My Mother Demanded Both My Kidneys For My Alcoholic Brother. She Said I Don’t Need Them Because I’m Childless. Now The Whole Family Is Harassing Me.
A Call from Dad
That night I was heating up leftovers when my phone rang with a number I didn’t recognize. I almost didn’t answer but something made me pick up.
“Hello?”
Dad’s voice came through the line, tired and rough. “It’s me.”
I froze with the microwave door still open. Dad hadn’t called me in 10 years. Not once since the day Mom kicked me out.
“Mom told me what happened at the hospital,” he said. “I know she’s been out of line, but I’m calling to ask you to please reconsider. For Tyler’s sake. The family is falling apart over this.”
I closed the microwave and leaned against the counter, my free hand gripping the edge hard enough to hurt.
“Where were you when Mom kicked me out at 18?” I asked. My voice came out steadier than I felt. “Where were you when I miscarried alone? When I worked three jobs to get through nursing school?”
The line went quiet for a long time. I could hear Dad breathing on the other end. Could picture him in the house I grew up in, probably sitting in his recliner avoiding Mom’s eyes.
“I should have stood up for you back then,” he finally said. “I know I should have. But can’t you let the past go now when Tyler’s life is at stake?”
I laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. “Tyler’s life isn’t at stake, Dad. He’s on dialysis three times a week. He can live for years like that. Maybe decades. I see patients do it all the time in my unit.”
Dad made a noise like he was confused. “But your mother said the transplant team told her both kidneys would give Tyler the best chance. That one kidney might not be enough.”
“Mom lied,” I said flatly. “The transplant surgeon called her and told her that double kidney donation is illegal. It’s not even medically possible. The hospital would never approve it no matter what I agreed to.”
The silence on Dad’s end was different now, heavier. “She told me the doctor said that,” he said slowly. “She showed me paperwork and everything.”
I felt a weird mix of anger and pity. Dad had been manipulated too. Mom had controlled what information he got just like she tried to control everything else.
“She lied to you, Dad. She lied to Tyler. She lied to the whole family about what the doctors actually said.”
Dad didn’t say anything for almost a minute. I heard him shifting around, maybe standing up or pacing. I didn’t question it.
He finally admitted, “I don’t understand all the medical stuff so I just trusted your mother to handle the details.”
That’s when I realized Mom had been playing everyone. Tyler thought the transplant team had approved taking both my kidneys if I agreed. Dad thought the doctors recommended it for Tyler’s best chance. The whole family probably believed Mom’s version where I was the selfish villain refusing to save my dying brother. Nobody had checked her story because nobody thought she’d lie about something this serious.
“Tyler isn’t dying,” I said again. “Dialysis is uncomfortable but it works. He could live a completely normal lifespan on it. And even if he does get a transplant, it only needs to be one kidney. That’s all anyone ever gets from a living donor.”
Mom made up the part about needing both. I explained how the transplant process actually works, how one healthy kidney from a living donor is usually better than two from a deceased donor because it’s fresher. I told him about my patients who’d been on dialysis since the ’90s who had jobs and families and full lives.
Dad listened without interrupting, and I could almost hear him processing information that contradicted everything Mom had told him. His voice sounded older than I remembered, worn down by years of letting Mom make all the decisions.
“I need to figure out what’s true.”
He hung up without saying goodbye and I stood in my kitchen holding my phone and feeling strange. Dad had actually listened. He hadn’t yelled or accused me or tried to guilt trip me into changing my mind. He’d heard the truth and admitted he needed to think about it.
I didn’t know if that meant anything long-term. Dad had spent decades going along with whatever Mom wanted, taking the path of least resistance even when it meant abandoning his daughter. One phone call didn’t erase 10 years of silence. But maybe it was something. Maybe Dad was finally starting to see through Mom’s manipulation.
Or maybe he’d decide it was easier to believe her version and I’d never hear from him again. I put my phone down and finished heating up dinner, trying not to hope too hard that my father might actually choose me for once.
