For me, looks like there will be one question that I may never get the answer for...and that is, "who gave me the donation of their bone?" You remember that I said I had written a thank you note to be passed along to the family of my donor? Although I wrote to them, via the transplant bank in Connecticut nearly 4 weeks ago now, I still haven't heard back. The brochure that I was given at the Surgery Center said that most families have a great desire to contact transplant recipients. There are a small number of those who don't care to be in contact. Perhaps, "Eleanor's" family is one of them. If so, then it shall always be one of the unanswered mysteries in the life of Peggy Miller.
Because I was so curious about this whole idea of a bone graft, I started researching online to see what I could learn. By the way, many of you have asked me questions pertaining to the procedure and hopefully I've found a few answers. This was "uncharted" territory for me and even with all the "unknowns" surrounding it, I was able to learn quite a bit.
My type of bone graft is referred to as an "allograft"because the bone material comes from someone who has died. Usually the donor bone is harvested and when it is fully prepared and ready to be used, it is sent to a bone bank. My gift came from a bone bank in Connecticut but my donor could have been from anywhere.
More than likely, my donor was of reasonably good health and chances are that they died accidentally. The very best part of their bone was taken for use. It was run through a myriad of procedures that removed everything "genetically identifiable" to the donor. It was crushed, freeze dried, and kept in quarantine for 3 months before it was even available for my procedure. It came to me in the form of "croutons" and if you look online at photos, that's what it reminds one of.
In the month since receiving it, I haven't developed any "hankerings" for any kind of food that is different. I still hate olives, won't drink milk, and would rather ride 50 miles straight into a stiff Kansas southeasterly wind than put a raisin in my mouth. You hear all kinds of stories of transplant recipients who suddenly love ketchup for the first time in their life only to learn that their donor loved it as well. Kind of an interesting prospect but I've not encountered it. At least not yet.
In the days following my surgery, I've had time to think about this alot. Even though I'd love to know who gave me this wonderful gift of their "life" I will actually be ok with not knowing. Whether it was a man or woman doesn't even matter. Where they came from, what they did?--not a concern either. What does matter to me is that they cared--they cared enough about helping others who would eventually need them pretty badly. Seems as though you could just about hear them saying..."You know, when I'm gone, make sure that my bones are given to someone who can use them. I was thinking the other day and the name "Peggy" came to mind for some strange reason." Hey, it could happen like that! I thought of "Eleanor", remember?
The one thing I do know is that no matter who gave me this gift, I'd have been up that proverbial creek without a paddle. I can only speculate what they were like. One of my favorite lines from the movie "The Bucket List" talks about one of the main character's, Carter Chandler, "dying with his eyes closed but his heart was wide open." That's how my donor died and I hope and pray that when I take my last breath, that folks will say that about "Peggy Miller" as well.
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