Mercy Compounded
Ten years ago, today, my husband donated one of his kidneys to a stranger.
Chris came home from work sometime during the year before his donation and casually said, “I think I’m going to donate a kidney.”
I didn’t even look up from chopping the vegetables for dinner. “Sure, we’re both organ donors. When you pass away, I’ll donate your organs.”
“No, I’m going to donate now.”
I think that’s when I paused in my cooking, mostly out of confusion. I remember thinking to myself, maybe Chris is trying to tell me he’s dying.
I didn’t know that living kidney donation even existed.
Chris shared his preliminary research. He knew people needed kidneys (not anyone personally, but that wasn’t a determining factor for him). He knew you could donate one and keep living. The rest was just details, as far as he was concerned. Someone needed something to survive. He had more than enough of that thing to share with them. If he could do it, he would.
I have had two competing emotions about Chris’s ability to make lightning-fast decisions the entire time I’ve known him.
Sometimes, I love this trait of his. Like in high school, he gave me a sandwich out of his lunch simply because I was a friend and I said I was hungry.
Other times, I find it hard to live with. This was one of those other times. I had a lot of concerns. Chris didn’t. I resisted his decision, even though I could see his perspective. Generosity is a high priority for him and for our family. We give what we can, even when it’s hard. I saw the difficulty and the risk. He saw the need.
So, once the medical process started, I went to most of the appointments with Chris. I asked a lot of questions. I didn’t know anything about kidney disease or dialysis. I didn’t know anything about living donation, donor chains, or the risks and benefits of altruistic donation.
What I learned broke my heart right open. Death by kidney failure is excruciating torture. The wait for death produces incredible psychological trauma for the ill and their loved ones.
When kidneys stop functioning well enough and toxin buildup starts in the body, there is no good solution in current medical science. Dialysis, the medical process by which all the blood is removed, filtered for toxins, and returned to the body, is both long and ineffective. It only slows the progression of the build-up of toxins in the body which will eventually cause organ shutdown and death. There is no “living a full life” on dialysis.
The only way to stop the progression of the disease is a healthy kidney. Finding someone willing to donate to you, who matches a series of biological markers, healthy enough, without chronic disease, mentally well, and able to agree to a major surgery and recovery which will interrupt their life for weeks or months, becomes a constant desperation. Finding a physical match is hard enough. Finding someone willing and able to donate takes it to another level.
In Chris’s medical appointments at the nephrology department, I started to imagine slowly dying of kidney disease, drowning in my own toxins while surrounded people who could save my life but wouldn’t. Surrounded by working kidneys and none available for me. Once that thought came to me, I couldn’t say no to Chris’s decision.
So, on April 7th, 2014, my husband donated one of his kidneys to a stranger. The day of the donation we didn’t even know if his recipient was male or female. We didn’t know his name or age or anything about his medical condition. We knew someone was in need, and, miraculously, Chris could save his life.
Many people do have a loved one willing to donate to them when they fall ill with kidney disease but don’t match the needed biological markers. In some situations here in America, if the loved one agrees to donate to someone else in need, their loved one can get a donation faster. For example, a kidney “swap” can occur. Two people who need kidneys can each receive them from the other’s loved one – you get my loved one’s kidney and I get yours.
Even more remarkably, a whole chain of people can connect like this to receive new kidneys. Person A receives a kidney, and their loved one donates to Person B, and their loved one donates to Person C and so on. But you need one person, someone who donates without a loved one in need, called an “altruistic” or “non-directed” donor, to start the chain.
Chris’s donation started a donation chain. During the course of two days of operations, four people received a healthy kidney because of my husband’s donation.
A month after all the transplants, the entire chain – all the donors and all the recipients – met for the first time. The nurse coordinator called Chris a hero when she introduced him to the crowd and the local tv crews. As I watched him meet the man who received his kidney and explain to reporters why he chose to donate, I realized he deserved that title.
I had understood empirically that Chris would save someone’s life, but it changed me to meet his recipient. It changed me to meet all the recipients in his chain and their families and friends and medical teams and their loved ones who had donated on their behalf. That day, I began to understand Chris’s donation spiritually.
I met the incarnated reality of Chris’s generosity that day, and the beauty of life and hope and gift surrounded us all for the hour we spent hugging and taking pictures and crying with joy. I saw mercy, the reward that frees us from suffering, everywhere I turned that day. This group of people, total strangers, had co-created mercy. I squeezed my sons’ hands and whispered, “Look at what Daddy helped God do.”
All this week, I’ve looked at my family calendar on the fridge and seen two events listed for today: Chris’s kidney anniversary and Divine Mercy Sunday. That juxtaposition keeps catching my heart.
In ten years, forty years of life have grown out of that one day when Chris came home and said, “I have more than I need.” In this one act of generosity, I’ve seen mercy compound. I’ve seen the scars after someone pours out their life for another. I’ve seen mercy stop death and bring resurrection.
But it’s only a foretaste, a mere breeze in the veil. It’s just one kidney within the Glory of His Merciful Redemption. Ten years ago, I had no idea how one act of mercy could grow and I almost refused to participate in it several times.
And yet, when I see today’s juxtaposition, I can’t help but sit in awe at how our daily mercies grow. We believe mercy compounds without ever seeing it. We offer up our little sacrifices and He amplifies them in miraculous ways. Every merciful act lives within and comes from the One Merciful Act, the Redemption, which animates our every breath.
Ten years have passed. Four people have each lived another decade. They’ve given away children in marriage and danced at their weddings. They’ve buried their parents instead of their parents burying them. They’ve watched grandchildren see snow for the first time. Some have traveled the world, and one has been ordained.
May the mercy continue compounding.
Readings for Second Sunday of Easter (Year B) on the USCCB Website