"For Some Reason We Just Always Hung Out"-Jeremy Duncan

I have now delved into my own psyche and soul significantly enough that I've decided to turn the spotlight outward onto someone else. My donor is known to those readers who are related to me or who know me personally, well mostly. But to any readers out there to whom I am a stranger, my donor is one as well. He's been my friend since 1991 but I had no idea 18 years ago what kind of friend he would turn out to be.

 I met Jeremy Duncan in 6th grade after moving to a new school for the first time since 2nd grade. That was actually a good stretch of time for a military family. Jeremy was just another one of the new kids I didn't bother to try to meet because I was pissed I had to leave my previous school. So when junior high rolled around the next year I eased up a bit and started, trying at least, to make friends. Several of the friends I did make that year I have to this day. Jeremy was one of them. We had gym together as I recall and he lived in my neighborhood. Anyway, I'm not gonna recount the history of our friendship in this entry. Nobody cares to hear it, I'm sure. And frankly, some of ya'll lived through it and don't care. Anyway, the story I do want to tell is the one that got me a new kidney. All of you have heard it or were there but I think you will agree it bears repeating. To me it's like the stories that Jewish families tell over Passover seder, or the Irish tell at wakes after a couple of Jameson's.  Stories that recall times past, loss and gain. Triumph and tragedy. Well this is his triumph story, one of many he has, but the one I will tell over dinners for years.

 In 2003, Jeremy was a 1st Lieutenant in the United States Marine Corps as part of the United States invasion and occupation of Iraq. He lived in Southern California and we didn't see much of each other because his parents had moved off to Indiana sometime before this so he didn't really ever come back to San Antonio. We talked on the phone and on the computer quasi-regularly. I talked to him before he was deployed overseas -- that was February 2003 -- and I told him that I would be starting dialysis any time, which he was sad to hear. That was also the phone call when he told me that he and his wife, Tiffany, would be expecting their first child. That was big news. He was the first one of our group of friends to have a baby. It was a weird idea that any of us would be responsible for a human life. But he's turned out to be an outstanding husband and father, which shouldn't have been such a surprise. We talked a bit more because it would be the last chance to talk before he went off to war, a prospect I was more concerned about than my first time on dialysis, which was just over the horizon. Thankfully, he came back no worse for the wear and he gave me a call soon after his arrival back home to let me know he was home and to see how I was feeling. I had told him that I had started dialysis and that I was slowly adjusting to it, but that it sucked worse than anything I'd ever known. Sucked worse than Godfather III. It was that bad. 

Anyway, then he asked how I would get a new kidney. I explained to him the cadaver donor process of being on a list and essentially waiting for someone with very similar biochemistry to die. Otherwise, I told him, I could in theory get a living person to donate a kidney to me, if we matched blood and tissue types. Unfortunately, the best candidates for such a procedure, my family members, were either not blood type matches or not in a position, health-wise, to donate. That's something I never thought twice about. It never bothered me that everyone in my family was ineligible to donate. I never thought about a living donation because it seemed like way too much to ask of someone. It still does. Jeremy is a naturally curious guy. He likes to know the reason behind everything and how everything works, so when he asked what the process of getting tested to be a donor was, I didn't think he’d actually use the information I gave him. 

 Well, I didn't hear from Jeremy again for a couple months, save for the day his beautiful daughter, Zoe, was born. When I did hear back from him at the end of 2003, he gave me news that I had never in a million years expected to hear. He told me that he had been to a doctor on base and asked about getting tested to be a transplant donor. He needed to know which hospital I was listed at so the blood work could be sent. I was floored. I was almost instantly brought to tears over the gesture and to this day I've never again been that surprised.  So I gave him the hospital’s information and again we didn't talk for a few months. 

 The next time I heard from him, he called to tell me he got a phone call from his doctor informing him that he was a suitable match for me and that he could give me a kidney. He asked what I wanted to do. He was more than willing to do it if I felt OK with it. Again, I was speechless. It was like winning the lottery but having the winnings come out of a loved one’s bank account. All at once I wanted to tell him to get out here now and let's do this, but also I wanted to tell him thanks but no thanks, I couldn't do it. 

 I really mulled over this decision more than I thought I would if and when I ever got a call like this. I was scared for him, he'd never had surgery in his life, and I was scared for me because my best friend was giving me a gift that I could never repay in a million lifetimes and I didn't know what to do with that feeling. It's been over 5 years and the kidney no longer works and I still have those feelings. Even more so because it turned out not to last very long.

 Obviously, I called him back and said "yes, let's do this" and 2 months later he was in San Antonio getting his final work up and the rest is history. The news media "somehow got wind" of the story and we were briefly local celebrities. We even did a CNN interview (which is posted on my first entry "Pilot") and one on The Morning Show on CBS with Harry Smith. One tidbit that never ended up on TV or in print was about the moments before we were both wheeled into surgery. If you've ever had any kind of surgery, which he hadn't, you know they usually give you an injection that they call "a margarita." It's a powerful sedative to relax you as they are wheeling you in and putting you on the table, basically doing everything before they put the mask on you and telling you to count back from 100. I, frankly, love the "margarita" and look forward to it every time I have surgery. Well, on this occasion I must have been abnormally nervous because when they injected the sedative I immediately began to dry heave. Just for a second, but it was long enough for Jeremy to see. He was literally right next to me in another gurney. He saw me wretch and he lost it. He was saying, "don't give me that! I don't want what you gave him!" I had recovered and started laughing at his outburst. The nurse calmed him down and they gave him the "margarita" and he instantly became Cheech Marin. We were laughing over the dumbest stuff and he was telling me things like, "man I'm so stoned." It was hilarious. 

 Not nearly as hilarious as when they rolled me into post-op, and a still drugged up Jeremy blurted out, "Hey, that guy has my kidney!" I don't remember it, but I heard about it later. Everyone thought it was hilarious. I would have, too.

 Well, that's the story of my first transplant. To this day, I'm still amazed at Jeremy's sacrifice and even though it didn't last as long as everyone wanted it to, I'm still thankful every day for his gift. I am still awed that he would do this for me, but the God's honest truth is that Jeremy is the kind of person who would have done it for a stranger. Anyway, I don't want this to get overly sappy so I will just say that he is a great friend, a great person and I thank God that we had gym together in 7th grade.

 The point of this story was not only to let the blogosphere know what kind of person Jeremy Duncan is, it's also to point out that any of you reading this can be a donor. It doesn't have to be a kidney necessarily, it can be as simple as blood plasma. Blood and tissue donations are sorely needed all over the country. 45 minutes of your time could save the lives of up to 7 people. I leave you with that thought and, as always, wish you good health and great love. I also wish for all of you at least one Jeremy Duncan in your life.