Roed family hoping this one will be merriest of Christmases . . . Cypress prepping for transplant on Thursday

Cypress Roed of Harrison Hot Springs, B.C., is preparing to spend her third straight Christmas in Vancouver.

This one, though, will be different.

While she spent the first two of those holidays in hospital because she was ill, this time she will be healing and looking forward to a bright future.

That’s because Roed, an eight-year-old Grade 3 student, entered hospital on Monday as preparations began for a kidney transplant that is scheduled for Thursday (Oct. 24).

“Cypress has focal segmental glomerulosclerosis (FSGS), a disease that caused a scarring of her kidneys, preventing them from filtering protein from her urine,” Grace Kennedy wrote in the Agassiz-Harrison Observer. “The disease required that Cypress’s kidneys be removed, and now she is on dialysis and is a frequent visitor at BC Children’s Hospital.”

(Kennedy’s story is right here.)

Cypress had been on the transplant list in hopes a deceased donor match would be found. Then the news came in September that a match had been found through the Living Donor Paired Exchange Program.

“I felt guilty when we were on the deceased donor list, because you’re waiting for another family member of somebody to pass away so my child can survive,” Chantelle Deley, Cypress’s mother, said earlier this month. “But when we got a call that there’s a live donor, it kind of filled that guilt with gratitude.

“Before, I kept going to pack the hospital bags, and I would stop. I just couldn’t do it. And now they’re all packed and they’re ready to go.”

There is another side to stories like these, too, one that often is if not forgotten, certainly overlooked. That is the impact on family members.

As Deley told Kennedy, a lot of people “don’t realize the ripple effects and the trickles that an illness like this . . . has on families.”

Not only is Deley dealing with having to be in Vancouver, but she also has to keep the family home in Harrison Hot Springs afloat, something that became harder after she and Cypress’s father recently separated.

Friends suggested that Deley set up a GoFundMe page, and she has done that, although it wasn’t easy.

“I have a hard time reaching out,” Deley told Kennedy. “It’s pride. You want to do it yourself, take care of your kids yourself. But at this point, I can’t. So I’m reaching out for support and help so I can focus on her.

“It was a bit emotional. Before we got this call, I was thinking about putting off transplant so I could work. It’s not an option now. It’s not something we can put off anymore . . . it’s something she needs.”

If you are able to help, the GoFundMe Page is right here.

And while you’re out and about on Thursday, take a moment and have a thought for Cypress.

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Mondays With Murray: Ravages of Time

Jim Murray was born on Dec. 29, 1919, so we are preparing for what would have been his 100th birthday. Today we take you back 50 years to a column Jim wrote about turning 50.

Enjoy!

——

TUESDAY, DECEMBER 30, 1969, SPORTS

Copyright 1969/THE TIMES MIRROR COMPANY

JIM MURRAY

Ravages of Time

   I woke up Monday morning and looked in the mirror — and an imposter winked back at me.

  That fellow in the mirror was 50 years old that day. Not me. I’m somewhere between 26 and 39.

  “Good morning, Mr. Hyde. How does it feel to be 50?” I asked him. I’ve been needling him for years.

  You see, this fella has been playing tricks on me for a long while. For instance, being mondaysmurray2young, I have a cast-iron stomach. HE gets gas on the stomach. Lately. When HE gets gas on the stomach, I belch.

  I never should have taken the old fool on. You know, I can hear perfectly well. The trouble is the sounds come through HIS ears. Therefore because of HIM, I find myself saying, “I’m sorry, I didn’t catch that.”

  He’s insidious, implacable. My enemy was in that mirror. It’s like fighting China. He’s got all the time in the world. One of these days, I’m going to be lying on my back in bed with a sawbones looking grave above me and people crying in the corner, and I’m gonna say, “Do me a favor. Go in and take a look at that old creep in the mirror and tell him to get a new boy. That I’m going over the wall. I’ve had enough of carrying his load.”

  You see, I know what he’s going to do to me. He’s already begun. You know that nice turn I used to take off a teed-up golf ball? Well, now it sounds like twigs snapping under an elephant. My backbone was as supple and gristly as a baby shark’s. Shucks, it was only three years ago, I was the best twister at the office party.

  Now, he’s got me taking a 3-wood off the tee.

  You remember how I used to fire those long, arching passes to the boy out in the lot? Well, he’s taken all the lube out of the bow joint. I throw underhanded like a girl now.

