Kidney Beings

I had planned to post another episode in my “Yard Wars” series this week, but then I went to get a haircut yesterday, and I need to talk about what happened there. We’ll do the Yard Wars thing next week – provided, nothing more worthy comes to mind this week.

Yesterday, my dad, uncle, and I made our monthly visit to Rick Weinel’s barbershop in Newport. Rick is an old fashion barber with an old fashion shop. Going there is always fun, as Rick is a master at deadpan humor. He’ll launch into the news of the day, or an intriguing story, and you’ll never know, until it hits you, that the whole thing was an elaborate set-up for a joke. Rick’s only failing is that he tends to forget to whom he told which joke, so you sometimes have to sit through a repeat…or two. Somehow, they’re just as funny, because you get to observe the master working his craft.

We filed into Rick’s little shop and dutifully lined up in the wooden chairs, stained a deep mahogany, which line up along the right wall of the shop. The chairs are interrupted only by a space where a vent belches freezing cold air in the summer and scorching heat in the winter. Well, I can’t make use of one of the comfy chairs, so guess where I get to sit. I’d just as soon sit in the yellow racecar-chair, where he cuts the hair of pint-sized NASCAR champions.

This day was a little unusual. For one thing, the place was unusually empty, save for one young man and a boy of about 10 years, who was getting something of a burr haircut. It’s the first time I’d ever seen a kid in there. Usually, it’s nothing but old geezers…and me.

We greeted Rick, and exchanged some brief pleasantries with the man, who was standing (supervising, I suppose) in front of the boy, seated in the barber’s chair. The man was chatting with Rick, but I was focusing in on a particularly intriguing headline on a Popular Mechanics magazine cover, and had no idea what they were saying. Then, I caught a word that immediately brought me into their conversation.

The word was, “dialysis.”

Without any provocation or questions from the assembled, the man began relating his story. He explained that he was missing his normal treatment time that day, and would have to make it up the next day. For the past two years, he has reported to a dialysis center, and sat for hours while connected to a machine that cleans his blood.

Having been on dialysis for a short time myself, I couldn’t help but engage him on our common experience. At the same time, I felt completely unworthy to pass myself as any sort of peer to this unfortunate fellow. My experience, although terrible, spanned only a blessedly short few months. Nevertheless, we shared some common misery. I was astonished to hear how he had put up with it for these past two years.

He showed me a long device that was implanted under one arm. They used this port to attach the dialysis tubing, and it was huge! It looked like a row of size C batteries. I felt ashamed that I had ever complained so much about my own little port, and the chaos that ensued from my deciding it no longer pleased me. Here was someone living with a flashlight in his armpit, and not complaining a bit.

The man went on to tell us that, not only was he in kidney failure, but his brother had been in the same boat for four years, and his sister was on dialysis as well. One of his nieces was just diagnosed. I could see the boy looking at him with troubled eyes that sank to the floor as he reeled off the list of stricken family members. The boy, he said, was not affected — yet. I know it seems inappropriate for him to bring this up in front of his child, but they both seemed quite accepting of the situation. This is their reality. It is what it is. They were both very upbeat and determined, but you could tell that the man was trying to present a strong front. Maybe it was for his son’s benefit — maybe for his own.

We went on talking about how awful dialysis treatments are. As treatments begin, his blood pressure skyrockets, but before it’s over, his pressure drops out the bottom. The treatments make him chilled, sick, tired, weak, and miserable. It doesn’t get much better in the short interval between visits. And he has to go through this on Monday…then Wednesday…and then again on Friday. He has been doing this crap for two years: are you freaking kidding me? I did it for a couple months, and almost didn’t survive it a few times. Then I spent the time in between treatments wishing I hadn’t survived. How do you do this for years?

The man’s only hope is a kidney transplant, and he hopes to get on the transplant list after some upcoming tests. His brother has been on the list for years, with no luck. See, these guys have a blood type of A-negative. It’s rare, and limits the pool of potential donors. They’ve had some donation offers, but the donors all turned out to be incompatible.

Now seated in the chair, he proudly pronounced his determination to live into his 50’s. He’s in his 30’s now. At that, the room fell silent for a moment; Rick stopped cutting and stood motionless. To break the icy stillness, I jumped in and semi-cheerfully stated that he was “going to get that kidney this year and not have to worry about all that anymore.”

Soon, the man’s haircut was finished. He and his boy walked off into their tenuous future. They left me feeling thankful for deliverance from my own dialysis hell, yet frustrated that I couldn’t solve their crisis. I’ll never know what happens to the man we met yesterday, and that is frustrating. I hope and pray that he finds a donor…or even better, a cure. Moments like this make it so clear that your life, no matter how screwed up, could always be worse. There will always be someone out there, worse off than you. Just be thankful for every new day.

I could never offer to give that man a kidney, since I have only one, and it’s pretty much “damaged goods” anyway. But maybe I can help in a tiny way by encouraging all my friends and blog fans to join me in becoming potential organ donors. It’s easy to do: just sign the back of your driver’s license, or carry a donor card. And notify your family too. It’s amazing how many different body components doctors can use to help other people: organs, bone, corneas, skin, veins, valves, tendons and more. I have bone in my spine right now, which was the gift of someone who signed his or her donor card.
Offering to become a live kidney donor is a big commitment, but an even greater honor. It’s not exactly easy, but it isn’t terrible either, from what I’ve heard. And living without one kidney is not too much of a problem, as the remaining one will compensate for the loss. You will be someone’s real life hero. Look into it and get answers to your questions at this site: http://organdonor.gov/.  Donating blood is another way we can help others.  It’s almost painless…and you get some semi-tasty orange juice out of the deal.


Look at it this way: Signing your license doesn’t increase your chance of dying, but it does increase the chance of someone else living.