“Like the nausea and high blood pressure you came in with,” Dr. Baines adds.
“Regardless of how we got here,” Dr. Okafor says, “we are here now. The autoantibodies have affected your kidneys to the point of failure.”
“Failure?” I ask numbly.
“I know it feels sudden to you, but it has been happening quietly in your body the last few months.” Dr. Okafor slides her hands into the pockets of her white lab coat. “And now it’s getting loud.”
“How loud?” Canon asks. “What do you mean?”
“We put kidney disease into five different stages,” Dr. Okafor says. “We’ve determined you’re in stage four. Patients in this stage will most likely require dialysis for life or will need a kidney transplant. As I said, the damage, once done, is irreversible.”
I shake my head and toss my legs over the side of the bed. I need to walk, to move. I can’t bear just lying here and taking this. Accepting this, when it cannot be right. I can dance nine hours a day. I do yoga. I eat right. I barely drink alcohol. I’m healthy.
“I know this is a lot to take in, Neevah,” Dr. Okafor says.
“Take in?” I shout, my voice loud and outraged and desperate. “It’s not a lot to take in. It’s impossible. I can’t be . . .” My words splinter into the doctors’ practiced silence. That silence, that space they make for patients to accept the news. The world tilts. I’m wavering. I stagger and Canon is there, grabbing my elbow and pulling me into his chest. I stand there, sheltered in his arms, on the outside, completely still, but inside, reeling.
Vertiginous.
Spinning and falling into a deadly new reality that I’m not sure I’m ready to face. I feel Canon’s kiss in my hair, and I cling to him like he’s the only thing keeping me afloat in this storm.
“You mentioned dialysis or a transplant,” Canon says, his voice low and level. “What is your recommendation?”
I turn in Canon’s arms, resting my back against the wide, warm chest, my gaze intent on Dr. Okafor.
“Well, she’s on the prednisone,” Dr. Okafor says. “That and other drugs will help manage some of the symptoms. We can put you on dialysis. Some are on it for life, but I think our best option is a preemptive kidney transplant.”
“What’s that?” I ask.
“As I’m sure you know, with dialysis,” Dr. Okafor says, “a machine filters out the toxins, cleans your blood because your kidneys can no longer effectively do that. You could go that route, but it would be for the rest of your life.”
“No.” I shake my head, adamant. “I’m an actor. A performer. I need to be active. I don’t want that.”
“I figured you would feel that way.” Dr. Okafor gives me an assessing glance. “The preemptive transplant gets you a new kidney.”
“Aren’t there long waiting lists?” Canon asks, his deep voice a comforting rumble at my back.
“There are for deceased-donor organs,” Dr. Okafor agrees. “But we also start hunting everywhere for a living donor. Friends, family, your community.”
“A living donor?” Canon asks, sounding like he’s pouncing on it. “How do you determine if someone is a match?”
“That is a long, involved process,” Dr. Okafor says. “We start with blood type and go from there in a series of tests to determine compatibility.”
“We have a huge cast and crew,” Canon says. “I can put out the call for anyone who might want to test to see if they’re a match. Can you test me today?”
“Canon.” I look over my shoulder, staring at him. “You can’t just . . . give me a kidney. And you can’t volunteer the cast and crew.”
“I can do whatever the hell I want if my kidney is a match. And I would never pressure any of them, but when they hear you need a kidney, a lot of them will want to at least check.”
“He’s right,” Dr. Okafor says. “We check everywhere and anyone who is willing. Our best shot, though, would be a family member. Especially a sibling. A brother or a sister.”
A sister.
I used to have one of those.
But not anymore.
And all of a sudden, it may be my kidneys that are failing, but it’s my heart that hurts. Aches that with my life on the line, I can’t wrap my mind around asking Terry for anything, much less an organ. Why would she give it? Why would I take anything from her? I know I’ll have to set our differences aside to ask, but God, I don’t want to.