~as we consider the gift of life~

"The recovery room nurse handed it to me before she did anything else that hot August afternoon in 2011.  A two-hour surgery to mend together my badly busted up left arm was through and all that remained for me was to stay in the post op area for an hour or so as I waited for my vital signs to stabilize.  I will never forget the kind look on that woman's face as she placed a letter that was inside of an envelope into my right hand. She told me that the surgeons had of extreme necessity used the bone material of a donor in order to have any kind of hope of restoring my left wrist and hand to a functional state.  The letter was from the Musculoskeletal Transplant Foundation, explaining that I had just received a gift, donated from a cadaver's body and that if I wished to contact the family to say thank you that I could do so by sending my letter to them at the foundation.  Tears welled up in my eyes and before I knew it, they were rolling down my face.  I couldn't help it.  I remember so vividly reaching over with my right hand and placing it on the heavy and cumbersome surgical cast that had now encased "old lefty".  It was as if I was giving a "hug" to that unknown person that had helped me.  That simple embrace from my right hand to my left wrist was my way of saying to who ever the person had been, "I love you and thank you for saving me!"

Ok, ok~
I've made some pretty quick decisions in this nearly 59-year old life of mine and probably one of the hastiest that I have made happened on August 4, 2011.  I was a fairly seasoned bike rider who made the last minute, very foolish decision to try and jump the curb in front of my own home that early mid-summer morning.  It didn't work out too well as is evidenced by the x-ray shown above and as I look at it, now nearly 3 years later, it's no wonder that I had to reach down and scoop up my arm as I picked my "sorry self" up off of my own front lawn. 

Four surgeries and nine months later, doctors at the Kansas Orthopaedic Center in Wichita, KS pronounced my left arm, wrist and hand as good as it would ever get.  Even now, this far down the road both in time and distance, my left hand is numb and noticeably different than the right one.  There's a little bit of limited range of motion but for the most part I can get along pretty good with it.  I'm still somewhat reluctant to wear short sleeves and I really don't know why.  The scars and misshapen appearance for all intents and purposes  aren't that horrible but to me I just notice the difference.  It's with a smile in my heart that I remember how my dear students back in Hutchinson were so protective of me.  When a new person would notice how different the left arm looked and make some comment like "Why is your arm like THAT?" the kids that had been through it with me would step up to say in their own protective and loving way .....


 "Hey, she had an accident on her bike and broke it really bad.  THAT'S why it's that way!"

I love that about the innocence of children, always understanding way more than we give them credit for knowing.  They watched out for my feelings and whenever they deemed that someone was saying something that might hurt me in some fashion, they always stepped in to take care of it.

So it was yesterday afternoon, as I was cleaning out the never ending stash of boxes brought back here to Colorado from Kansas, that I found it.  The letter that I had been given that day had surfaced at home here in Montrose County.   When I saw the green folder in my school stuff from my classroom at Lincoln Elementary in Hutch, I knew immediately what was in it.  I hadn't come across it for nearly 3 years now, having put in in my desk at school for safekeeping.  I had written my donor's family, not once but twice since the surgery had happened.  I never heard back from them, something that I knew was a very good possibility.  I had held out hope that perhaps they would write me to tell me more about the person whose gift of life is now living inside of me.  When they never did, it was with sadness on my part that I just accepted it as the gift it was without any hope of really learning who it was. 

Right before Christmas that year in 2011, I did receive a bit of information about who my donor was and it came from the offices of the MTF back in Connecticut.  They told me that the person who gave me the bone tissue was a man from Missouri, 45 years old and that was all I found out about it.  Yet it was enough, more than enough for me to at least know that.  I went on trying to resume a normal life.

But I never forgot the gift.  EVER~

Now my mind is thinking again and wondering just who it was that saved me.  After a couple of phone calls back east to the MTF offices in New Jersey this morning, I have decided to try and write a letter to his family one more time.  Realizing of course that their loved one must have died not all that long before my accident, perhaps my letters to them came at a time when the wounds of losing someone they loved so much were just too fresh to deal with.  Maybe now I can write them again and tell them just how grateful I always remained for the gift that their family member gave to me.  I want to tell them that I am doing well and that even though "old lefty" looks a little on the different side that at least it's quite usable as an appendage.  I want them to know that this year I held my new little baby granddaughter Catherine Lois in my arms and didn't have to worry about whether or not I could do it.  I want them to know that I got married and moved to Colorado from Kansas and that I am STILL a teacher even though I have retired twice now.  And I want them to know that my heart is still grateful and always shall be for the gift that I received that day.  I am going to write the letter very soon and pray that somehow or another, they will be moved to write back to me and tell me more about him.

Well, the boxes that need to be emptied out are sitting there in my bedroom looking at me and since they won't empty themselves, I guess that's a sign to get a move on and be busy.  For the abundance of blessings that I have received in this life of mine, the gift of a cadaver's bone being at the top of the list, I give thanks.  My friends, please consider that upon your death, whenever that time might be, that you would be an organ donor and help others just like me.  It's not a fun thing to discuss at the supper table or anything but I believe it is something that everyone should at least think about and consider doing.  As for me, my family knows that they can take anything usable from my body when my time on this earth is done.  In the wonderful place that I will be going to, old body parts aren't needed anyway. 

Respect life.  Honor life.  Give life.

On my way to the state of Maine in May of 2012, I took flowers and a note to leave at the border between the states of Kansas and Missouri.  Although I never found out the man's name who was my donor, I did know that he was from the great "Show Me" state.  It was Decoration Day weekend and I wanted to honor him with flowers in some way. 

At the scene of the crime and the result of the second surgery of the four done on "old lefty".

Speaking at the "Celebration of Heroes" event last spring in Wichita, Kansas.  It is an annual event hosted by the MTF to honor those people whose lives were not given in vain.  It was a privilege to tell my story in front of a crowd of those who had lost their loved ones in the year prior yet had made the choice to donate "life" even in the end.  I wondered as I was speaking if my donor's family might have been there listening to me.  I nearly made it without crying.... nah, I gotta be honest.  I didn't stand a chance to NOT cry. 

And from the "Good Book", John 15:13~"No greater love hath a man that this, that he would lay down his life for a friend."