  My eyes are just as good as they ever were — 20/200. He has clouded them over for reading fine print. My belly used to be as flat as Texas. HE has put on weight. I would try to outwit him by jogging 10 miles or so every day, but the doctor tells me dead men sell no scales.

  The worst he’s done is corrupted my mind. I mean, I still have 31 of my 32 teeth (they got more gold in them than the city of Florence) and two million separate strands of hair on my head, but I’ve got HIS neck. It’s beginning to wattle.

  But the worst disease he carried is nostalgia. I mean, I’ve always been a guy who wanted news, the latest thing, the newest gimmick. But, you see, this old creep I took in out of the cold 49 years 11 months and 30 days ago is now using me like a ventriloquist. Someone says an electric toothbrush is a great invention and — in my voice — my enemy says, “Anybody who doesn’t have the strength to push a brush up and down his teeth should put them in a glass, anyway.”

  But, worst of all, youngsters say, “Boy, that Rod Carew is a great hitter!” and you find yourself screaming, “Rod Carew! I thought he was a coxswain! Why, with the ’27 Yankees, he’d have to take batting practice with the bullpen crew. The regulars would be afraid to pick up bad habits just watching him. Now, Babe Ruth, THERE was a hitter. Used to warm up against machine gun bullets. He could bat .360 against the Gatling gun.”

  “Paul Warfield is a great end,” they say. “Paul Warfield! I thought he was a baritone! He’d be in a taxi on the 1950 Rams. Now, Hirsch and Fears, THERE were ends. They were, you might say, THE ends.”

  Or, they may bring up some hot-shot young golfer. “Couldn’t shag for Hogan,” you sniff.

  Well, my enemy’s gums hurt. His hands shake, his blood is tired, and he wants to go put on something by Lawrence Welk, and he’s worried about sitting in a draft and wants to go sit in a blanket with Musterole and do crossword puzzles. Me, I want to go surfing.

  I suppose now I’ll go out and get hit on the head by some young punk that a young athlete like me would kick under the car if I didn’t have that coward at the control. He’s jealous is what he is. He’s been trying to turn my hair gray for 10 years, but my hair is younger than both of us. I think he’s got one week to give me rheumatism or they make him turn in his scythe. He keeps telling them I’m only Shangri-la on the outside, but inside, I look like Ptolemy. He ought to know. He’s in there. Not me.

——

Reprinted with the permission of the Los Angeles Times

Jim Murray Memorial Foundation, P.O. Box 60753, Pasadena, CA 91116

———

What is the Jim Murray Memorial Foundation? 

  The Jim Murray Memorial Foundation is a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization, established in 1999 to perpetuate the Jim Murray legacy, and his love for and dedication to his extraordinary career in journalism. Since 1999, JMMF has granted 104 $5,000 scholarships to outstanding journalism students. Success of the Jim Murray Memorial Foundation’s efforts depends heavily on the contributions from generous individuals, organizations, corporations, and volunteers who align themselves with the mission and values of the JMMF.

Like us on Facebook, and visit the JMMF website, www.jimmurrayfoundation.org.

——

A dozen years ago, Linda McCoy-Murray compiled a book of Jim Murray’s columns on female athletes (1961-1998). While the book is idle waiting for an interested publisher, the JMMF thinks this is an appropriate year to get the book on the shelves, i.e., Jim Murray’s 100th birthday, 1919-2019.  

Our mission is to empower women of all ages to succeed and prosper — in and out of sports — while entertaining the reader with Jim Murray’s wit and hyperbole.  An excellent teaching tool for Women’s Studies.

Proceeds from book sales will benefit the Jim Murray Memorial Foundation, a 501(c)(3) not-for-profit organization providing sports journalism scholarships at universities across the country.

Can polycystic kidney disease be reversed? Researchers make diet-based discovery

The Kamloops Kidney Support Group gathers twice a month and we almost always have someone there who has been diagnosed with polycystic kidney disease (PKD) or has a family member with it.

According to the Kidney Foundation of Canada:

PKD “is a genetic disorder that causes multiple cysts to form in the kidneys. Polycystic kidneys become very large, have a bumpy surface and contain many fluid-filled cysts. This can be associated with a number of conditions, including: High blood pressure, urinary and kidney infections, kidney stones, and kidney failure.”

Also from the foundation’s website: “PKD can strike anyone at any time. About five per cent of all people requiring dialysis or kidney transplantation have PKD.”

(That info, and more, can be found right here.)

Last week, though, there was some big news involving PKD.

