Before My Transplant, My Father Tried to Kill Me

Before the kidney transplant, the doctor ran through the final round of questions.

"No infectious diseases, correct?"

I was about to shake my head when my father, who'd accompanied me for the surgery, piped up with a grin.

"Doctor, does an STD count as an infectious disease?"

I couldn't believe what I'd just heard.

I had endured countless agonizing days waiting for this kidney to become available.

And now, my father was cracking jokes to make himself the center of attention. Again.

He knew full well that without this transplant, I had three days left to live.

A bitter taste rose in my throat. I scrambled to defend myself, but my father beat me to it. He yanked down my collar, pointing at the fresh red rash on my neck.

"If you've got something, you've got something! Why are you hiding it? You've never listened to anyone, not even as a kid!"

The doctor's brow furrowed. He let out a sigh.

"Mr. Gilbert, I'm going to need you to come with me for an STD screening."

The words hit me like a death sentence.

The screening would take at least thirty minutes.

The kidney, airlifted from a neighboring state, had fifteen minutes of viability left.

——

My father turned to look at me, and in his eyes was that expression I knew all too well. Triumph.

For as long as I could remember, he'd used me as the butt of his jokes to draw attention to himself. He never once cared what it cost me.

Even now, when the price might be my life.

I stood frozen for a full thirty seconds. It took the doctor calling my name repeatedly to pull me back.

"Mr. Gilbert, let's go get you tested."

He paused, something like pity crossing his face.

"Or... do you happen to have any other documentation that can prove you're clean?"

"Yes... yes, I do!"

I tore open my briefcase, rifling through it for the physical exam report from three days ago.

In this moment between life and death, my fingers wouldn't stop shaking.

"Come on... come on!"

I forced myself to breathe, deep and slow, willing my hands to steady.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught my father leaning against the wall, a faint smile playing on his lips.

Enjoying the spectacle. Watching me fall apart over one of his little jokes.

Rage and the sting of tears flooded my senses all at once.

I upended the entire briefcase, dumping everything onto the floor.

Papers and belongings scattered everywhere.

The one thing missing was the exam report.

"No. No, this is impossible!"

I dropped to my knees, sifting through the mess again and again, but there was no trace of it.

Even though the nausea was climbing up my throat, I didn't dare stop searching.

Then my mother came back. She'd stepped out to the restroom to splash water on her face, her nerves getting the better of her.

The moment she saw me on the floor, falling apart, she clenched her jaw and turned on my father, her voice low and fierce.

"When we left the house, didn't you say the exam report was too important and you had to hold onto it yourself? Gerard Gilbert is about to go into surgery! Why are you still playing keep-away?"

My father shrugged. He fished a crumpled wad of paper from his pocket and tossed it on the floor in front of me.

"It was a joke. What's everyone so worked up about? It's not like I wasn't going to give it to him."

My hands trembled as I picked up the report, smoothed it open, and held it out to Dr. Cobb.

"Dr. Cobb... look. I'm clean."

Dr. Cobb took the report and gave a nod to the attending surgeon.

"The incubation period for STDs isn't that short. The rash is most likely just a common skin irritation. We can proceed with the..."

"Hold on..."

Before Dr. Cobb could finish, my father let out a drawn-out sigh. The smile on his face only widened.

My mother knew his games better than anyone. Her brow creased and she snapped at him.

"Enough!"

"Gerard is about to go into surgery. I'm begging you. Can you please stop with the jokes?"