What I’m thinking and what I say…
This is a more humorous look at my previous post: Kidney Transplant Myths vs. Reality
People mean well. They do.
When you’ve been through a kidney transplant, you quickly learn that every conversation comes with two layers. There’s the part spoken out loud, full of kindness and curiosity. And then there’s the part happening in your head, framed by scars, gratitude, humor, and the long road that brought me here. Some moments feel lighter, some feel heavier, and the contrast between them becomes clear the moment the conversations begin.
“Are you cured now, right? Like, back to normal.”
What I’m thinking:
First, define normal. I take enough medication to qualify as a mobile pharmacy. I treat sunscreen like a spiritual discipline. I get bloodwork done more often than some folks get their tires rotated. My immune system is basically on ‘airplane mode’. And according to the fairytale, I should be instantly healed and glowing like a Disney character. Reality check: a kidney transplant is a treatment, not a cure. Healing takes time, is gradual, and is still happening. It takes time. But yes, absolutely, I am the poster child for “normal“.
What I say:
“I’m doing okay; I am still figuring out what ‘normal’ even means now.”
“Oh my gosh, does that mean you only have one kidney now?”
What I’m thinking:
Plot twist. I have three.
It catches me off guard every time I say it. My original two are still in there, retired and collecting benefits, while Sidney handles the day shift, night shift, and overtime. I am, in fact, over the legal limit for kidneys. And no, eating kidney beans did not prepare me for this moment. That misunderstanding can go sit in the corner. A friend nicknamed me “Three Bean.”
What I say:
“Nope. I have three. I know, it surprises me too. The transplant procedure involves placing the new kidney in the lower abdomen.”
“You need to be more careful. You really shouldn’t push yourself.”
What I’m thinking:
I know you love me. I know you watched me go through those nights when the monitors wouldn’t stop chiming and I lay there in a thin hospital gown, feeling like my body had turned into a question no one could answer.
But I also need to live again. I need to walk and work and laugh and do more than hover in a protective bubble like a museum artifact. The goal was never to survive in slow motion. The goal was to live in real-time. And no, I do not live in a bubble. I avoid raw sushi and treat crowded places like a tactical mission. Balance is everything.
What I say:
“I know. I’m trying. Some days I’m better at it than others.”
“I could never donate a kidney. I need all my organs.”
What I’m thinking:
You have two, so yes, the math checks out. But people live full, vibrant lives with one kidney. Some of them are out there right now doing CrossFit or carrying groceries like they’re auditioning for a superhero movie. And that donors become fragile afterward is an old script people keep on repeat. They bounce back faster than my energy levels did.
What I say:
“Fair. It’s not a small thing to consider.”
“I didn’t realize how serious it was. I wish I’d been there more.”
What I’m thinking:
This one hits me. Because I never fully wrapped my head around how serious it was, either. I downplayed it. I joked about it. I posted the cheerful updates. I said I was fine, even if I wasn’t. The truth is, the weight of it was already pressing into my body and my days long before I realized how heavy it was. So how could you have known the weight of it? And no, I won’t ever forget kidney disease. It’s part of me. The scars, the good and bad memories, the gratitude, all of it stays.
What I say:
“It’s okay. I’m glad you’re here now.”
“Wow, someone gave you their kidney? That’s so weird.”
What I’m thinking:
Weird. Weird? Someone looked at their own healthy body and said, “I want to give part of this away so another human can have a chance at a better life.” It wasn’t weird, it was the bravery you only see up close in hospitals, the kind that shows up in consent forms and pre-op rooms and people deciding to do something hard because someone else might get to breathe easier. And no, I don’t know who my donor is. This isn’t a Hallmark movie where we meet in a sunlit field running to each other in “slow-mo“. Sometimes donors remain anonymous. Every story is unique.
What I say:
“Yeah… it’s wild. I think about them a lot.”
“You must feel more like yourself now.”
What I’m thinking:
Instant recovery is another assumption people make. The first weeks were rough. Pain, fatigue, nights where sleep felt optional. Healing and recovery came like a sunrise that took its time. It takes time. But it came.
What I say:
“Closer, yeah…. And still piecing things together.”
“You must never worry anymore.”
What I’m thinking:
Worry did not retire. It changed form. Now it looks like lab results, medication timing, and the occasional late-night game of what-ifs. But I also have medicine, prayers, and people who help me breathe through the unknown.
What I say:
“Oh, I still worry. Just… differently now.”
“You must feel you owe your kidney donor everything.”
What I’m thinking:
I honor them by living fully, not by drowning in guilt. Gratitude fuels me. Shame does not. My donor gave me life. I give it meaning.
What I say:
“I’m grateful, but I try not to turn it into pressure.”
“Talking about your kidney transplant is oversharing.”
What I’m thinking:
If this is oversharing, welcome to the healing. Sharing is how we replace fear with understanding. Someone out there needs to know they’re not alone. Someone else needs to know that they can help. I’m oversharing on this Living Kidney Donor and Recipient Blog.
What I say:
“I talk about it because it helps people. And it helps me too.”
Some people make me laugh. Some make me think. Some remind me of how many people don’t understand, even when they don’t know how to ask. All of them are part of this strange, beautiful, ongoing journey I’m living.
If you’re a kidney transplant recipient, I know you’re nodding right now. And if you love someone who’s been through this, thank you for meaning well. We see you. We love you. We also have a very active inner sarcastic monologue.
And to every living kidney donor out there, nothing about what you did is weird.
It’s a miracle. Every single time.
Posts Referenced:
Kidney Transplant Myths vs. Reality
My Six-Inch Scar
Kidney Transplant Surgery 101
Marking Six Weeks of Transplant Recovery (12/3/2025)
The Puzzle Pieces Came Together
Powerful insight !! You once again creativity addressed others’ subtle questions and comments, even doubts with a positive “spin”……while allowing each of us a closer peek into your new lease on life !
Chad…. Once again you have creativily addressed others’ subtle questions and comments, even doubts with a positive “spin”……while allowing each of us a closer peek into your new lease on life !