A decade ago, before I traded in a normal day job for this sportswriting gig, sports talk was one of those things that made every day go just a little quicker.
Working for a large financial firm, I found out quickly that the office had both Cubs and White Sox aficionados. I started that job in October 2003, the same month as the Bartman Incident, when the Cubs got within five outs of the World Series. Like me, my friend Jeffrey was a Cubs fan.
Office banter consisted of standard debates. Who had a better pitching staff. Which would be the next Chicago team to win a World Series. And who had better fans (of course, we do).
When I left that job in 2006, I called every six months or so to check in with Jeffrey. Some of it was catching up on business, but mostly we talked Cubs baseball.
Right before I left, I also heard another colleague was donating a kidney to a friend. I didn’t know the circumstances, but I remember asking myself if it was something I could do.
It was one of those rhetorical questions, like when you ask yourself, “Would I jump into a river to rescue someone drowning?” Of course you would. Anyone would.
Kidneys are one of those organs most Americans probably don’t think about much. We are born with two, and they clean the blood, and remove toxins from our bodies. Yet when kidneys fail, they tend to fail in tandem.
In July 2010, Jeffery suffered acute kidney failure. No warning signs, no diabetes. He did have controlled high blood pressure, but it was monitored. It caught him and his family by surprise.
After a rush to the hospital, he was put on dialysis the same day his kidneys failed. Thereafter, on doctor’s orders, Jeffrey would have to get dialysis three times a week for four hours. A machine cleaned his blood for him. It was uncomfortable and time-consuming, but he had to do it to stay alive.
At first I hadn’t heard what had happened. An unusually long 11 months went by since I had spoken to him. But when I bumped into another former colleague, I got the news. In January 2012, I called Jeffrey at his office.
“Hey there,” I said. “You got a minute?”
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Originally I was supposed to donate to someone else. And I told him that day that the other person suddenly no longer had a need. I told him that if cleared, I’d donate to him.
“Why not keep this one within the clubhouse?” I remember him saying.
The truth is, Jeffrey is my friend, and no matter what ballclub he supported (ugh, he’s also an Oakland Raiders fan), I wanted to step up.
Those little questions that lurk in our minds, unheard by others—they count for something. Make sure to listen.
Andy Frye is a RedEye contributor. @mysportscomplex