This is a special Thanksgiving for me. I always have a lot to be thankful for, but it’s been a particularly big year. I turned 40. The Telegraph turned 10. My husband Bryan had a (knock on wood) successful kidney transplant. And I was able to be his donor.

I scored the jackpot with blood types: O negative, the universal donor (or as Nancy Cumming at United Blood Services once said, “The golden child.”) Even though Bryan has a different blood type, I could give him a kidney as long as I passed a battery of tests to make sure I was healthy enough.

 

And I passed with flying colors, which seems almost miraculous. We’ve shared the same lifestyle – lives – for 20 years. Why Bryan drew the short straw of an autoimmune disease that makes demented antibodies attack his kidneys, and I got a clean bill of health, just illustrates the capricious nature of life.

This April when I got the news that I had been officially approved as Bryan’s kidney donor, I was in Las Vegas with my best friend from high school, Christina. We go every year to celebrate her surviving an aggressive form of breast cancer. She’s also survived a car accident that led to several spinal fusion surgeries and a host of other medical problems. I have felt guilty about my good health around her in the past, but I couldn’t contain my excitement about potentially being Bryan’s donor.

“There’s a voicemail message – it might be the transplant center!” I said and put it on speaker phone.

I don’t remember the exact message, just the flood of relief as we heard the good news. Christina and I locked eyes and simultaneously burst into tears of joy. She had no jealously or resentment that I was so healthy – she was genuinely happy. And we were both happy to be able to celebrate with a vodka shot in a bar carved entirely out of ice within the hour.

A few months later, Bryan, our dog, Rio, and I were headed to Denver for the transplant. (There’s nothing like a stint in the strip-mall hell of Southeast Denver to make you grateful to call Durango home.) The morning of our surgeries, July 20, that lunatic opened fire in the nearby Aurora movie theater.

 

We were both deeply saddened. It was a horrible morning. But we had two “textbook” surgeries, so on a personal level, we ended up having a good day.
It is humbling to have a good day when so many others are experiencing their worst. It’s also humbling to feel a tidal wave of love and support when you’re recovering from surgery. My parents flew to Denver to take care of us for 16 days. Bryan’s family showered us with gifts – poems our six nephews and nieces wrote for us, photo collages, a diamond ring that was his Grandma Lil’s. Ali, my best friend from college, kept my parents and in-laws sane in the waiting room during the surgeries and emailed updates to our friends and family. Our Denver friends Kelli and Jerry kept Rio at their house while we were in the hospital and brought him back as soon as we were ready for the greatest tail-wagging reunion of all time. We were deluged with cards and flowers and visitors and meals and Facebook notes and love. “We (heart) Jen & Bryan” graced the cover of this newspaper.

Our friends Steve and Cheryl flew out from Washington State to help us out and were there to pack our car when we got the news that we could head home to Durango two weeks early. As we drove away, Steve dropped his pants and mooned us. It was a triumphant moment.

We are so grateful for the people in our lives.

And I am grateful that soon after his transplant, Bryan was feeling good enough to buy me a shirt I’ll never wear but always keep, “I donated my kidney and all I got was this lousy T-shirt.” Obviously, I got so much more than that. It’s nice but sort of embarrassing the way people seem to think donating a kidney makes you a saint. (I still haven’t thought up a good response for when someone hears about the transplant saga and says, “You’re amazing.” My default is to flex my muscles and say, “Strong like bull,” like Ben Stiller in “There’s Something About Mary,” but that usually leads to an awkward pause while they think of an excuse to bolt for the nearest exit.)

The truth is that donating a kidney is pretty easy. You’re showered with support and accolades, and the recipient’s insurance even pays for it. What’s hard is living with an illness, or devoting your life to helping others. There are around 250 nonprofit organizations in La Plata County, and their employees are the real saints. I had a one-time surgery, but these folks spend every day helping people with disabilities, feeding the hungry, teaching kids, sheltering battered women or protecting the environment. They devote their lives to making the world a better place.

So, as I said, I’m overflowing with gratitude this Thanksgiving. And I am thrilled that the culturally sanctioned way to express that gratitude is not in a sappy essay (thank you for indulging me), but by eating a ridiculous amount of food. Before digging in, I’ll raise a glass to Bryan and our loved ones, to the people coping with illness and tragedies who soldier on, and to the world’s do-gooders. I’ll raise a glass to hope. And then I’ll drink to Erma Bombeck for saying, “Seize the moment. Think of all those women on the ‘Titanic’ who waved off the dessert cart.”

– Jen Reeder