In a piece headlined ‘Reversing polycystic kidney disease,’ Sonia Fernandez of the U of California Santa Barbara writes:

“Thanks to research conducted by UC Santa Barbara biochemist Thomas Weimbs, postdoctoral researcher Jacob Torres and their team, a solution may be no farther than the end of your fork. Diet, they discovered, could hold the key to treating PKD.”

Until now, PKD, as Fernandez writes, “has long been thought to be progressive and irreversible, condemning its sufferers to a long, slow and often painful decline as fluid-filled cysts develop in the kidneys, grow and eventually rob the organs of their function.”

The only options, at this point, are dialysis or a kidney transplant.

Now, though, scientists believe that they have “identified the specific metabolic process responsible for slowing the progress of the disease” in mice.

As Weimbs told Fernandez: “There’s a way of avoiding the development of the cysts through dietary interventions that lead to ketosis.”

Fernandez added: “You heard that right: Ketosis, the underlying metabolic state of popular diets such as the ketogenic diet, and, to a lesser extent, time-restricted feeding (a form of intermittent fasting), has been shown in the Weimbs group’s studies to stall and even reverse PKD.”

Fernandez’s complete story is right here.

Scattershooting on a Wednesday while waiting for the rain to stop in New York . . .

Scattershooting

Ahh, yes, the start of the NHL regular season. That means that some viewing choices become a whole lot easier because so many of those TSN and Sportsnet channels are blacked out for many evenings. This all seems to be part of the NHL’s master marketing plan.


Facebook


I don’t know about other Canadians, but I can’t wait until Monday (election day) is over so that our phone will stop ringing. Yes, we have call display. Yes, we have stopped answering it unless we know who is calling. . . . BTW, we both voted on Friday so we don’t want to talk to you anyway.

——

BTW, would the scammer from 778-580-4001 who keeps calling Dorothy’s cell phone either stop calling and leaving a voice message, or come on over and arrest her, as you keep threatening to do. Either way, just go away. . . . And, hey, you at 604-243-2944, either leave a message or stop calling us, too. OK? . . . Oh, and 604-210-7993 and 888-811-2323, you can get outta here, too.



Headline at @SportsPickle: PBA bowling should come out as staunchly pro-Chinese government just to try to get in the news for a few days.


Zebras


If you are a regular viewer of Pardon The Interruption (PTI), you might agree that we are watching Michael Wilbon grow into an angry, yelling old man right before our very eyes.


First, there was this:

——

Later, there was this one:

——

And, Regina, there also was this:


Dwight Perry of the Seattle Times is wondering: “Does Arkansas linebacker Bumper Pool have a brother named Gene?”


If you are of a certain age, we never forget . . . 


ICYMI, the New York Mets will retire the number (36) of former southpaw Jerry Koosman next season. Asked up a speech, Koosman told the St. Paul Pioneer Press: “I’ll just copy Lou Gehrig’s.”


Wondering what Oakland Raiders head coach Jon Gruden thought after the Washington Redskins fired his brother, Jay? “My dad’s been fired. I’ve been fired. Jay’s been fired and . . . welcome to the club, bro,” Jon told reporters.


Psychic

Kidney donor chosen to take part in Tournament of Roses Parade . . . Philly rapper Freeway talks transplant

I don’t make a habit of watching the annual Tournament of Roses Parade from Pasadena, Calif. But I plan on watching the 131st annual event on New Year’s Day.

Why?

To honour Regina Tanner and all of the other generous folks who have donated kidneys. (Hello, Susan Duncan and Cheryl Vosburgh and Louis (Big Rig) McIvor and so many others.)

Regina, who is from Fresno, Calif., will be in the Parade, walking with the Donate Life Rose Parade float. Regina gave up a kidney in 2016 so that her husband, Cary, could get one via transplant. The two of them ended up part of a paired kidney donation chain that featured 18 people.

There is more on Regina’s story right here.

That piece also includes some interesting facts and statistics regarding organ donation and transplantation.









Mondays With Murray: There’s Been No Change of Heart

 

SUNDAY, OCTOBER 24, 1982, SPORTS

Copyright 1982/THE TIMES MIRROR COMPANY

JIM MURRAY

There’s Been No Change of Heart

  When Lefty Gomez was going in for open-heart surgery, the old Yankees pitcher was worried. He wanted to know which way to bet, as usual. “What are my chances?” he asked. “Aw, don’t sweat it, Lefty,” the doctor told him. “A piece of cake. We have a 98 percent success rate.”

