I funnel those emotions into anger.
Who the hell does he think he is?
But that’s not even what makes me so mad. He wouldn’t give up a kidney for his kid because it would mean the end of his career. He didn’t say it in so many words, but it was there. We both knew what he meant.
And that intention slashed deeper than he will ever know.
Of all the body parts he has to mention are the ones of mine that were impacted the most. You know, the one I might actually need someday because one has already died.
On one level, I get it—it was a random fluke. One of those things where everything in the universe has to line up just perfectly for it to happen. Unfortunately, it happened to me. While the rational part of me knows that I most likely wouldn’t have had a professional soccer career like Cal has, it wasn’t totally off the table until I got sick.
I was supposed to have internships though, as part of my major. Those were supposed to funnel right into the workforce and eventually the career of my dreams. Since I had to defer schooling and finish it piecemeal, I lost the chance to intern, thereby getting my foot in the door.
My career still hasn’t rebounded.
And while it was extremely bad luck to end up how I did, if I hadn’t spent the night getting freaky with Cal and then snuck out of his house the next morning without even going to the bathroom, I can say I definitely would not have ended up with a urinary tract infection at that precise moment in time.
It wasn’t just any UTI. Oh no. When I go big, I go really big. Like two weeks in the ICU and another four in the hospital big. Then there were the three weeks in rehab, gaining back the strength to simply stand up and walk. I didn’t know that’s how it was going to end up.
At first, when the tell-tale symptoms started, I tried to ignore them.
Then I drank cranberry juice.
And went to the bathroom every ten minutes, feeling like I had a bladder full of razor blades.
Apparently, I was one of those stereotypical college girls who got a UTI from a drunken one-night stand. At the time, I was just thankful it wasn’t an STD.
But it didn’t go away like it should have, and over the course of the week, I kept feeling worse and worse. Sure, I tried to tell myself that it was because the men’s soccer team had a brand-new nickname for me.
Or that I was upset that Callaghan left without saying goodbye after the most amazing night.
I mean, I get that our night together didn’t mean anything to him. Not like it meant to me. But I thought our friendship would have meant something. At least enough to stay connected on social media. It was as if he ghosted his entire past, me included.
Eventually, I stopped peeing constantly, so I thought the UTI was better, even though I felt like shit. I was tired and nauseous, but the pregnancy tests were all negative.
Thank God.
And then I pretty much stopped peeing altogether.
For the record, that’s what happens when your kidneys shut down. My little UTI turned into a kidney infection and then I was septic. I legit almost died. I ended up in rehab because it turns out that lying in bed for over a month can really sap your strength away. I had to learn to walk again. I felt like a newborn deer on ice skates.
At least I kept all my limbs as well as my life.
I was truly lucky.
Almost half of all sepsis infections end in death.
My left kidney never rebounded, failing completely, and my right is not 100 percent. There’s a decent chance I will end up needing a transplant one day if Righty decides to take an early retirement.
At least I’m not still on dialysis. That could have been a real lifelong possibility. Hell, it still is.
In addition to working at less than half of my kidney capacity, I’ve had to deal with other awesome long-term sequelae of sepsis, including things like insomnia, random rashes, periodic hair loss, anxiety, and bouts of PTSD. It’s the gift that keeps on giving.
My illness was an abrupt end to my soccer career as well as life as I knew it. I lost my scholarship to IU and had to finish school while living back home in Ohio. When I finally did graduate, I had one interview with a small independent TV station out of Derry, New Hampshire. I didn’t get it, but I stayed in Boston to try and figure my life out. Staying in New England made sense, as there were a lot more options for jobs. Not to mention, it’s a hell of a lot closer to the ESPN headquarters in Bristol, Connecticut, than Ohio is.
And a mere decade and one pandemic later, here I am. Making an ass out of myself on ClikClak, hoping to get one more shot at what I lost all those years ago.
No, what I have here is an opportunity.
