I've always been someone who says yes to life. Kidney disease is making that harder every day.
Ten years ago, I was diagnosed with chronic kidney disease caused by long-term medications I took to manage Ulcerative Colitis. Over the past decade, my kidney function has steadily declined, and I'm now at Stage 4 — on the verge of Stage 5. Without a transplant, my next step is dialysis: hours each week connected to a machine, a dramatic reduction in my quality of life, and real uncertainty about how long I can keep working, being active, and living the life I've built.
I'm 41 years old. I live in Round Rock, Texas with my wife Stephanie and our two kids, Avery and Bennett. Stephanie and I have been together since 2008 and married since 2014. She is my rock — the person who has carried so much of this burden quietly, who picks up the slack when my body won't cooperate, and who still looks at me like we're going to get through this. We will. But we need help.
I'm a Technical Recruiter at Hims & Hers — a career I'm passionate about because it's built on connecting people. I love skiing, hiking national parks, building Legos with my kids, trying new restaurants, staying active, and experiencing new things. I'm someone who has always said yes to adventure.
Kidney disease has made saying yes a lot harder.
I used to coach my son's soccer team — I had to give that up because my body simply doesn't have the energy anymore. But I refuse to let this disease take everything. I still show up at Avery's volleyball tournaments, still cheer Bennett on at flag football, still drove him to Houston for a Monster Jam event because he loves monster trucks and I wanted to see his face light up. We have family game nights where the kids destroy me at Monopoly Deal and Uno Revenge — those are the moments I live for. Stephanie and I dream about traveling internationally together, but the reality of managing my dietary restrictions in another country makes it feel out of reach. Even date nights — something as simple as going out to eat together — have become complicated because of what I can and can't eat.
The daily reality is exhaustion. Getting through a normal workday and then being present for my family takes everything I have. I push through because I refuse to miss moments that matter — but the cost is real. The next day, I'm recovering: brain fog, body aches, and a deep fatigue that rest doesn't fully fix. I regularly have to say no to plans because I'm not feeling well. I feel out of place at casual social gatherings because I no longer drink and don't have the energy to stay out late. I watch my sodium intake at every meal, carrying a quiet guilt when I slip up, wishing I could just enjoy food again without that weight in the back of my mind.
And underneath all of it, there's the anxiety. The knowledge that dialysis could be less than a year away. The conversations I'll have to have with my kids about what's happening to their dad — conversations I dread, because I don't want them worrying about me when they should be enjoying being kids.
I'm on the national transplant waiting list, but my blood type is B-negative — one of the rarest — and the estimated wait is 8 to 9 years. I may not have that kind of time. A living donor transplant is my best option, and it could happen much sooner.
Through the National Kidney Registry's paired exchange program, if you're willing to donate but aren't a direct match for me, your kidney can go to someone else while I receive a kidney from their donor. One act of generosity can set off a chain that saves multiple lives — including mine.