The Riverside Press-Enterprise
Transplants
the genetic disorder first diagnosed in 1992, Christine said she hesitated about letting her best friend for life know how seriously ill she eventually became.
Through changes in her diet and regular exercise, she had managed to postpone dialysis — or a kidney transplant — doctors said she would need in 20 years.
But in 2014, her grace period ran out. She couldn’t keep how dire her illness was from her best friend any longer. Christine was overly tired, her body swelling up, and her blood pressure was “out of whack.” Debbie could see it.
On a tearful walk along the Huntington Beach boardwalk, Christine let Debbie know she needed a kidney transplant. Debbie had a definitive response.
“I just said, ‘I’ll give you one.’ ”
Christine asked Debbie what blood type she was. They were both type O.
“She started crying again,” Debbie recalled.
It took another eight months between testing and other preparations before the operation could take place.
So worn out with exhaustion, Christine stopped working in May 2015 as a director at Concordia University in Irvine where she handled contracts and event coordination.
Her operation a month later at Cedars-sinai began at 6 a.m. and ended at midnight. Christine underwent two surgeries: one for the transplant and a second to regraft a vein from her leg to her new kidney because of a blood clot.
Debbie’s recovery took about three weeks. Christine needed a lot longer to get back to her active self and lose the fear that she might get sick again.
There was this nagging thought: “What if I lose this kidney and it’s Debbie’s?”
Debbie would tell her, “That’s OK. If I knew you’d only have it for one hour, I’d do it all over again.”
Five years passed before Christine finally could say without hesitation, “OK, I can live life.” And, Debbie adds, “have a glass of wine.”
Christine then pursued a long-stalled dream: She got her master’s degree in education in 2017; she went back to work part time in 2019 as a youth job developer at Edison High.
“Little Deb” and the other kidney were functioning well. But then Ron was sick.
`Spare body part'
Ron had been dealing with Type 2 diabetes for several years. He’d kept it under control with a single pill, avoiding the need for insulin. He was self-employed, doing concrete barrier work on the freeways that crisscross Southern California.
By 2020, the diabetes forced him to retire. There was financial stress and then, worse, the sudden news he was in renal failure. At the start of the lockdown from the COVID-19 pandemic in March 2020, Ron was told to get to the emergency room during a Zoom call with his doctor.
More typically, the kidneys will gradually shut down, Ron said. “Mine just dropped all of a sudden.”
Christine had to leave him at the ER alone.
He went on dialysis that August. He developed two hernias that had to be surgically repaired. A year later, an infection at the original site of the catheter required moving it from his stomach to his neck.
“He had a much harder time than me,” Christine said of her husband.
She nearly lost him on three different occasions.
“I didn’t think he was going to get to the transplant,” she said.
Ron was scared, too. “But I just didn’t say anything.”
Brad’s decision to step up as a donor, shortly after hearing Ron needed a kidney transplant was inspired by what he saw Debbie do for Christine.
“She was fine after she did it, so I didn’t worry too much about it or think too much about it,” Brad said.
The Thompsons talked it over — for all of a few minutes. Soon, Brad was dialing the phone for Ron, who was home alone that day.
“I’ll never forget Brad’s call,” Ron said. “He said ‘I hear you need a spare body part.’ ”
Ron didn’t understand at first. “He goes, ‘A kidney, dude. Do you need a kidney?’ ”
Brad swears he doesn’t recall this, but in any case, Ron continued, “I go, ‘Yeah.’ And off we went.”
The call took place in August 2021. Although the two men have different blood types, O positive and A positive, that wasn’t a roadblock. Ron was a little apprehensive, but doctors explained that a tissue match mattered most.
Still, Ron underwent a series of plasma infusions, necessary so that he wouldn’t reject Brad’s kidney.
For Brad, there was never any doubt or thought of backing out, he said, which he had the option to do right up until sedation for the surgery.
“When I was walking into the prep area, it hit me like, ‘This is real.’” Brad walked on. “After I told him he could have it, it was a done deal as far as I’m concerned.”
Need for donors
Dr. Todo performed the latest Thompson-morales transplant on Sept. 23. It took about the average three hours.
Ron’s recovery — physically and emotionally — went a lot smoother than Christine’s. He popped out of his hospital bed the day after surgery when nurses came to weigh him. He says he’s feeling great now.
For both the Thompsons, recovery moved at about the same pace. A retired roofer, Brad was healthy and has had the free time needed to rest at home. Debbie, too, still works as an elementary school secretary.
Life is about the same for them post-operation, they said, although they can no longer take ibuprofen because it’s hard on the kidneys.
Because of their friends, Christine and Ron are among the lucky, Todo said.
Most transplant patients in Southern California wait eight to 10 years for a deceased person’s kidney, according to Todo.
Perhaps one-third of all kidney transplants are from living donors, he said. While there are about 18,000 kidney donors a year who made their wishes known before their deaths, living donors like Debbie and Brad number about 8,000.
The overall need far exceeds the number of donors. From a waiting list of about 100,000 patients, some 20,000 kidney transplants take place annually in the United States, Todo said.
“The donors are the real heroes.”
Todo confirmed Ron’s hardy prognosis. He is almost fully recovered, Todo said, and, since a kidney from a living donor can last 15 to 20 years, “He has a chance to live well into his 80s.”
Christine said she is looking forward to all that extra time with her high school sweetheart, and with lifelong bestie Debbie.
“We always wanted to be sisters,” Christine said. “Now we really are.”