This is my story.

My name is Kat. I'm 57 years old, and I live in the Portland Metro area with my husband and two cats.

I have Diabetes Type II, and I'd finally gotten my A1c under control -- down from 8 to 5.3. However, I'd started losing weight, faster than I expected. Since I had a little more "fluff" than I needed, I was happy. Until every meal became a contest to see if I could eat or would run to the restroom to throw up. I was exhausted. I'd work a full day, then come home to nap for an hour. I couldn't walk up a flight of stairs without pulling myself up by the handrail. I would reach the top, panting for breath.

In early March 2026, I made an appointment to see my doctor, thinking that my medications just needed to be adjusted downwards. At the end of the visit, my doctor commented, "We should probably get some blood work done."

The next morning, I got a call at 7 AM just as I started work for the day. "My name is Dr. Smith, and I'm calling from your doctor's laboratory. Your eGFR is extremely low, and your Creatinine is too high. You need to get yourself to the ER, now!" OK, I thought, I'll work a half-day and go after lunch. Then, my doctor called. "Where are you right now? Are you at the ER yet?"

I spent the next four days in the hospital. Test after test was run. A Nephrologist I had met in the ER came to my room and sat by my bed. "You have End-Stage Renal Failure."

She looked at me, the seriousness of my situation written on her face. I gulped. "You need a transplant. We're going to fast-track you for a kidney transplant. In the meantime, you'll need to start dialysis. We'll fast-track you for that, too."

I'd gone from being a healthy middle-aged woman to being a woman on the edge of death. This shattered my self-image. Adrift, I met with social workers and nutritionists. The list of things I could no longer have grew longer and longer. I tried to joke about it, "Wow, at least leave me chocolate! Way to kick me when I'm down."

My life became a whirling series of appointments -- nephrology, biopsy, Peritoneal Dialysis clinic appointments. I had to buy a physical day planner just to keep up. My memory had gone to pieces, and I couldn't focus on more than one thing at a time. I bought Renal-Diet cookbooks and started learning new recipes.

A living donor transplant is the best possible path forward. A kidney from a living donor lasts twice as long as one from a deceased donor. The surgery can be planned. The recovery is faster. The outcomes are better.

But it means asking someone to give me a part of themselves. And that is the hardest thing I have ever had to do.

But, the scariest part of it all was trying to figure out how to live with the idea of impending transplant surgery. One night, at dinner, it all came crashing down on me. I couldn't rely on anyone to find a kidney for me. I had to do it myself. A close (and very dear) friend of mine volunteered her kidney. I had wept for joy but realized that I couldn't stop there. I'd need backups.

Sure, I had one kidney identified. But what if she didn't qualify to donate? What if she changed her mind?

I spent a long time talking myself out of this. Who am I to ask a stranger for something so enormous? What if people think I'm being dramatic? What if no one responds?

But then I thought about the alternative — staying quiet, waiting, hoping the transplant list moves fast enough. And I realized that staying quiet wasn't courage. It was fear dressed up as humility.

So here I am. Asking.

I'm not asking you to say yes. I'm asking you to find out. The evaluation is free. There's no obligation at any step. You can change your mind at any point. All I'm asking is that you consider it — and if it's not right for you, that you share this page with someone who might say yes.

One person can save my life. I believe that person exists. I'm hoping this page finds them.