One Bean Club Reject

My father fixed things. He worked as the mechanic in the rural northern farming town I grew up in. Dad repaired every thing from the seasonal tourists luxury import cars to the locals harvesting equipment. He and his best friend, Dan, who owned the garage Dad worked at even designed and built their own machines. A small town Monster Garage circa 1977 that produced more powerful and effective cultivators and swathers and one of a kind tractors made out of a variety of cast-off pieces. The few times I visited my Dads work, Dan had scared the willies out of me. Amazingly large, this dark hair man would tower over me as I held the wild blueberry pie Mom had sent in for his birthday coffee break. Trembling, I would stand in that gasoline and oil smelling shop and stare at the top of my feet. Had I every been brave enough to look up I would of seen him smiling down at the top of my tow head.

Dan had gotten sick and not been at work, Dad told us one night at the dinner table. Soon Dan missed a lot of work. The area doctor sent him to the specialists, in the largest close city, three hours away. Dan never did come back to the garage. Dad was never the same. I do not remember what it was Dan was formally diagnosed with. I just knew by my parents serious hushed conversations, Dan was not going to get better. The garage was sold.

Dan and his family spent a lot of time at the hospital out of town. They had to as Dan's kidneys failed and he relied on dialysis to keep him alive. Hospital and hotel bills soon ate up the profits from the sale of the garage. Dan wanted to come home. Everyone wanted Dan home. My town of two hundred people pulled together to raise funds to bring Dan back . Dad would go over to Dans house straight from his new job to refurbish Dan's basement to accommodate for a dialysis machine to be installed.

It was the front page story of the local newspaper the day of Dan's homecoming. The feature article pictured a much smaller frail looking man smiling weakly than I had remembered. The specially trained diagnostic technician who accompanied Dan home was interview about the modern medical wonder of the huge machine that now predominated Dan's new basement and life. My parents would visit that basement often before both it's inhabitants would leave never to return. My Dad did what he could for his friend.

My friend, Curly Haired Heidi, I, like Dad, met through work. We never got so far as to construct a machine but together we have came up with a few great costume designs and story lines. We talk often. Largely because she has received a kidney transplant and we can empathsis with the trial's we both experience due to drugs and complications. Recently, when I questioned her as I do almost daily on how she was feeling, Heidi answered; "Good, considering I'm dyeing of kidney failure." As much as I love her for unfailing honesty, I prefer illusion to despair. It does not come as a surprise, yet I have no appropriate response to her news. I make lame jokes instead.

It took me some time to accept her announcement. In the mean time, I devise ways of hunting her a new kidney. None of them practical. I cannot travel with a sharp knife and a cooler of ice. I am unable to seduce a stranger to leave him unconscious and hooked to and I.V. in a hotel like the urban legion of the man to woke up to discover himself left with only one kidney. I don't have the funds to buy her a black market organ. Hell, I can't even build her a basement. Then a thought came to me, "What's that Dan? Give her one of mine?" Ok.

I had made Heidi the offer before. But I'm sure she had heard many vaguely empty offers of , "If there is anything I can do to help....." It made perfect sense to me. I make a good guinea pig. It took me a year of evaluations and tests before deemed fit and healthy enough for the case study for my clinical trail. My data is a recorded. My kidneys have already been exposed to the transplant drugs. Being a diabetic, I knew I always had the risk myself of experiencing my own kidney failure if I were to experience long term blood sugar complications. My kidneys are healthy and unharmed by my years of diabetes. Why would I not chose the lesser risk of what could happen someday when Heidi is unsure of tomorrow?

Hubby takes my news that I plan on becoming a donor very stoically. With the same calm expression he listens as when I had announced to him Heidi and I were planning on becoming blacksmith apprentices for the next year or so to have stellar costume armor. He knows better than to argue once my mind is made up. Hubby also is a member of what we call "The one bean club". Initiation basically is you function one one kidney, and have the scars to for bragging rights.

The trasplant coordinator I first spoke with at the Mayo clinic was very nice. When she found out my blood type was compatible she was almost as enthuseastic as I felt. Our excitement grew as she quizzed me on my physical history. The right age and weight, I have no heart disease, blood pressure problems, no history of kidney infections. I've had no major recent surgeries. No alcohol, drugs or depression. I was so high with possibility I must of missed any negative tone in her voice as I told her of the anti- rejection drugs I already take. "I will look over your medical file and when Heidi's case coordinator is back, Charise will contact you."

I was actually watching the phone when it rang that afternoon. "Hello", I answer in my best lab munkay voice. "Munkay Girl, this is Charise from the Mayo Hospital, the friendly voice on the other end of my receiver announces. "Yes", I answer standing up as strong and tall as possible. "I'm sorry to tell you but because of your transplant, you are an ineligible candidate for a donor for Heidi due to the risk you would put be putting yourself in. "But I am aware of any risk, I have always had a chance of risk", I babble. "I'm extremely fit and bounce back quicker than anything". I am pleading now, trying to sell myself to her. One step away from telling her I only use the kidney on Sundays now at church. "I'm good at medical tests and have peed in cups for years", I wheedle. "Yes, I understand", Charise explains very diplomatlicly, "if it wasn't for the prescriptions you are currently taking, you might have been a good match." "But..", I try to continue. "But, Charise finishes it for me, "you could be putting more risk on Heidi than she is already experiencing. I deflate at this rejection. I suck at rejection. "So now what do I do?", I ask hoping she has some secret happy cure that she will enlighten me with. "You are her cousin, make sure your family is supportive of her at this time." "No, I am her friend", I answer defiantly and I hang up the phone. "And I will build her a damn basement for her family to party with her in after she does get her new kidney", I say to myself.

Can anyone tell me how to swing a hammer?