ST. LOUIS — Yet another visit to the doctor’s office. Each appointment marks a day Tim Heatherly almost didn’t get to experience.

For Heatherly, a 32-year-old resident of St. Louis, stepping into healthcare facilities has become a routine Friday activity. However, just four years prior, the number of Fridays he might have left was uncertain.

It all began with what seemed like minor back discomfort. What Heatherly thought would be a simple check-up quickly turned ominous when physicians uncovered a much graver condition.

“The biopsy revealed it was chronic kidney disease, which is largely irreversible,” Heatherly shared, reflecting on the daunting discovery.

His kidneys were failing. Dialysis became his lifeline—four grueling hours a day, three days a week, tethered to a machine that kept him alive but stole his freedom. His career in the car business vanished. His daily routine disappeared.

“With dialysis, it’s not just that one day that’s disrupted because when you finish you’re very tired and then the next day you sleep all day,” Heatherly explained. “So it disrupts every single day of the week.”

When word spread that Heatherly needed a kidney transplant, friends stepped up to donate. One by one, they were rejected by doctors. Heatherly tried not to take it personally.

“You kind of feel disappointed, but at the same time I would think like, man, does the hospital not like me?” he said with a laugh. “Like, why are they not picking my people?”

Hope was fading. Then his mother did what desperate mothers do in the digital age—she posted a plea on Facebook.

Joe Turner was scrolling through his Cahokia Heights community Facebook page when he saw the post.

“I mean it was actually a simple post. It was just, you know, need a kidney transplant or something,” said the 39-year-old DoorDash driver. “But it was from his mother, you know, ’cause a mother’s love is stronger than any bond you can have.”

Turner normally delivers food, not miracles. The father of three avoids doctors the way most people avoid rush hour traffic.

“I don’t like to go there unless I feel like I’m dying. You won’t see me there,” he admitted.

But something about that post stopped him cold. Joe says he was guided by his faith, remembering all the times he’d struggled and been given second chances.

“The gift of life. Like just giving him a second chance like Jesus gave me,” Turner said.

After months of rigorous testing, the news arrived: Turner was a perfect match.

The two men met for the first time at Big Daddy’s Bar in Soulard to fill out paperwork and get to know each other. Heatherly could hardly believe what was happening.

“He’s doing something huge for a stranger, which, you know, in this day and age, it’s not a lot of people that do things like that for their friends, let alone a stranger,” Heatherly said.

Last month at Barnes-Jewish Hospital, Turner’s kidney became Heatherly’s kidney. The transplant was textbook. The kidney started working immediately, as if it had been there all along.

“Still healing, still got some post-op pain things. But I feel healthy,” Heatherly said. “It’s nice to wake up and not have fluid in your lungs.”

Turner walked out of the hospital the next day. And he hasn’t stopped checking on his new friend ever since.

“He’s texting me every day making sure I’m all right, you know, ‘How’s the pain? How’s your doctor’s appointment go?’” Heatherly said. “So it’s turned into a friendship.”

The day we met him, Turner was wearing his favorite T-shirt. The message emblazoned across it reads: “Kind People Are My Kind of People.”

Turns out, it’s not just a slogan; it’s his mission.

“My motto to live by is to care about the people behind you that you may not know because you don’t know what they’re going through,” Turner said.

Two strangers walked into a bar. One walked out with a new kidney and a brother for life.

To learn more about becoming a living donor, visit BJC’s Kidney Transplant Center’s website.

If you know someone making a difference for others, please let Mike Bush know by email at mbush@ksdk.com.