The You I Never Knew by Susan Wiggs Page B

pad, said, “Your father’s been drilled on this procedure for months. We wanted a private meeting with you.”
    “Why?”
Oh my God. Are they going to tell me he won’t make it?
    “Because if you have any uncertainty whatsoever about the transplant, we need to determine that. Living kidney donation is an emotional decision. It’s natural to feel anxiety about the procedure, even though you want to help. You can speak freely to us. If you decide against the surgery, your father will be told you’re not a good match. Our hope is to maintain the relationship between patient and donor, regardless of donation decision.”
    “I’ve made my decision,” Michelle snapped, stung because she knew she and Gavin didn’t have any relationship to maintain. “I already passed all the tests.”
    “We still have to do the renal angiogram,” Dr. Kehr reminded her. “Chances are, you’ll be a near-perfect donor. But there could be other issues that make you less than an ideal candidate.”
    “I’m here, aren’t I?” she said fiercely.
    “Sometimes there are emotional issues,” Temple said in his low-key voice. “Your father indicated you’ve been estranged for many years. This decision—”
    “Don’t you get it?” Her voice rose. “There was never any decision to be made. You’re welcome to explore my feelings all you want, but you’re not going to get me to change my mind.” She forced herself to glare straight into his eyes. “My father is dying. My kidney can save him.
That’s
the issue, Dr. Temple.”
    He nodded briefly, and annoyingly made a note on his legal pad. “You should be aware that this procedure alone won’t mend the estrangement between you and your father. Flesh and blood alone can’t accomplish that.”
    “I just want him well again,” Michelle said, painfully close to tears. “The rest… we’ll deal with.”
    When Dr. Kehr started speaking, she was thorough, encouragingly so. She explained what everyone’s role would be. She talked about recovery periods, follow-up care, side effects of the meds, and long-term prognosis. She took out badly drawn charts—medical illustration was not terribly lucrative—to show what would happen in the procedure.
    That’s what she called it. The Procedure.
    “Unless the renal angiogram indicates otherwise, the surgeon will take the left kidney.” The doctor pointed to the chart.
    “I had no idea there was a difference.” A heaviness weighted the atmosphere. Though he had left the room, her father’s need pressed at Michelle, smothering her. Her hands in her lap ripped a Kleenex to shreds. Guiltily, she balled up the evidence and tucked it into her palm. Too late. Temple had seen. He made a note on his clipboard.
    “Using the left kidney is standard,” the doctor continued. “The connecting vessels are longer, so we’ve got more material to work with.”
    Michelle’s hand, out of control now, stole back to press against her left side.
    “You have a couple of options for entry.” The chart was propped up again. “Later, we’ll discuss whether it’ll be the front or the back.” Her finger traced incision lines on the chart. “Generally, we advise against the back entry, because although it’s a more direct route, the recovery is quite painful due to the splitting of the rib cage.”
    Michelle wished she hadn’t said anything about splitting her rib cage. It was hard to keep from looking terrified when the doctor talked like this.
    “Also, an incision scar on the back might be troublesome,” Donna added.
    “What do you mean, troublesome?”
    “In the fashion sense. If you like wearing dresses cut low in the back, the scar might show.”
    “That’s not important.”
    “It doesn’t seem like it now. But it’s a consideration. A team in Seattle pioneered a harvesting technique that only requires a four-inch incision in the donor.”
    Harvesting
. “That’s good to know,” Michelle said wryly.
    “The long-term effects of