Unless

Unless.  Invested in that word were a lot of feelings.  Hope.  Despair.  Fear.  Faith.  A prayer.  And a rational understanding of the existential risks.  Everything hinged on that one word, as if it were a sacred chant preserving the balance.  As if it were a barrier separating a reality I once enjoyed, and an impending doom that could strike at any moment.

When people, either Macedonians or Americans, learned that a Peace Corps service lasts 27 months, many would frequently ask, “Will you ever return to the USA during the middle of your service?”  My response was rote, “I don’t plan on it, unless something terrible happens to me or to my family back home.”  To those who received my response, I assume that they digested it with a quick rationale.  But every time I recited this phrase, I would think to myself, “What are the chances?”  “Have things improved at home?” 

Last year, my father became very sick.  His immune system struggled to fight a combination of bacteria and fungi.  He developed a severe case of pneumonia, and I only discovered recently that it was almost a miracle that he survived.  This all occurred around October, when I was only about a month and a half into my service. All I wanted to do was fix this, restore his health in some way.  Yet, there was nothing I could do.  Whether I was in Macedonia or Chicago, I was helpless, it was all up to him.  The only difference between me staying in Macedonia or returning to Chicago was that, if those were his last moments, I would have been by his side. 

But my father is a fighter, his body beat the infection, and I am overjoyed that I can speak with him on Skype again.  For the most part his life has returned to normalcy.  He eats pizza.  He gambles on horses at the OTB.  He can see me on Skype, walk around the room, and hold a conversation.  But he did not emerge from last year’s sickness unscathed.  He is a diabetic, and he struggles against the typical side effects of this disease.  Swollen feet.  Bad eyesight.  Problems with his heart.  In 2006, my stepmother donated a kidney to him since his went into failure.  Due to the combination of very strong drugs and antibiotics that helped him fight the infection, his kidney started to fail him again earlier this year.  A Facebook post by a relative, soliciting to our relatives back in the Philippines to donate a kidney, brought to my attention my father’s need for an organ transplant.

Compared to the ordeal last autumn, I was now empowered to make a difference, to help save my father’s life.  I feel a bit less helpless than I did last year.  That is why I have decided to return to the USA to begin the donation process.  As far as I know, this is a temporary trip that will only interrupt my service, not truncate it.  Aware of the impending health risks my father faced while I was in Macedonia, not only was I worried that something terrible would happen to him.  I also feared that I would interrupt or cut short my dedication to this Peace Corps service.  I feel horrible that I am leaving my host family and counterparts for an unforeseen amount of time.  They rely on me, put me into their schedules, their weekly habits.  Interrupting my Peace Corps service is not how I originally imagined it.  However, putting it hyperbolically, what good is trying to save the world if I cannot save my own father?

And we are not out of the woods yet.  In fact, we are just entering into it.  Maybe within a month I will be one kidney short, my father will have less to worry about.  On the other hand, maybe the doctors will determine that I am not a match, or that it is too risky for my father to undergo an operation anytime soon.  The next steps are too tentative at this moment for me to feel completely comfortable.  All rests on the tests my father and I will go through over the next week.  Despite not knowing for sure what is ahead for us, I am granted some solace knowing I can do more than hope or pray.