Life, Gratefulness and Transplantation

Yesterday I went to a BBQ. Everyone there was a recent college grad, and thus the conversation naturally revolved around what we were doing these days, since for the last four years everyone’s response was always the same: hungover and attempting to study, then saying “screw it” and going to the gym.

A large percentage of the job-related convo revolved around my occupation as a Tissue Recovery Technologist and the transplant industry in general. Not only did this make me feel super cool, it also reinforced how intense, intriguing and interesting my job and professional field are (and that’s just the adjectives starting with ‘i’). I was asked roughly 3,498 questions, most of which I was able to answer, although once the keg was floated I doubt it mattered if I mixed up the intercondylar eminence with the intertrochanteric crest.

This made we realize something else about transplantation in general that surprised me even as I said it: every transplant recipient lives two lives--their own, and the life of their donor. They appreciate everything twice as much, smile twice as often, laugh twice as hard, give twice as freely.

After Googling around I found this to be a common sentiment among recipients, so my revelation wasn’t exactly original, but it did make me think about how not only do organ transplants save lives, the life that they save goes on to be so much more than a regular “life.” I know, I know: what I’m saying is very subjective; of course people can appreciate life without having stared death in the face. But, I do think that being so close to falling over the edge makes one appreciate it that much more when they’re back on solid ground.

Many people, not just those in need of a new organ, have stared death in the face and walked away, and (hopefully) are more grateful for every day they have. Organ recipients are unique in that they know that the reason they live is because someone else died. Not that this should necessarily make them live a better life, but from the recipients I’ve met and talked to, and from the stories and interviews I’ve watched, it sure does seem like it. They actively live more, they are kinder and more patient, volunteer and donate their time and work hard for something in which they believe.

All of this makes me that much more frustrated when I see someone getting irritated or mad or pissy over something trivial. I’d almost go so far as to say that it’d be good for everyone to, at some point, need and receive a new organ after spending some time on the waiting list. Or at least have their mortality and fragility presented to them in a very real, tangible way, maybe once a year so it remains in the front of the mind. I read in interview with someone who got hit by a stray bullet and almost died, and went on to live the next year of his life with more passion and enthusiasm than he thought possible, thanking God every morning he woke up next to his wife, reveling in the time he got to play with his young son, smiling and laughing and breathing deep the sweet scent of life. However, as the date of the near-death experience got further away, he found himself yelling at his computer for crashing, cursing in traffic, and caring about the nonessentials in life as if he had never stared his mortality in the face.

I’ve never been through anything like I’ve described above, although I like to think that working around tragedy and death and renewed-life gives me a similar perspective. Not that any of you really need a reminder, but I do want to remind and encourage you all to really value the time we’re able to spend together, the sunshine and the breeze and the smell of flowers, and yes, even the rain. Even emotions like as grief and loss mean we’re alive. That we get to feel acute feelings, even if they are “bad” feelings, means we’re breathing, and means that we care enough about something to feel loss and grief.

After all, the only reason someone feels tremendous loss is because there was tremendous love to begin with.

In my company’s office we have a big book of letters written by recipients, addressed to donor families, to us, or to no one in particular. Cornea recipients who saw their grandchildren for the first time. Bone recipients who are able to hike, or go back to work, or simply walk the dog without pain. Liver recipients who were given weeks to live and granted a second chance at life. They talk about seeing the world in a whole new light, appreciating every little thing, things they used to take for granted. That the air had never smelled so fresh, jokes had never been so funny, nature had never been so beautiful.

I’d rather not suffer through an organ transplant, but my goal is to live as if I did.

After talking about this with a various people at the BBQ, the beer had never tasted so crisp, the sun had never felt so nice, and I was acutely aware of how lucky I am to live in a country where I don’t have to live in fear, how lucky I am to be in such good health, and to have stumbled into an niche industry that is as life-affirming as it gets.

I love you all so very much, and I appreciate everything that all of you are.

Alex