Where, oh where, has my little kid gone?
Where, oh where, can he be?
Well, he now resides in a young man’s bod
And now that young man can pee!
Sell your cleverness and buy bewilderment. - Rumi
I spent the past year preparing to be a kidney donor to a young man who was enduring renal failure. Months and months seemed to drag on endlessly (we even changed hospitals in the middle of it all), until finally the date was set.
On July 22, 2008 I donated one of my kidneys to 19-year-old Hans San Juan, at Cedars-Sinai Medical Center, and the great news is that the kidney is taking to Hans' body like a champ, and we have both healed well.
Friends and family were incredibly supportive during this time, and truly helped to make an extraordinary experience even more so.
I've been undeniably enthralled by the whole process, but no more enthralled than by the complete abandonment of all my plans while in the hospital. In the weeks leading up to that day, I had written a couple of essays regarding the experience; they are, if nothing else, reflections of my own inner process, and coming to terms with my innate and imperfect humanness, as well as my chronically dropped jaw about it all. But, of course, while each essay imparted the sharing of a deeply personal journey, each one was also missing the act itself. Sort of like a joke with no punch line. So, while in the hospital, it was, of course my intention to document every moment, including the prayer and "conversation" I would have with my departed mother and step-father, two fondly remembered spirits who are often my counsel in times of need, while being rolled into the operating room. And then there was my intended request to have some Schubert playing as I went under (well, secretly, I really wanted some 3-6 Mafia). In either case, I didn't even make it into the hallway before passing into anesthesia-induced unconsciousness. So went all of my plans to render this experience beautiful.
It was beautiful all on its own; even the nurse being unable to keep my wiggling vein still long enough to start my I.V., and my dry-heaving the first time I tried to stand up and walk afterwards.
Friends and family (both his and mine) visiting was surely the best of it. Or maybe it was being wheeled across the hospital grounds to visit Hans, who was eating pizza and burgers like there was no tomorrow, while I couldn't keep Jello down. Or Hans' scribbled notes that constantly came delivered to my room via the nurses, saying things like, "I love you SO much!" et al. I think it had to be my brother, Mike, staying far past visiting hours on the day of surgery to be there with me, for my very first walk late in the evening, after all of the hoopla and buzz had died down. He held my hand, as I held onto the I.V. pole with the other, and we made it only a few yards. But it meant everything.
I never did document the day of surgery, as had been my intention. It didn't even cross my mind while there. I’d packed a journal with me, and my favorite pen, into my overnight bag, and it remained forgotten. Real life had intervened instead, and had clearly said to me, "better to be present for this than on the sidelines trying to be a reporter. Better to experience wonder than to jot it down."
And therefore, this essay is a short one.
Doesn't matter anyway, as something else pretty cool happened which did a much better job of documenting two extraordinary days than I ever could have.
The Spanish-language news station Telemundo Channel 52 (an NBC affiliate) covered the night before and the morning of the transplant. Everyone gathered together the night before the big day to hear my jazz group, The Slow Club Quartet, perform at Jax Bar & Grill. We decided to make it a party. And a party it was! We even recorded the evening for a live record that my group plans to release next year. Telemundo reporter Vicky Gutierrez caught up with Hans and me to talk about this auspicious occasion, and to bring awareness to the Hispanic community about organ donation.
The following 4-minute video, which I am excited and proud to share, is mostly in Spanish (my part's in English!) and includes a teaser and two parts, from coverage on July 21 and July 22.Even for those who do not speak Spanish, it's a pretty cool bit of coverage to watch. I hope you'll check it out.
Hans has named the kidney Virgil.