On a steamy day in August 2004, I went to the doctor for a routine checkup. I was feeling completely fine, but routine blood work revealed that my kidneys were in bad shape. Further testing showed them functioning at 16 percent of normal capacity. The cause couldn’t be determined, but evidently my kidneys had been deteriorating for a long time, probably decades.
Now, suddenly, at the age of 48, I needed a donor. The alternative was dialysis, tethering myself to a machine to clear the toxins from my blood three times a week for an indefinite number of years. It would be grueling, and it wouldn’t keep me alive nearly as long as a transplant could.
