There I was sitting, waiting, praying. A boy in scruffy clothing sat next to me, looking down, wrapping his thin brown arms around himself. My mom sat in between us on the wide hospital bench, creating a boundary; my father followed soon after. The doctor told my family to head inside, then gestured the boy in. He shuffled into the room in his well worn Converse sneakers. We then distanced ourselves from the boy in the worn, dirty clothes and inched our seats away from him. Again.
The doctor said, “We have found you a replacement kidney.”
My mom held my head against her shoulder and told me it was finally over, and my father gave the doctor his thanks. The doctor held up his palm and again gestured towards the boy.
“He is the one who you ought to give your thanks to: he is the kidney donor.”