I recently accepted an invitation to receive an award from the Heartland Chapter of the American Red Cross. The actual luncheon is in April 2010. The award is for being a “Heartland Hero”. Now many of you who read this blog know me pretty well. And I doubt “hero” would come to the top of many minds if asked to describe me. So what did I do to deserve this honor? The way I see it, nothing! The way they see it I am a hero.
It started out kind of small actually. I decided one day to give a pint of blood. Naturally I went to the Red Cross, on Dewey St, for our Omaha readers, and gave a pint. No big deal. The nurses were fun to chat with and the volunteers were a delight to hang out with afterwards while drinking some juice and eating a donut.
After a few donations I was pretty fed up with needles (by the way nobody likes needles) but by then the volunteers and nurses had become kind of a family. And one day one asked me if I was interested in donating platelets. I had no idea what a platelet was. But upon an explanation of the process I decided I’d give it a try. When I first began donating the process took about three hours. Needles in both arms withdrew a pint, spin out the platelets and put the rest back. Pretty cool! Actually miraculous! Whoever made this contraption seems like a hero to me.
After a year or so of hanging out once a month with some of the most courageous nurses on earth one of them asked if I’d be interested in signing up for the National Marrow Donor Program? After explaining that all I had to do was sign up. They then would simply test the blood I was already having drawn in preparation for my platelet donation for possible matches. The odds of matching I was told were like winning the lottery. I never win anything the decision was easy.
Three months later I got a call from Paulette the National Marrow Donor Program registry coordinator for the Omaha area. She informed me I was a “potential” match. Pretty common I was told to get picked early but usually on further “blood typing” most are eliminated. They were seeking a six out of six antigen match. Or a “perfect” match.
I went to the Red Cross and was counseled on the process. It took an hour or so. They had fruits and snacks and made me feel like I was pretty special. They said if this process continued I’d be responsible for the other person’s potential for survival. For another person’s life! They said there would be a “point of no return” near the harvest: when I said yes, one last time, the recipient of the bone marrow harvest would not survive if I turned back or was physically unable to donate. No skydiving, scuba diving, motor cycles, etc. But, of course, there is no guarantee of survival even with a successful harvest. I kept going.
They continued their tests while I pretty much forgot about it all. Then a month or so later they called. I was a six out of six antigen match. A perfect match! I was overwhelmed with emotion. I thought “what have I gotten into?” I never considered for a moment not donating but I just went from “potential donor” to donor”. What’s up with this? I wasn’t planning on getting picked.
The harvest was delayed a couple times because of the fragile state of the recipient’s health. Then as we got closer to harvest I felt more and more how I think an expectant mother might feel. I felt like I was living for two of us. I knew my recipient was in his thirties, like me, and married with two children, like me. I was informed as to the type of cancer he had. I was told survival was not likely even with a successful harvest. Some well intentioned friends pointed out the risk benefit analysis to me. Why donate if success was unlikely? The answer was easy; I wouldn’t want my wife to bury me knowing there was a chance. Plus, science wins a little even if it fails.
The Registry is anonymous for many good reasons. Neither party knows the other’s identity. You can inquire as to their well being and you can meet after one year if both parties agree. The Red Cross facilitates all of this once all agree. I never got the chance to meet my recipient. He passed away.
Fast forward a few months and I get a call from Paulette. I am a match. This time they know I am a match because in the process of the unsuccessful donation the DNA typing they did let them know me pretty well. Oh, and six out of six antigens. A perfect match! Two!
There was no harvest. The recipient did not survive to receive one.
About a year later I get another call from Paulette. I am a match. Six out of six antigens! Three! This time I gave antilogous blood for my own recovery. When they harvest marrow you can lose a lot of blood so they took my own to put back in.
Sadly, after I gave my units I received news that the potential recipient had passed away. No harvest.
I matched a fourth and fifth time over the next couple years. Six out of six both times! No harvests occurred and I never learned why.
The sixth call came in 2003. Paulette told me a young boy, 11 years old, had cancer. I asked her his chances of survival, more from experience and curiosity than from any other reason, and learned they were not good. I also learned that the odds were based on yesterday’s knowledge and that now we’d be harvesting stem cells. Not bone marrow. What’s up with that? Advances in technology taught us stem cell transfer may work better. Only catch was that in order to get my stem cell count high enough to get a good size harvest I would need to take a protogen enhancer. One not approved by the FDA. The drug was experimental.
After the sixth call from Paulette I had an intuitive feeling that to this day remains a mystery. I just knew this kid would make it. I took the drug for a number of days; I recall a week. I had some awful flu like symptoms as side effect leading up to harvest. I prepared a note to the recipient and sat down in a chair and they stuck a needle in my arm and in a couple hours I felt like normal. No flu like symptoms. Back to my old self. I looked at that bag of yellowish fluid and asked God to please help with His part and all would be fine.
I got regular updates on my recipient's progress for the next year. He survived! He has had a five year clean bill of health. We met in Omaha about a year after the transplant. He has my DNA now. He has my allergies. He likes my favorite foods. He'd never eaten peanuts, yet he asked for them while being transfused with my cells, even before his family read my letter telling him he may grow to like peanuts. My letter also told him we would not fail. And we didn’t. He’s a cool dude. We’re Facebook friends. I went to Chicago to meet his entire and extensive Irish family. I think about him every day. I love them all and vice versa.
So who’s the hero?
Not me. I am sure of that. I’m just a guy who got involved with some very loving, caring, smart people who spend each day saving lives of our loved ones. The scientists, they’re heroes. The doctors of oncology, they’re heroes. Can you even imagine the life of a pediatric oncologist? They’re heroes. The Red Cross nurses, they’re heroes. Brent is a hero. He took the beating of his life and never, never, never, gave up. His family, they’re heroes. The great volunteers who share the time with whole blood donors as they recover, they’re heroes.
Me, I am no hero, but I am glad the Red Cross thinks I am, because it gives me a chance to say thanks to the real heroes. I thank God for you all.
What if... 
What if... 
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