Sum Greater Than the Addition of the Parts
I guess it's my fault. It was just a short ride from parking lot to parking lot, across the highway, so I didn't bother to buckle my belt. The hit-and-run hit and ran. Hit my head, hit my left side, hit my right side, hit my left wrist, hit my right knee. After four hours in the ER and then seven hours in surgery, they fixed my wrist, knee, and drilled a few little holes in my skull to release the pressure of the blood. They also found it necessary to remove my kidneys. Five days later I was on dialysis and put on the list for a donor kidney.
"We have a kidney for you, Mr. Thompson," the doctor said.
"Wow, that didn't take long," I exclaimed, the machinery recycling my blood with some filters in between. "What about these stories of waiting years--or even never? Are they exaggerations?"
"No, sir, they're not. Your kidney is a special request from an anonymous donor. But you need it and it's not wise to question a source who's apparently an angel for you."
Three days later I spent two hours in the OR getting my new kidney. Re-operating over the same site would double my pain, I feared, but it sure beat spending six hours a day three days a week in a contour chair. On post-op day three, the nurse came in.
"You have a visitor, Mr. Thompson," she said.
"Who?" I asked. I wondered, since all my family lived in Canada--I had just been on the phone rounds with them that morning. I was new in town with hardly any exposure here to have any friends or even acquaintances.
"It's a Jesus Torres," the nurse replied.
"Send him in," I offered. "Can't turn away anyone named Jesus, right? By the way, how were my labs this morning? You see all my pee?"
"Yes, sir, nice and deep amber, and a lot of it. That kidney's working fine. And your blood work came back great. You've really taken to this new kidney."
Jesus walked in slowly, seemingly in pain. "Hello, Mr. Thompson," he said. There was a heavy accent. He had in his arms a bouquet of flowers, which I thought was pretty ridiculous.
"I'm sorry, Mr., er, Torres, right?"
"Yes, Torres."
"Um, do I know you, Mr. Torres?" Jesus hesitated, then sauntered over to a chair and eased himself into it, stifling his pain.
"We met last week, Mr. Thompson. At the Esplanade Mall."
"Excuse me?"
"Actually, it was the intersection. I'm so sorry I left, but I can't involve any police in my life right now."
I seethed. Here he was, the man who hit me and ran. The felon, the scum, the criminal. And as he was quick to point out, my kidney donor.
"It was the least I could do."
I had him thrown out. Least he could do was right! Bastard. I didn't want anything to do with him.
A week later my kidney failed.