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While today most of the world is dreaming of daffodils and looking forward to leaping forward, the Romans who named this month after Mars, the god of war, were fixing to fight. We all have our battles and I wish to share my ‘Daddy’s March’ to honor National Kidney Month. Getting ready for bed, one would have thought Daddy was packing for the Titanic’s maiden voyage. I couldn’t fathom all the doodads he needed to stay alive. If you could call him that. Yes, his heart beat, with the help of a pacemaker. Yes, he ate, thanks to the purple pill and insulin. Yes, he breathed, via Inogen. Yes, he slept, all day because the damn PD CYCLER screamed like a Howler monkey all night. Despite his forced laughter, I was watching him die. Debilitating diabetes was now consuming his kidneys and his spirit was waning. One day I overheard him whisper to himself, “I oughta just overdose on insulin.” No longer could I witness his suffering or his ballooned belly brandishing the silicone umbilicus that had become Daddy’s lifeline. The decision to become his living donor struck me like a rattlesnake. Only without warning. Statistics show that one-third of those who need an organ will die — before their name even reaches the top of the organ waiting list. According to the United Network for Organ Sharing (UNOS), in the time it takes you to unload the dishwasher, a person is added to an organ transplant waiting list. On average twenty people die every day waiting. Those who wait the longest — Need a Kidney. Most of us — Have Two. In October 2009, unbeknownst to anyone, including me, my Daddy’s only child was flying stateside to give him a kidney. I strolled toward the wavering mirage of puddles that disappeared before me as I crossed Belize’s sweltering tarmac. Despite my carry-on tugging me, my face beamed — my blood type was a match! Like good husbands, Vince had helped me collect my pee for twenty-four hours the week prior. I aced the first two kidney-donor tests. We never dreamed I’d be donating my kidney this trip. Heck, we rescue crocodiles for a living. There’s a lot to consider and discuss with one’s One True Love before letting a first-year intern pluck a healthy organ from their forty-four-year young body. Grabbing my bag I hugged it close and clambered the scorching stairs as if the rails were on fire. Stale cool air blasted me as I entered the plane’s belly. I settled into a front seat. Tissue typing tests were the next step to confirm Daddy and I were one hundred percent a match. I giggled in silence knowing I had scheduled them for tomorrow. Daddy had no clue. As I gazed through the scratched plexiglass, the vastness of lush vegetation rushing below filled me with wondrous fear. The rainforest is a life of its own. Its canopy of kaleidoscoping greens was dazzling at three-thousand feet. In 2004, Vince and I made southern Belize our home and started the country’s first crocodile sanctuary. Despite my round-trip ticket being scheduled to return me the following week, loneliness slithered into my chest as I left the monkeys, our crocodiles, our potlickers, and Vince behind. My sighs eased into hums as I thought about my new covert adventure… to save a human life… to rescue Daddy. My secret and I daydreamed as the verdure below transmuted from emeralds to milky quartz dust then dissolved into turquoise. I envisioned Daddy’s oceanic blues twinkling and his rosé lips ho-ho-ho-ing thru his Santa-like beard as I told him, “If we pass tomorrow’s tests you’re getting a new kidney!” My kidney! Sure it’s filtered vast amounts of booze. It’s sifted a lot of good ol’H2O too. Heck, that’s what kidneys do… or, should do. Then, my secret sidled from my mind via my heart to the corners of my lips which spontaneously curled like the Grinch’s as he listened to all of Whoville sing “Dahoo Dores.” That instant my soul decided, I was giving a kidney on this very journey. From deeper inside me than the sea below arose an actualization. Someone needed an organ. If I wasn’t a match for Daddy, well, as J.D. sang, “I want to share what I can give…” I can give a kidney. Even if it’s to a complete stranger. The rattlesnake struck. I was bitten. My envenomated secrete grew. It was mine alone at that moment. But then, I shared it with every stranger I met. For every secret wants to… needs to… be told. “I’m going to my Daddy’s in North Carolina to give him my kidney,” I blurted to no-one in particular. Wide-eyed passengers looked at me with awe and contemplating disbelief. Their look alone was enough for me to continue… I persisted, “Daddy’s a severe diabetic.” Then wondered what that meant to another person. To me, it meant pee-strips in the bathroom; insulin in the butter tray on the refrigerator door; witnessing a plethora of finger-pricks followed by at least three shots a day wherever needles would push past scar tissue; and, months filled with longer days in the local VA. To Daddy, it meant the same. PLUS, heart fibrillations in his thirties, loss of vision in his forties, open-heart surgery in his fifties, neuropathy in his hands and feet, numerous stents, a pacemaker, kidney failure, and now the dreaded PD Monster Cycler. “He’s on Peritoneal Dialysis. His gut’s tethered to a machine all night long,” I’d say. Strangers’ mouths would open. Only air escaped. “I’m going home for my birthday, but I have been getting tested to see if I can give him my kidney.” My secret was so happy to be out. It unearthed itself to every newcomer, making itself truer and truer. While my intention was genuine, I never thought much past the idea of it. “The Secret” was transmuting itself into a tangible reality. People’s responses were similar: a smile followed by, “What a wonderful gift to give him.” All those wonderful words of encouragement from strangers propelled the idea closer and closer to reality. I realize now that they will never know unless they happen to be reading this that I wasn’t a match… but a Perfect Match! The transplant was a success. In a couple months I was back wrangling crocodiles in Belize and Daddy was enjoying good times, the “Sunshine on My Shoulders” with toes in the sand times. Despite my kidney holding its own, the diabetes was still gnawing away at the rest of him. His heart would need another valve replacement next. Followed by a rotten gallbladder and an erupted appendix. Yet for another six years and three months, Daddy and my kidney marched on and lived his life to the fullest. January 31, 2016, Daddy transformed. He and my kidney were cremated with full military honors. My memories of our extended times together — are more than Titanic.

