A Brother--and a Father--Worth Saving

Thirty six years ago, my brother John saved my life.

Our Mother was forty-five years old when she became pregnant with me, and after a fatalistic visit to the doctor's office, she came home crying.

John, who was nearly eighteen at the time, was one of her biggest supporters, and, despite the risk to her life or the chance that I could have been born with Down Syndrome, he was adamant that she not have an abortion.

Nine months later, I was born—a healthy, 8 lb., 7 oz. bundle of joy.

In the intervening years, John hand-carved me a top-heavy hobby horse (I took my lumps, but it's the thought that counts), taught me how to play guitar ("Country Roads" by John Denver), fostered my love of music, comforted me after a devastating break-up, and helped our family purchase our ancestral home in Cape Breton, Nova Scotia.

Of course, my brother isn't a perfect brother—or a father—but when he takes the time to do those things that really matter, he does them really well.

One Mother's Day weekend, while Beth was visiting her Mom in Florida and he had the girls all to himself, he decided to rent a convertible. He and the girls tooled around some local small towns and when they went to pick Beth up from the airport on Sunday, they surprised her with the top down and took her on a picnic.

The first summer at the family home in Arichat, Nova Scotia, he rigged the resident nylon kite to the end of the line on a fishing rod—Ingenius! I also remember him telling me that one night he pitched a tent so that his daughters, Haley and Alison (known as Sam and Rosie on the Disney Dad's blog), could go camping—in the living room. Talk about a cool Dad!

Other notable qualities include insisting his children "read the book, then see the movie", encouraging his children to pursue their passions, and helping his youngest daughter hatch chicks from eggs in an incubator and build a chicken coop.

When I asked Haley and Alison what some of their favorite memories of their Dad were, Haley mentioned "going out to eat with him and going on vacation"—a trip to Hawaii was revealed after further probing. Ali referenced a golfing outing at a local, not-overly-stuffy course and a certain biking trip.

The choices John makes in life proves the adage that "anyone can be a father, but it takes someone special to be a Dad."

Fast forward thirty-seven years from my birth. John needs a kidney; I'm a nearly perfect match. People marvel at my selflessness, and I marvel at the fact that they are marveling; doesn't everyone have a brother that they would risk their lives for? I guess I'm one of the lucky ones.

And as we approach the hoped-for-date, when I have the privilege to share my spare kidney, I think about how I am saving my brother's life—not just for me, not just for him, but for his children's sake; because he's a father—and a brother—worth saving.

You're welcome, John; I guess we're even now.

Earthquake in March

Is it kidney time yet?

March 16, 2011

When the word got around that John needed a new kidney, my five siblings and I each offered him ours. Even my mother chimed in, but I ribbed, "Great, an 80-year-old kidney!" However, since I was the most logical choice (healthy, single, no kids, no career--yet), in 2010, I was the first in line to go through the proper testing. Step one was blood type. It was like pulling teeth to get someone to type my blood: I went to the Red Cross to donate, but they wouldn't type or take my blood, because my iron was too low; I started (key word: started) eating liver sandwiches in order to beef up my iron, but finally I discovered that my primary care doctor could do it. O-negative. John was O-positive, but apparently that was good enough. Check.

The next step was to Fed-Ex six vials of my blood to USC University Hospital so that they could see if John and I were a tissue match. On November 4, we discovered that we were a 5 out of 6 match (most siblings are only a 3 out of 6); no wonder we are so much alike…

At the beginning of December, I flew to L.A. for pre-surgery testing (blood tests, EKG, 2-D EKG, Pelvic CT Scan, Chest X-Ray, Abdominal Ultrasound, urine sample--YIPPEE!), and discovered that I had two small nodules in my lower lungs. The Doctors ordered a CT Scan of my chest (the nodules turned out to be benign), and just after the new year we got clearance for surgery on March 25.

We decided that it would be a good idea for my niece Amanda to accompany me to L.A. to act as my nursemaid, as Beth would have her hands full caring for John and their two girls (ages 7 and 11). Amanda and I got super excited about all the fun things we would be able to cram in the few days before my surgery, as well as the quality time we would get to spend with John and his family, and the low-impact activities we could enjoy after our surgery.

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March 17, 2011

WE INTERRUPT THIS BLOG TO BRING YOU THE NEWS THAT JOHN HAS PROSTATE CANCER. CUE THE STOPPING OF TIME.
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June 4, 2013

I never got to finish this post the evening of the 16th, but the next day--St. Patrick's Day--we found out that John had prostate cancer. Talk about the luck of the Irish! 

As I was packing to fly out to L.A., John mentioned that at the last minute they had decided to do one more test, since his PSA (Prostate Specific Antigen) check the year before had been normal, but on the high side (a 4). Usually, he said, they didn't bother retesting the PSA and would just go with the previous year's results. They were just trying to play it safe.

"Chances are, it's nothing," he said.

The day the results came in, Beth and I were in the kitchen when John called.

"It's cancer," she said.

Slow time to aforementioned stop.

Whoa.

That evening, John and I sat on his front porch enjoying the evening air, talking about what was going to happen, and soaking in the gravity of the latest news.

Life is short.

Prostate removal would be scheduled for March 25--the date John was supposed to get my kidney.

It turned out that the surgeon assigned to John's case was exceptionally compassionate and skilled. The surgery went off without a hitch.

"Your husband is a very brave man," he told Beth.

The first night, John was stable, but he reacted badly to some of the meds they gave him, so his legs were "jumping off the bed." Beth spent the night at his side. The next day, things were better, and after a few days of getting over the disappointment (my brother Jeff correctly characterized my feelings as going from hero to zero), Amanda and I became super nannies--getting the girls ready for school, picking them up, taking them to lessons, and helping them with their homework.

Then came the grueling week of waiting for the pathology results.

March 31, the night before John's 53rd birthday, we got the good news: the cancer was totally contained within the margins of the prostate.

Hallelujah.

The folks at USC who were assisting us with the donation process told us that John would be cleared for a kidney in two to five years: two years assuming his PSA remained at zero and he was cancer free, and a full five if there was any elevation in his levels.

Two years later, to the day--thanks to the stickler nurse at USC--John restarted his intake testing on his birthday.

"We should have a surgery date within a couple of weeks," he said.

On May 14, John texted me to say that he had finished all his testing; then, two days ago, he emailed me:

"On the kidney front, I've completed all of my tests. The bad news is that they've detected a mass on one of my kidneys.  I did a CT scan a week ago and should have the results tomorrow.  If it's negative diagnosis,you may have to take care of that kidney for a few more years.  If it's a non-issue (e.g. a cist) then we should be on for the transplant this summer. I'll let you know. Love, John"

Here we go again...