Bill O’Boyle

Bill O’Boyle

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It’s National Donate Life Month and it would be impossible, I think, to come up with a better donation than that.

I know, because some 55 years ago, such a donation would have saved my mother’s life.

But that was a time when kidney transplants were just being done and very risky to both the donor and recipient.

Today, transplants of kidneys and other vital organs are done with remarkable success, extending the lives of many people.

Like I said, the gift of life really is the most precious gift of all.

And to those who bravely register to be organ donors, God bless you all. Many times, donors never know who they are donating to and recipients often do not know their donors.

It’s a remarkable dynamic — people in critical need being given a new lease on life from strangers who unselfishly provide the chance for extended life to people they may never meet.

I’ve written about this before, and it’s a story worth re-telling.

One evening back in 1966, my mom and I were watching TV in the living room — she was in her favorite chair, and I was on the couch. I can’t really remember what show we were watching, but it probably was a sitcom or a variety show.

Dad was probably attending a meeting at the American Legion or VFW or Lettermen’s Club. So mom and I had some time together in our modest home on Reynolds Street.

This was during a time of struggle for my mom. Her health had been deteriorating for a couple of years. But mom always had a smile on her face, never allowing her inner pain to be detected by the outside world.

But dad and I saw it on a daily basis. It started when my mom began filling up with fluid. The occurrences became more and more frequent. Each time, we would have her rushed to the hospital and several times, she had to be transported to Hahnemann Hospital in Philadelphia. There were a few times when we weren’t sure she would make it.

This went on for months. It was discovered that my mom’s kidneys were failing. A doctor in Philadelphia — I can still recall his name, Dr. Onesti — explained my mom’s condition to my dad and me in a hallway.

My mom had polio and wore a brace on her left leg that caused her to walk with a pronounced limp. The doctor explained that over the years, that constant pounding of my mom’s left side on that brace caused her left kidney to become damaged. And before anybody could even recognize what was going on, the kidney became infected and that infection traveled to her other kidney.

The situation was grim, the doctor said. My mom would have to go through dialysis — at first it was every couple of months, then monthly, then weekly. As her condition worsened, the need for dialysis became more acute.

It was an ordeal for my mom that ended on May 10, 1968 — the day before Mother’s Day — when she passed away at the age of 42.

So back to that evening of watching TV with my mom in the fall of 1966. It was quiet, but I noticed my mom was looking at me and smiling. I asked her what was up and she said, “Oh, nothing.” So I asked again and she said this to me:

“I was just thinking, if I needed a kidney, would you give me one of yours?”

Without hesitation, I replied, “I’ll give you both of mine if you need them.”

My mom’s smile got even broader and she said, “I would never ask that of you. I just wanted to hear your answer.”

Now back in the 1960s, kidney transplants were not very common. There was high risk for recipients and donors. So the idea never went forward. My mom continued her dialysis until her body and heart couldn’t fight any longer.

When I talk about growing up in Plymouth and I relate all of the great memories of those times, that evening watching TV with my mom is one that I have always struggled with because I know, even if I insisted on looking into a transplant, she would never have allowed it. She would be willing to take the risk, but she would never — and I mean never — allow her son, her only child, to take the chance.

So rather than constantly wonder about what could have been had my mom gotten a kidney transplant, from me or any donor, I choose to remember her for all she did in her brief lifetime.

I remember her cooking, her baking, her precisely decorated Christmas cookies, her kielbasa, her ham and mashed potatoes, her red soup, her smile, her laugh, her sense of humor, her wit, her intelligence, her good heart, her compassion for others, her love of life.

And she loved art. DaVinci’s “Mona Lisa” was her favorite painting. She always hoped to one day see it.

The masterpiece now hangs in the Louvre in Paris. In 2000, I was in Paris and visited the Louvre. It was a trip my mother would have absolutely savored.

I remember we walked through one gallery into another, and we were told as we entered that the “Mona Lisa” was in this room. That’s when I choked up a bit and realized that I was about to stare into the eyes of the world’s most famous painting.

But I was not going to view this lovely lady alone. I was going to look at the “Mona Lisa” through the eyes of my mom. On this September day, Elizabeth Kraszewski O’Boyle finally would get to see her favorite painting.

It was more than emotional for me. It was an experience that I didn’t want to end. I wanted my mom to be there, and in many ways, through my DNA and my faith, she was.

My mom didn’t get a kidney transplant — oh, if today’s treatments and transplants were available back then, how different life would have been.

But she did transplant so much to me.

And she is with me every day.

Reach Bill O’Boyle at 570-991-6118 or on Twitter @TLBillOBoyle, or email at [email protected].