Prologue: The First Confession

I was in a white dress with red and yellow polka dots splattered on it. I was so pretty in that dress and I twirled and curtsied as though I was a beautiful princess. My hair was wrapped in two tight balls that pulled at my scalp even more when I grinned. Below me was a perfectly rectangular cake with inch thick vanilla cream frosting and elaborate red script written out in gel frosting: “Happy Birthday, Little Mary!” My Dad protectively had his arm around my waist and a large glinting silver knife in his right hand, ready to help me slice in the cake. The striped pink and white candles sat in the cake with their flames glowing back and forth hypnotically. My Mother, sister, and all the sea of faces clapped their hands and shouted with glee: “Make a Wish! Make a Wish!”

I shut my eyes tight. I held my breath. I made my wish.

I wished hard and with everything in me for a different life and not this life ingrained with a minefield of health episodes that exploded at its own accord. I wished for anyone else’s life but mine. Not my life. The flash of the camera went off and made me dizzy and see a sprinkle of stars whiz in front of me.



This is my first confession.

These are my confessions of a kidney transplant recipient