All of that old experience rose up in me again when I found myself needing to make a serious decision about my kidneys. I remember how quietly it began—not with panic, but with questions. Could I still be that strong person if I had this operation? And just as importantly, would I still be strong if I didn’t? What would my future look like either way? It felt as though I had come to a pivot point in my life, one of those moments where the direction you choose quietly shapes everything that follows.
The doctor explained things plainly. If I didn’t have the operation at that time, I would most likely need dialysis by the time I was forty years old. Forty sounded far away then, but the weight of that possibility sat heavily in my mind. Dialysis wasn’t just a medical word—it represented a future of limitation, dependency, and uncertainty. I couldn’t ignore it.
I didn’t doubt that I needed to quit my job. That part was clear. The real question was whether to have the operation or take my chances and see what happened later. Could I remain strong enough to work and live the way I was accustomed to if I chose not to have surgery? Could my body keep up with the demands I had placed on it for so long? Or, if I did have the operation, would I recover fully? Would my kidneys truly heal?
I turned these questions over endlessly in my mind. I listened carefully to every side of the story, not just the medical facts, but the quieter inner responses as well. I used the waiting time not to distract myself, but to go inward—to honestly weigh every option and possibility.
The operation itself was described to me in detail. An artery had wrapped itself around the tube meant to drain the kidney down to the bladder. Over time, it had become choked off. The plan was to go in surgically, cut the artery, reposition it, and then reconnect the drainage using a small plastic tube.
That plastic tube stayed in my thoughts. How long would it last? How well had this procedure worked for others? What were the unknowns? I needed answers, and I took my time finding them.
My kidney had become inflamed after years of stressful work—lifting, bending, long hours—combined with poor diet, ongoing worry about my family, and deep exhaustion. It felt as though my body had been trying to cope quietly until it simply couldn’t anymore. The kidney swelled to nearly twice its normal size, and with that came tremendous pain. My body was no longer whispering. It was speaking clearly.
It became obvious that I needed a plan—an action plan grounded in both information and intuition. I learned as much as I could about how successful the operation had been for others, the chances of healing naturally, and what my doctor believed about my body’s ability to recover. We had many long conversations.
In the end, I chose to go ahead with the operation.
And then something unexpected happened.
After the surgery, my doctor gave me a clean bill of health. I felt well enough to travel, so I went to Mexico. When I returned, he ordered an X-ray to check on my kidneys. When the results came back, he was astonished. He couldn’t even tell that my kidney had been operated on. The healing was so complete that there was no visible trace of surgery. I was thrilled—and deeply grateful.
But life, as it often does, had another layer to reveal.
Whenever I ate a large steak or red meat, the same pain began to appear—this time on the opposite side. It was alarming. As time passed, I decided to experiment carefully and became vegetarian to see if the pain would return. It didn’t.
Then one day, I ordered a vegetable soup at a restaurant, believing it to be safe. Not long after eating it, the pain returned. I went back and asked about the ingredients. Yes, they told me—it had been made with chicken stock. That moment changed everything.
From then on, I became very strict and conscious about my diet. I had proven enough to myself. This was not a temporary adjustment. It was a new way of living.
That was fifty years ago, and I have not eaten meat since.
For me, the ending was a good one—not because it was easy, but because it was honest. What I learned most deeply through this experience is that every body is different. I have never been judgmental about what others should or should not do. Each person’s body carries its own wisdom, its own needs, and its own way of responding.
We all must decide for ourselves.
And peace be with them.
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