I had a troubling shoot this morning that I just can’t shake. It was supposed to be an inspiring piece about a 28-year old son who was giving his father a kidney. We’d followed them through the entire process up until this morning when they arrived, at 5:30 am, for the surgeries. We rolled as they checked in to the hospital and were led up to their rooms.

Finally, a nurse called us back to visit the son before he was wheeled into surgery. But as we approached the room his surgeon emerged with a look of utter disappointment and told us to turn the camera off. He was in no mood for protests, so we complied and returned to the waiting room. A few minutes later another nurse informed us that the son had, at the last minute, changed his mind. We don’t know why. Presumably, the nurse told us, cold feet. It almost never happens in transplants given the rigorous screening process.

Our crew just looked around at each other in shock. Never mind that our story just imploded, but how in the world would the son be able to live with himself? How does he go back to his father, who’d finally let himself believe that he might live a normal life and would now return to painful dialysis? What do you say after holding out the promise to save someone’s life, and then snatch it away?

I didn’t know, either, as the father came to tell us the news himself. I’m still not sure how to interpret the look I read on his face. Disappointment? Anger? Relief? For my part, I just nodded and let him return to his family. Our shoot was over and I’m still not sure whether any of our footage will be used. I just keep thinking about the long drive home in that family’s car today as they grapple with two broken men now instead of one.