I am sitting at Scripps Green Hospital in a relatively small 15′ x 30′ room. Set up very much like a recovery room there are 3 beds enclosed in privacy curtains. The lights are turned low, fans are blowing as the nurse for each quietly monitors the swirling machines. In the first bed is a young Latino man, maybe 23-24, headphones in place watching a video on a portable dvd player. The corner bed has a slightly balding, very serious middle eastern man in his mid-40s, also watching a movie of some type, while his wife sits by the bedside reading. In the final bed is my middle nephew, asleep – actually knocked out from a mild sedative – one arm strapped in place with an IV drawing blood. As the blood pumps from his body, it is sent to the bedside machine. The blood is separated and split apart. Stem cells are removed and the remaining blood is cycled back into his body through a second IV in his other arm. Over the course of 6 hours, his blood (not just some but all his blood) will cycle through 5 times. The same goes for both guys watching movies.
When stem cells are collected from bone marrow and transplanted into a patient, the procedure is known as a bone marrow transplant. If the transplanted stem cells come from the bloodstream, the procedure is called a peripheral blood stem cell transplant. Whether you hear someone talking about a “stem cell transplant” or a “bone marrow transplant,” they are referring to stem cell transplantation.
So three guys on a random Tuesday laying in beds having their blood cycled in and out of their bodies one cup at a time. And heroes they are. Each is a life-saving match to a cancer patient in need of a bone marrow transplant. Each doesn’t know their recipient. In a world that seems to care less and less about the sanctity of human life, I sit and watch three quiet heroes …. silently saving the life of someone they don’t know. In today’s world, this speaks volumes to me.
My nephew jokingly “blames” me for being here. In September of 2015, we hosted a bone marrow drive. My dear friend Tom had been diagnosed with MDS (myelodysplastic syndrome.) MDS is a bone marrow disorder where the bone marrow doesn’t produce enough healthy blood cells. Simply, it’s cancer of the blood. It was the beginning of Acute Leukemia. At the time, any hope of survival, required finding a match and having a bone marrow transplant.
So last September, we held a drive, unabashedly asking everyone we could to be tested. We added 32 new donors to the National Registry. We lost Tom. He left us before the donors could even be processed.
There is not a day I do not miss him. Not a day I do not have to remind myself, he is gone. I miss so many things about him and the hole he left in my life and in my heart rings hollow and empty each day. I lost my friend, my mentor, my “father.”
70% of all patients in need of bone marrow transplants must find a matching donor outside of their family. Without the transplant, they will die. As I watch these three men giving their time, their blood and their cells, I have to ask why doesn’t everyone do this? One day of your life can save 1000 days of someone else’s life. Why not? In this time of unrest, where the shadows of human natures worst seem to be running rampant, be a silent hero.
Go the Nation Registry – you can receive a test kit by mail:|
https://bethematch.org or http://www.deletebloodcancer.org
I can’t sit here without thinking about Tom. Knowing how happy he would be that from that one drive, 32 people, two were matched in the database. Two have the privilege and the honor to silently, humbly save a life. My nephew is 26. The rest of his life, he will have the knowledge that he stepped upped. When it counted, he stepped up. And a stranger, somewhere, has a new hope for life.
When I lost Tom, I posted the following:
I have lost my friend
I will never again see him selflessly serve
I won’t get to serve him Father’s Day brunch on my patio
I won’t hear his laugh
I won’t be sharing gardening secrets
I won’t get to see his love of my cooking, especially my enchiladas
I won’t be witness to the incredible and sweet adoration of “his girlfriend” who he had been married to for 44 years
I will miss how he always asked permission to hug me
I will miss how honored he was when I hug him first
I will miss knowing a man of such Godly character, honesty, integrity, and valor
I will miss his voice calling me “sweet girl”
What is the sound of a heart breaking? It is the sound of a flood of tears hitting the floor. It is the sound of a too quiet hospital room. But today, at least in this quiet hospital room, lives are being saved.
