A Sacred Trust

The driver, a young man unknown to her, stepped tentatively onto her porch, then paused for a moment before knocking gently on her door.

 

What does he want? she wondered. Whatever it is, I’m not interested.

 

Still, her instincts told her to let him in and hear him out because his presence and bearing brought her a sense of calm, a feeling which had been missing in her life and which she thought might never return. Some years before, you see, she had lost a son who would now be 25. Her pain was excruciating, darkness enveloped her, each day was a struggle, and the passage of time had brought little relief.

 

Now inside, the young man sat down, looked her squarely in the eye, and told her that beating inside his chest was her son’s heart that had been donated upon his death and had given him life when his time was short.

 

Then, the grateful steward of the greatest gift invited her to put her ear to his chest and listen to the heartbeat.

 

The woman did, of course, and felt as if she was, in some spiritual way, finally reunited with her son. After what seemed an eternity of profound sadness, the shroud began to lift, and she felt the peace and grace that had been absent from her life for so long.

 

That, friends, is the moving storyline of Bonnie Raitt’s “Just Like That,” a song simply worded but powerfully expressed, which was released in 2022 and won the 2023 Grammy Award for Song of the Year.

 

Based on a true story the renowned country singer had heard several years before and reflected deeply upon, it speaks poignantly to the selfless act of organ donation and resonates on a visceral level with those of us who live in the transplant community.

 

Today marks the 11th anniversary of the liver transplant that saved my life.

 

Eight days earlier, I had been admitted to the Critical Care Hospital at the VCU Medical Center in the final stages of a rare, incurable autoimmune disease called primary sclerosing cholangitis. The clock was ticking, but as my doctors worked to keep me alive, I remained strong of heart and soul, refused to suffer, relied on the prayers and abiding support of family and friends, and felt an inner peace despite the ominous prognosis.

 

The Call came at 2 o’clock that Wednesday morning.

 

Let your family know, my transplant coordinator told me. The recovery team will fly by private jet to Wilmington, North Carolina, to recover the liver. The donor is an 84-year-old woman who suffered a stroke in church on Sunday. Despite all efforts, she passed peacefully away. Her liver is in pristine condition. Surgery is scheduled for 10 a.m.

 

In the darkness before the dawn, it never occurred to me that there was anything unusual about a liver that old being transplanted into someone 20 years younger and so gravely ill, but I later learned that it was the oldest liver to be transplanted into a patient with lab numbers as high as mine anywhere in the world.

 

My medical team, led by Dr. Robert A. Fisher, took a risk with what was considered a marginal or compromised organ, but they had supreme confidence in their skills and trusted me to do all within my power to honor this incredibly precious gift.

 

Some weeks later, Emily and I returned for an appointment with Dr. Fisher. Our shared experience remained front and center in my mind, not just because I was learning a new regimen and slowly rebuilding my strength and replenishing my energy but because I was still processing my very real brush with death.

 

I was fighting like crazy to stay in the race, I told him, but I was weak and tired, and it would have been so easy to let go. I knew, though, that if I survived, I’d be OK. My faith told me that if I didn’t, I’d still be OK. It was the people in the waiting room who would have to figure out how to move forward. They were the ones I was worried about.

The dying is easy, he replied in so many words. It’s the living afterwards…that’s what’s hard.

How right he was. The years since have been a roller coaster of successes and challenges, but the lyrical passage has made me stronger than I could ever have imagined, and, strange as it might sound, I wouldn’t trade any of the experiences for anything (nor do I want to relive them).

 

And if those experiences have taught me anything, it’s to plan for the future but take life one step at a time, remain patient and controlled, control what I can control, fear nothing, respect all who work together for the common good, and live with humility, compassion, and gratitude.

 

Three times in the aftermath, I reached out through channels to thank my donor’s family and learn more about this enlightened member of the Greatest Generation, the embodiment of altruism and grace, who had the foresight to check the box on her driver’s license application.

 

Three times, my letters went unanswered. Some things, I guess, you’re not supposed to know.

 

What I do know is that one day in what must have been an amazing and fulfilling life, she made a conscious decision to trust someone she would never know with a gift she’d spent a lifetime caring for and preserving.

 

I can only hope that, in her eyes, I’ve honored that sacred trust.

~Weldon Bradshaw