I can't donate a kidney to my mom. Our transplant coordinator called yesterday and said of the five antigens they check for compatibility, one was incompatible. And one's all it takes. (Small update -- I mis-understood the science. They actually check 6 antigens, and for most donors all it takes is compatibility of 2 to 3 of the 6. So in our situation, having 5 compatible was outstanding. However, in our situation, my last one was actually identical to mom's, so that's bad!?. It's a little complicated, and I'm probably still not getting it right, but the bottom line is, we were very, very close).
All things considered, my mom is taking it well. She's a trooper. I, on the other hand, am depressed about it. I'm a problem solver. I'm about solutions. I want to fix things. And I can't fix this. So I feel helpless, and I'm not used to that feeling.
"There's a reason for everything," Mom always says. And that works, whether you're a Christian and you believe God is calling this shot or you're an atheist and you believe it's simply biology and evolution at work.
Maybe. Maybe not. To be a donor, I had to first face my own issue -- do I have PKD? I was tested. I don't. That's great. I can help Mom. Maybe, maybe not. I do the blood test for compatibility. I'm not. That's bad. Maybe, maybe not.
There is a Taoist story of an old farmer who had worked his crops for
many years. One day his horse ran away. Upon hearing the news, his
neighbors came to visit. "Such bad luck," they said sympathetically.
"Maybe," the farmer replied. The next morning the horse returned,
bringing with it three other wild horses. "How wonderful," the
neighbors exclaimed. "Maybe," replied the old man. The following day,
his son tried to ride one of the untamed horses, was thrown, and broke
his leg. The neighbors again came to offer their sympathy on his
misfortune. "Maybe," answered the farmer. The day after, military
officials came to the village to draft young men into the army. Seeing
that the son's leg was broken, they passed him by. The neighbors
congratulated the farmer on how well things had turned out. "Maybe,"
said the farmer.
Robert Fulghum is one of my favorite authors/philosophers. His book "All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten" is the one that made him famous. But he published another book in 1993 called "Maybe (Maybe Not)." From the introduction:
"I do not believe that the meaning of life is a puzzle to be solved. Life is. I am. Anything might happen. And I believe I may invest my life with meaning. The uncertainty is a blessing in disguise. If I were absolutely certain about all things, I would spend my life in anxious misery, fearful of losing my way. But since everything and anything are always possible, the miraculous is always nearby and wonders shall never, ever cease. I believe that human freedom may be stated in one term, which serves as a little brick propping open the door of existence: Maybe."
I don't know, maybe the fact that I can't donate a kidney means I'll have one available for another family member that needs it someday. Maybe it means I'll really need both kidneys someday. Maybe it doesn't mean anything at all.
Maybe is how I'm dealing with it.