  Suddenly, Lefty went home. Almost immediately, his phone began to ring. His cousin from Visalia called. Her brother had the operation, and he was out climbing mountains. mondaysmurray2A neighbor called. Same thing. His father had the operation and he was years younger. An old friend called from New York. He had come through with flying colors. An ex-teammate called. He had it and was OK.

  Suddenly, Lefty broke into a cold sweat anyway. “I suddenly realized I was up to 68 percent. Two more phone calls and I was an underdog. I shut off the phone.”

  I bring this up because, I, too, recently had heart surgery. But it wasn’t well-meaning friends who gave me sleepless nights. It was the medics. For openers, the surgeon, Dr. Jack Matloff, the old Yale football player, came in the night before and told me all the things that could go wrong. He made it sound as if I should get points in this game. “First of all,” he said, “you could die.” And that was the good news.

  Part of the bad news was, they were going to replace my worn-out valve with a pig’s valve. My doctor, Gary Sugarman, was quick to see the obstacles in this. “That means you’re ‘trafe,’ ” he said. “That means you can never go in a Beverly Hills delicatessen again as long as you live.”

  “In that case,” I told him, “this will be the first operation in history to save a heart and a gallbladder at the same time. Irving Caesar used to say that pastrami killed more Jews than the Pharaohs.”

  Another doctor on the case, Jeffrey Helfenstein, was even more helpful. “Look at it this way: When your readers write in that you’re a pig, they’ll be part right.”

  But, my problems were more metaphysical than medical. What I was worried about was the big picture, the effect all this would have on my career. I reasoned this way: The heart is the seat of the emotions, right? Now that I had a new set of emotions, how would this affect my whole approach to life? I mean, would I now become Mr. Nice Guy? No more Mr. McNasty? Would I now start seeing two sides to every story? Would I start to admit it when I was wrong? Would I stop being an opinionated jerk? Would I get that fatal columnists’ disease, fairness? Would I start to like Cincinnati?

  The thought was too appalling to contemplate. Would they scalpel malice right out of my system, and leave me a journalistic eunuch? One of those guys who says, “On the other hand . . .?”

  You know, when I went in for the operation, a lot of the wags were ready: “Jim Murray had a six-hour heart surgery. Took ‘em one hour to fix it and five hours to find it.” And so on.

  You know, when I first came to California way back in ’43, I realized I would have to guard against the local diseases — cheerfulness, optimism, tolerance, sympathy, orange juice poisoning of the brain, kind of like you watch out for malaria in the tropics. I guarded against the symptoms night and day. When I covered the movies, for instance, I didn’t like any of them. I even ripped Academy Award performances. Especially Academy Award performances. I only liked pictures nobody went to see. If Spencer Tracy wasn’t in it, I knocked it.

  Then, when I got into sports, I was horrified at the attitude of the fans out here. They were, if you can believe it, well — “understanding” is the word. Patient. Sympathetic. Terrible flaws in a sports fan.

  I used to sit behind them and heard them implore: “Please, Steve, don’t strike out.” Good Lord! This is no way to spectate. Brought up in the Polo Grounds and Ebbets Field, I knew the real procedure: “Hey, Steve, strike out so they’ll know you! I hear you’re writing a book, ‘My Greatest Days in Baseball.’ It’ll be thinner than the Texas social register. Hey, Steve, is your nickname ‘Popeye’ or ‘Pop Fly?’ Hey, Steve, one more strikeout and that school they named after you is ‘Lincoln Junior High’ once again. Can they carry out decimals in that school far enough to find your batting average? Hey, Steve, does your Rolls Royce have stained-glass windows — or just a chair in the back and incense? Do they call you ‘goody, goody’ because you’re bucking for saint or because that’s what the pitchers say when you come up? The next time you go to Lourdes, bring your bats.”

  You can sit there, as fans do here, and murmur encouragements like, “We’re with you, Fernando, baby!” You have to go for the jugular, shake him up. “Hey, Fernando, show us how to throw a home run. Hey, Fernando, who takes care of your pet gopher when you’re on the mound? Hey, Fernando, two more pounds and they have to tether you. They’ll put a propeller on you and take pictures over the Rose Bowl next New Year’s. Hey, Fernando, the movies want you! They’re doing a remake of the Hindenburg disaster. You’re gonna play the Hindenburg. Hey, Fernando, how do you say ‘ball four’ in Spanish? Better learn, you’re gonna be saying it a lot!”

