rare affliction, a super-aggressive lung cancer. Amy wasn’t a smoker and was devastated to face another major hiccup in her health. Doctors shared that she would not be a candidate for chemo because of her fragility, and there were little to no other options to stave off this killer. Her exact words were, “F- this rare shit!” I heartily agreed.
Over the following months, our group of longtime friends visited Amy frequently, bringing her favorite foods and dark chocolate treats. Sometimes, we simply sat with her in comforting silence. As her death drew near, we made a point to gather at Amy’s to toast her and reminisce about our friendship. We came together to laugh and remember when we were so silly after indulging in good wine and good food. What a gift it is to have such dear friendships!
Experiencing a small piece of me dying along with Amy was unsettling, a feeling I had not been prepared for. You know, it’s funny, researching living donors, I rarely found anything that touched on what you might experience if, when your recipient dies.
Initially, I kept my emotions to myself. It felt so selfish of me to mourn the Golden Champ dying alongside my dear friend. After all, it was my gift to her! However, as Amy’s death approached, I became increasingly emotional. I felt angry at myself for even thinking about that kidney, which was no longer mine and hadn’t been for over twelve years.
How odd it felt! It was difficult to express my feelings; it all seemed surreal and foreign. Loved ones and friends comforted me and gently reminded me that the gift of the Golden Champ lengthened Amy’s life by twelve years. Twelve years full of life and love and friendship. Once again, our circle of friends gave me the solace I needed.
Cathy May is the Director of SNAP Programs & WIC outreach with the Arkansas Hunger Relief Alliance. Her work brings her in touch with underserved populations eligible for SNAP benefits but may not be currently enrolled. Her job role also includes training agencies and volunteers to help eligible individuals apply for SNAP benefits and monitor federal legislation that impacts SNAP as well as WIC. Her formal background is in Data Analysis but helping others has always been a priority. She and her husband have 10 acres atop Wye Mountain.
