A Transplant Story

I was diagnosed with Systemic Lupus Erythematosus (SLE) in my early teens, during my sophomore year of high school. What should have been a time of friendship, school dances, and everyday teenage challenges quickly turned into something much heavier. The disease forced me to leave behind a typical high school experience and shift to homeschooling.

Not long after my diagnosis, I was told my kidneys had scarring. As a teen, I didn’t grasp what that would eventually mean—that one day I would need a kidney transplant.
For years, I lived without complications. Then suddenly, around the onset of COVID-19, my kidneys failed. One of the unexpected side effects of the vaccine impacted them, and although the initial damage was considered acute, my body didn’t recover. I began dialysis during my hospital stay to prevent further complications—and my journey toward a transplant began.

Getting on the transplant list was anything but simple. I needed countless tests and had to travel hours to major hospitals. I was working hard—not only to keep myself afloat financially, but to find insurance that would cover the high costs tied to my condition. The emotional and physical toll was immense.

Eventually, I reached Northwestern Hospital in Chicago. I had found a job that provided flexibility and insurance, and I finally completed months of required screenings—from cancer tests to MRIs, blood work, and more. They told me the wait could be five to eight years, though my two and a half years on dialysis would count toward that time. I was also given the option to find a living donor, which could dramatically shorten the wait—but that came with challenges of its own. Asking loved ones to undergo surgery and travel long distances isn’t something anyone does lightly.

Throughout it all, my family and friends stood by me. They gave love and encouragement on the days I could barely get out of bed. But the battle was still mine, and some days felt impossible. I had just graduated university with honors, finally sensing momentum and peace—only to feel it all slip away again. I questioned everything: Why me? Why now?

My partner at the time, now my husband, saw my struggle. Determined to help, he enlisted in the U.S. Air Force to improve our chances for better healthcare and a more stable future. After his basic training, he was stationed in Denver, Colorado. We married, and by Christmas Eve 2023, I joined him there.
I thought I had completed all my transplant testing in Chicago—but Colorado had its own process. More doctors, more tests, more dialysis. Still, by April 2024, a miracle arrived. I received a kidney.

Today, I’m one year and two months post-transplant. I feel full of energy, of dreams I’m finally able to chase again. And I carry profound gratitude—for my family, friends, medical teams, and especially my donor.

To the person who gave me life through death: thank you. I don’t know your name, but I carry your legacy forward every day. Because of your courage and compassion, I’m here. And so are many others like me.

I also want to thank the Lupus Society of Illinois. I found them as a teenager desperate to understand what was happening to me. Their resources, community, and hope helped me—and my mother—navigate this new reality. Especially in a time when there was so little information in Spanish, LSI provided a lifeline that I still turn to today. Through volunteering, I’ve met friends who feel more like family. Community matters. Support matters. Hope matters.

To anyone facing the mountain that is kidney failure: don’t give up. There will be days when you think you have nothing left to give. Push anyway. The reward is life.