You cannot grow a kidney from a kidney bean. If you could, things would be a lot easier for Ms. X. Ms. X is the wife of a friend of a friend. Ms. X needs a new kidney or she dies. That’s the deal.
This friend, let’s call him Mr. P has said, okay, take mine. Mr. P offered because he’s been buddies with Ms. X’s husband forever. He agreed to get tested, and guess what, it was a match, much to the chagrin of Mrs. P, Mr. P’s wife. Mr. P says, hey, I have two kidneys, I’ll be fine with one. Mr. P has been called many things for doing this, including the one I insist on, the one Mr. P really doesn’t like — heroic. Well, tough, Mr. P — live with it.
Think of all the people you know. How many of them would you offer bits of your own body to? And yet, if you’ve lost someone you care about, then there’s going to be a hole in you. Maybe it won’t show up on an MRI, but it’s there. It’s as though someone seized a vital organ without your permission.
So along with Mrs. P, who is praying to all available saints, I hope for some kind of miracle — someone else will be able to donate a kidney to Ms. X, that she will live and be well and Mr. P will live and be well, both kidneys present and accounted for. And I hope Ms. F who did not get the miracle she deserved, is dancing somewhere and that all the people who love her (including me) can nurse the hole her loss has created, remember her beauty, be kind to themselves and to each other. Sometimes that’s the only miracle we can get.