Page 66 of Out of the Blue

“Ordinarily, I would agree. However, not in your case, since you were born with a condition called kidney dysplasia. This means only one of your kidneys developed properly and the other, basically, doesn’t work.”

My breath stutters. “What?”

She nods. “You’re one of the approximately four-thousand people who are born with only one functioning kidney. This usually isn’t a big deal, as your operative one takes over the needed processes for both. However, because your good kidney was damaged in the accident, you need a transplant.”

I try to process the information the doctor gave me. “I need a kidney transplant? Only one of my kidneys works?”

She consults her iPad. “During the accident, you went down hard, directly on your side. You broke your leg and impacted directly on your functioning kidney. The trauma to it is severe. We need to get you a new one right away.” She points to wires attached to my body. “You have a catheter, and we’ve put you on hemodialysis.”

My mind blanks. I’m on dialysis? I swallow the sawdust in my throat.Think, man.I have no living relatives except for my aunt. I’ve never acknowledged any others—not that I’ve known about the others for longer than a month. “My aunt lives here in New Hampshire. I bet she’s a match.”

The doctor taps on her screen. “We tested her as well as her children. They didn’t match, I’m sorry.”

“Well, isn’t there a registry of organ donors?”

“We’ve added your name to the list, but no matches have come up yet.”

Beeping peals throughout the room and she checks my heart rate. After urging me to calm down, she explains, “We’re looking for donors everywhere we possibly can.”

Calm down? How the fuck can I calm down when my life might be ending. “How. Long?”

“How long what?”

Is she deliberately being obtuse? “How long before I won’t need a transplant because I’ll be dead?”

“Don’t say that. We’ll find you a donor. You must stay positive.”

I’m positive I’m going to die without a new kidney, and all I want to find out is when the Grim Reaper will come to collect. I take a deep breath, and the beeping stops. Thank fuck. “Doctor, please tell me how long I have to find a donor.”

“We don’t know for sure. I’d like to see this happen within a week or so.”

I nod. A week. I have seven days to wrap up everything here on earth. Then I’ll join my mother and teach her what Holy Hell means.

The doctor continues. “I’m going to let you rest now. It’s a great sign you’re awake. Please have faith in the system and know you have a lot of people on your side. They all got tested for you.”

“Who?”

“Your band, the people who support you like your roadies, your aunt and her family. There are still more people to test, so remain hopeful for me, okay?”

My arm flops in the bed. “Yeah,” I mutter and turn my head away. A week. I have one week left to right my wrongs. Or cement the things that need to be cemented. Deep.

“I’m going to leave you alone, and let your family and friends come in, one at a time.” She points to a button. “Press there for more pain meds.”

Pain I can deal with. Reminds me I’m still alive. For now.

Picking up another rectangular contraption, she holds it out. “This is your call button. If you need anything, press it and someone will be here for you.”

Automatically, I take it. “Thanks,” I mutter, my brain racing ahead. What do I need to do in seven days to set everything right? Or wrong?

The doctor leaves, and I mentally begin preparing a list. I need to tell my band I love each one of them and give them permission to find my replacement. A couple of talented guys pop in my head. Yeah. The band will do fine without me. Maybe better.

Then there’s my aunt, who I’m now only reconnecting with. Since I’ve been out of her life for decades, I’m sure I won’t be missed.

An image of Braxton appears, and I shove him far away. What he never knew won’t hurt him. Before all this, I wanted to punish him. Now, I don’t really care. He never meant anything to me, so why should I tell him now?

The last person who comes to mind is my girlfriend. For the first time since I was given my diagnosis, tears spring to my eyes. I don’t want to leave her. No matter how much we fight, she’s my perfect match. Her passion rivals my own. She’s so talented with the whole social media gig. And she’s suffered so much in her life already.

But I can take care of her, even after I’m gone. I have some savings, plus my mother’s house. I’ll leave her everything I have so she won’t be so stressed about money in the future.

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