  In horse racing, the accepted form of cheering in the stretch here is, “Come on sweetheart, stay there! Only an eighth of a mile, you can do it, baby!” The universal hate form on the other hand is, “Don’t die now, you damn dog, you got all my money ridin’ on ya! Hold on, you bucket o’ glue! Jockey, hit that snivelling quitter — or are you in on the fix, too?!”

  Soft-heartedness is the graveyard of sportswriting, too. The minute you think, let alone write, “Well, the poor fellow was doing his best,” you are through. The instant you lead off with “Steve Garvey gave it his all yesterday, but took a called third strike to write finish to the Dodgers’ pennant race,” you are ready for the copy desk and the condo in Chula Vista. You have lost the hop on your hard one.

  If life, they say, “No news is good news.” In journalism, they say, “Good news is no news.” You have to put a stone in your heart and a sneer on your lips and write, “Steve Garvey liked the pitch so much he couldn’t bear to bruise it. So he stood there like a guy getting his first look at the Mona Lisa, overcome with awe and admiration. He looked as if he had come to paint it, not hit it. Of course, the Philistines were screaming, ‘Swing, ya dummy! It’s a strike, not a work of art!’ But what do they know of works of art?”

  I took up the problem with Dr. Sugarman, when he found fluid around the heart. “You don’t think it’s the milk of human kindness, do you?” I wondered anxiously. Gary shook his head. “No,” he said.

“You can tell that from the stethoscope?” I pressed.

“No,” he said, “from the column you wrote about the St. Louis Cardinals.”

Reprinted with the permission of the Los Angeles Times

Jim Murray Memorial Foundation, P.O. Box 60753, Pasadena, CA 91116

———

What is the Jim Murray Memorial Foundation? 

  The Jim Murray Memorial Foundation is a 501(c)(3) nonprofit organization, established in 1999 to perpetuate the Jim Murray legacy, and his love for and dedication to his extraordinary career in journalism. Since 1999, JMMF has granted 104 $5,000 scholarships to outstanding journalism students. Success of the Jim Murray Memorial Foundation’s efforts depends heavily on the contributions from generous individuals, organizations, corporations, and volunteers who align themselves with the mission and values of the JMMF.

Like us on Facebook, and visit the JMMF website, www.jimmurrayfoundation.org.

——

A dozen years ago, Linda McCoy-Murray compiled a book of Jim Murray’s columns on female athletes (1961-1998). While the book is idle waiting for an interested publisher, the JMMF thinks this is an appropriate year to get the book on the shelves, i.e., Jim Murray’s 100th birthday, 1919-2019.  

Our mission is to empower women of all ages to succeed and prosper — in and out of sports — while entertaining the reader with Jim Murray’s wit and hyperbole.  An excellent teaching tool for Women’s Studies.

Proceeds from book sales will benefit the Jim Murray Memorial Foundation, a 501(c)(3) not-for-profit organization providing sports journalism scholarships at universities across the country.

Meet Zach Tremblay, an active teenager from Robson, B.C., who needs a kidney . . .

By day, Zach Tremblay is your typical 16-year-old.

He is a Grade 11 student at Stanley Humphries Secondary School in Castlegar, B.C., just across the Columbia River from his family’s home in Robson in the West Kootenays. He plays basketball and likes to bowl. He spends time skateboarding, and hanging with buddies.

By night, however, Zach is anything but typical.

As he gets ready for bed every night — every single night . . . EVERY SINGLE NIGHT . . .

ZachTremblay
Zach Tremblay is 16 now, and he still needs a kidney. The phone numbers will get you to the Live Donor Exchange Program at St. Paul’s Hospital in Vancouver.

there aren’t any nights off — he hooks up to a machine called a ‘cycler’ that, while he is sleeping, uses fluids to drain toxins from his body. For most of us, our kidneys take care of these toxins.

However, Zach was diagnosed with chronic kidney disease at birth. While he was younger, medications helped control things. As he grew older, the medications weren’t enough. He now has been doing peritoneal dialysis (PD) for almost five years.

There was a brief interruption in the middle of 2017 when he underwent a live donor transplant at B.C. Children’s Hospital in Vancouver.

But, as his mother, Jana, wrote, “Unfortunately it did not work out, and was removed 24 hours and four surgeries later. An absolutely heartbreaking moment for all of us, but mostly him.”

On Sunday, Jana told me that “because of the donor tissue being inside him, he has developed very high antibodies, so finding his match has proven to be a huge challenge.”