Foremost, my sincere condolences to the family and friends of dear Gloria Serge. Within the limited information presented via the media sources, I was disheartened about the tragic preventable incident and the lack of information on how to coexist with these magnificent prehistoric reptiles safely. I didn't hear anyone addressing how to stay safe with our crocodilian companions other than for us to stay away from the water's edge. People move to Florida's communities to be safe while enjoying the wildlife attracted by the ponds and lakes. Instead of provoking fear by saying "stay away" and invoking a flight response, let's educate people on how to coexist with these toothy opportunistic feeders safely. People fear what they don't understand, so we need to begin discrediting myths by providing real education on the behaviors of these predatory animals. Crocodilians have been around for millions of years for a reason ~ outliving even the dinosaurs. So we must remember, it is 'We' who are living in 'Their' habitats. Persons living close to American alligators and/or American crocodiles, a saltwater species whose numbers are increasing in Florida, need to know the following: It is illegal to feed alligators and crocodiles in the wild. They are the only reptiles with developed cerebral cortexes which enables them to plot, plan and remember. Once fed, they stop fearing humans and start to seek us out as a food source. An aggressive bee-line behavior of an alligator toward a human out of the water indicates that the animal was expecting to be fed. One should stay alert around the water's edge and give a distance of at least six feet. Also, mix up your routine. Do not walk at the same time or on the same path in a routine manner. Crocodilians will get to know your patterns. This tactic works well to avoid all apex predators, including some humans when you go shopping. Never swim in crocodilian-infested waters, especially at dusk and dawn, their primary feeding times. Crocodilians are crepuscular (active or appearing at the time of day just before the sun goes down or just after the sun rises when the light is not bright). Do not clean your fish or discard scraps near the water's edge, at boat ramps, or around docks. This is referred to as 'indirect feeding' and will also result in the crocodilian associating humans with food. Do not feed waterfowl, including ducks. This attracts crocodilians and again reinforces the bond of humans as a source of food. Give ample berth to slide marks at the water's edge. These mark territories and possible nesting sites. Do not dangle your arms or legs over small boats or kayaks. Do not attempt to capture a crocodilian or its hatchlings. It is illegal without a permit and very dangerous. Mama crocodilians are protective of their young. Always be alert and aware when near any body of water in Florida. When alligators are removed from a location, the next alligator will move into the now available habitat. Crocodilians continually search for the perfect niche, especially after ample rainfall. CHERIE CHENOT-ROSE holds Bachelor of Science degrees in Biology and Psychobiology. She's published five scientific research articles on American crocodiles and hundreds of crocodilian monographs for numerous media outlets. Founding Belize's first crocodile sanctuary, ACES ~ American Crocodile Education Sanctuary, in 2006, Cherie and her husband, Vince, have shared their crocodile conservation efforts worldwide via TV appearances, including Florida FOX4; Sweden TV4; Discovery Animal Planet, USA and UK; Poland TVN with Nat Geo traveler Martyna Wojciechowska; KoldCast's World Travel; and World Wildlife Foundation, Poland TVN, and France TV5. For more education on crocodilians and how we can safely coexist, feel free to contact Cherie or Vince at giveacroc@gmail.com ~ Chenot-Rose.com

It's been a long journey from student to research biologist to crocodile conservationist and now to writing my first book. There's been numerous detours including outdoor educator, groundfish observer, field technician, painter, maid, snorkel instructor, snowboard instructor, deckhand, first mate, substitute teacher and a deadhead for a few years. It's been a grand life filled with a ton of dancing, diving, herping, fishing, jeeping, down-hilling, crocing, teaching and learning. Like you, I've experienced my share of bends, obstacles, sacrifices, and adversities. Each one has brought with it a wealth of opportunities. Even the worst of them. One just has to pay attention so as not to miss it. My opportunity now is to share how I not only survive loss and grief and failure but thrive through it! And no, the answer is not wine. Although we all know I have drank my share. And then some. So it's time to pull up anchor once again and this time set sail on my voyage of authorship! It's not going to be all fair winds & following seas and it's guaranteed we will get wet. But, I'm ecstatic to have you on this journey with me!