A Human Interest Story / Una Historia de Interés Humano
Sell your cleverness and buy bewilderment. - Rumi
As some of you may know, I have spent the past several months 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 are both healing well.
Friends and family have been incredibly supportive during this time, and have helped to make this experience even more extraordinary.
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. As some may also know, I've written a couple of essays regarding this organ donation, and 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 all of this. So, while in the hospital, it was my clearest 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 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 his 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. 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."
Doesn't matter anyway, as something else pretty cool happened which did a much better job than I could've documenting two extraordinary days.
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. 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 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 if you don't 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.
2008 Angela Carole Brown
And please check out my novel TRADING FOURS, a story of four Los Angeles musicians whose lives collide in a single day. http://www.buybooksontheweb.com/description.asp?ISBN=0-7414-2587-4