Everything is recyclable nowadays — our toilet paper rolls, plastic bottles, cardboard, newspapers. Even our parts can be recycled.

But honestly, I never would have thought growing up in the 1950s and ’60s that body parts would be so useful.

In the ’50s we heard about the first kidney transplant, and by the ’60s we were hearing a little more frequently about kidney, heart and pancreas transplants — but it all still seemed a bit foreign to me.

By the time transplants were talked about frequently, my bad habits were well established. I was morbidly obese, which led to battling high blood pressure.

In the early part of the 21st century, I had a friend who had been on the transplant list for nearly five years for a kidney. They hadn’t found a match, and the need was getting more desperate.

I knew the body could function with only one kidney — I wonder if God gave us two so we could share.

When I checked to see what I had to do to donate a kidney, the woman on the other end of the telephone line went through a series of questions.

I was broken-hearted when she told me I wouldn’t be a good candidate to donate a kidney.

“You could end up needing a donor yourself someday because of the treatment for high blood pressure,’’ she said. She also went down the list of medications I was taking that might disqualify me as a donor.

I consoled myself by thinking what a long shot it was that I would be a match for my friend, Ella, anyway.

I also had pondered what I would do if it turned out I was a match for someone else but not for Ella.

I probably would donate, I told myself. But now I’ll never know.

When I thought about it over the next several days, I realized all those diets Mom tried for me when I was younger and the “diet doctors” she took me to — sometimes driving four or five hours one way — just didn’t offer me the proper motivation.

The scripture that says our body is the temple of God didn’t make much sense to me either.

I could do things for others much better than I could if I thought it was just for me. It was kind of like my Dad — I would have done anything to keep from disappointing him.

Perhaps if I had grown up with the knowledge that my body parts could be used for someone else when I was through with them I would have been more motivated.

While obesity likely wasn’t the only thing that kept me from being a suitable donor, but that is where I would have started.

I don’t know what caused all the things I have dealt with over the years — depression, arthritis (rheumatoid and osteo), Parkinson’s disease, congestive heart failure — I could probably go on for another line or two, but you get the picture.

I know some of these things were out of my control. Both of my parents suffered with heart problems and underwent surgery for it. Mom had Parkinson’s disease. Dad suffered with depression. Mom had both types of arthritis. That leads me to believe that most of my health problems were genetic. It still doesn’t keep me from wondering if I could have saved some of my parts for “recycling.”

While it appears today that few of my parts will be reusable, maybe my brain will be of help down the road as researchers look for causes and cures for things such as Parkinson’s disease or depression.

No I don’t think they will attempt to transplant my brain, but maybe they will be able to find out what makes me so darned curious about life and people.