Life can change on a dime. I learned that lesson the hard way. It was 1961 and I was 17 years old and had just enrolled at Purdue University to study engineering. America was on a mission to reach the moon. I hoped to be a part of the efforts. But as I mentioned, life can change. I applied to be a participant in the Reserve Officers Training Program (ROTC) at Purdue. To enlist, I had to take a physical exam. That's when I first heard the word proteinuria. Further tests would show I had glomerulonephritis. The doctors told me the disease was progressive, but I would be fine for many years if I stuck to a low-salt diet. I developed hypertension in 1963 and had to be placed on high blood pressure medication. With my kidney function continuing to decrease, I was no longer eligible for ROTC. I managed to get through the first semester of my senior year but had to go home soon after for medical treatment. Here I was 20 years old in a Rochester, N.Y., hospital being given continuous peritoneal dialysis (PD) treatment, and I was still very sick. Doctors placed an external arteriovenous shunt in my forearm to provide a connection to the hemodialysis machine. Those were the days when patients dialyzed for 12 hours a day, every other day. I can't even imagine doing that now. I was placed on a flatbed (Kiil) machine that utilized my heart as its pump. Doctors knew this couldn't be a long-term solution. My parents and I were referred to Peter Bent Brigham Hospital in Boston for a possible transplant. Fortunately, my father was a compatible match, and he could donate one of his kidneys to me. In March 1965, Dr. Joseph Murray, who later would receive the Nobel Prize for Transplantation, transplanted my father's kidney into me. This was before Medicare coverage, so donations from the hospital and some insurance money covered the costs. But as life sometimes does, I was thrown a curve ball when doctors discovered a malignant melanoma and advised me to stop taking my immunosuppressant medicines. That meant I was going to reject my kidney transplant. In 1984 I began dialysis at Holy Name Hospital in New Jersey. During this time, two new drugs came onto the market, cyclosporine and Epogen. Each was very important to me. Epogen eliminated my need for transfusions, which were still risky (because of hepatitis C and AIDS), and cyclosporine allowed me to be considered for a second transplant. I was fortunate to be accepted in the EPO Trial Program under the direction of Drs. Eli Friedman and Peter Lundin in Brooklyn, N.Y. Being on the transplant waiting list was nerve-racking. I wore a beeper 24 hours a day, every day. For months I heard nothing. And the one day it did beep, it was the wrong number. When it did beep again and was the right number, I couldn't take the kidney because I had a respiratory infection. My luck started to change in May 1988. There was a severe thunderstorm. I was having dinner and dialyzing at home when the power went out. As we struggled in the dark to return my blood and disconnect me from the machine, my daughter picked up the ringing phone. I told her to tell whomever it was that we were busy. She then said, “Dad, they have a kidney for you.” My wife and I immediately went to Columbia Presbyterian Medical Center in New York City to receive the transplant. The kidney came from an 11-year-old girl in San Francisco. Many years later, my younger daughter would need a kidney. My daughter Barbara was diagnosed with focal segmental glomerulosclerosis at age 13. She's 36 now. Fortunately, my wife, Dottie, was able to donate a kidney to her 6 years ago, and they are both very healthy today. I am living a full and fortunate life. I am grateful to my parents and the family of the 11-year-old girl who donated a kidney to me. I've tried to repay their gift by giving back to the kidney community. Over the years, I've worked with a number of kidney organizations, including the American Association of Kidney Patients (AAKP), serving as its president for six years. I've seen a lot of great changes over the years in the kidney community, and change only comes when patients and healthcare professionals demand it. Encourage your patients to get involved in their healthcare. Tell them to ask you questions and write their congressional leaders. Urge them to take the time to learn about their disease.