After the transplant didn’t work out, it was back home. Back on PD. Back waiting and hoping for a live donor to be found.

In September 2017, about three months after the transplant had failed, Jana took to her Facebook page in an attempt to add some momentum to the search.

“Zachary Tremblay is a 14-year-old boy from Robson, B.C., Canada,” she wrote. “He was born with CKD, Hypoplasia-Dysplasia with reflux. After 12 long years of battle, he has been put on PD and is awaiting a kidney transplant. Zachary is an O negative, but the donor can be O, O- or O+– The RH Factor is irrelevant, and can be controlled by meds.

Each family member has been tested with no matches. We are now reaching out to you, the public, our friends, families, neighbours and strangers. Our boy needs a kidney, and every kid deserves a chance at a healthy life. Please consider being tested for him.”

Four months ago, Jana updated the situation for the first time in six months:

“Six long months have passed since our last update. Six more long months of dialysis, meds, appts, lab draws, injections, supply orders and dump runs ( medical waste builds up SO fast!)

“We are still sharing, waiting, hoping and praying our boy gets his gift. We will never give up on that! In the meantime, we promote organ donation and ensure people who want to be are signed up.”

Last summer, Jana was asked to address the gathering at the annual Kidney Walk in Trail, B.C. Her father was ill, so she wasn’t able to make it, but she put together an emotional piece that was read to the crowd that day. More than anything, this spells out the impact that kidney disease has on a family. Some excerpts follow . . .

Shortly after birth, doctors discovered that Zach “was in complete renal failure and would need immediate intervention at B.C. Children’s Hospital if he was to have any chance at survival. . . .

“Zach, myself and his Dad spent the next six weeks in hospital. We slept side-by-side on an old metal cot beside his crib, in the corner of his room, so we could be there no matter what happened.

“He had very high potassium, and they were worried his heart would be damaged or, worse, would just stop.

“Many long nights, painful tests, blood draws, treatments, ultra sounds, and IV’s later, our baby was stable, and we were able to bring him home. I remember excitedly asking our doctor, ‘What now? What do we do now? What will happen to him and where do we go from here.’ His response shook me to my core. He very quietly and calmly said: ‘Take him home and enjoy him, because this baby is not going to live.’ . . .

“Not only did our son survive, he surpassed any expectation they had for him. He grew and thrived and required very little intervention, aside from vitamins and phosphate binders, until his 11th year.

In September 2012, he went into sudden decline, and by December he required surgery to place a peritoneal dialysis catheter (into his peritoneal cavity). After the holidays and some healing, we spent the next two weeks training in Vancouver to learn to give our son dialysis at home. We had to learn to look after our son, and give him his therapy, distribute his meds, care for his site, and watch for signs of issues or infection. . . .

“We have spent the past 15 years traveling back and forth to Vancouver. While people were setting money aside for their next family holiday or big vacation, we were saving for our next trip to Vancouver. . . .

“This disease affects the whole family. My other son, Mason, has spent a good deal of his life, also going back and forth, attending appointments and supporting his brother. He has been afraid, lonely, scared and angry. . . .

“There are few people in this world I look up to more than my kids. Zach has endured more than any kid should have to. He has handled it with a maturity and grace not seen in most his age. While most kids are worrying about homework, social media, friends, etc., he has all that, plus the added pressure of this disease. He has to remember to take meds. He has to take his BP everyday. He has worries, fears and responsibilities most adults couldn’t adhere to. He shouldn’t have to.”

The Tremblay family, including Jana and her husband, Dan, live in Robson. There is an older brother, Taylor, and an older sister, Kailie, both of whom have partners and children. There are other family members in the area and in the Okanagan; the support system, Jana said, is strong.

The family has learned to take life one day at a time as they wait. Hoping. Praying. Zach hooks up to his cycler EVERY SINGLE NIGHT as he, too, plays a waiting game.

On Thursday, Jana posted a brief message on Facebook. It read: “Thursday seems like a great day to find a kidney!”

I’m thinking that the Tuesday after a Thanksgiving weekend would be a great day to find a kidney, too.

——

If you are interested in more contact information, here you go:

Living Kidney Donor Program

St. Paul’s Hospital

6A Providence Building

1081 Burrard Street

Vancouver, BC V6Z 1Y6

Tel: 604-806-9027

Toll free: 1-877-922-9822

Fax: 604-806-9873

Email: donornurse@providencehealth.bc.ca