Part 12: And so it ends.

Erika called me a short while ago.   My heart started pounding when I saw Gift of Life pop up on my phone.  I was prepared for the worst, but I wasn’t, not really.  That’s not a thing, I don’t think.  Even if you think it is, it isn’t.  You can’t prepare for the worst, because you don’t know how bad it will be until it is.

I know this for a lot of reasons.  I know because when I lost my grandfather (not lost,exactly.  I know exactly where he is.  But he is no longer here so we say “lost.”  I could say he died, but I hate that.) we all knew he wasn’t getting better.  Grandpa had had several heart attacks and a stroke.  He could no longer eat, speak or perform ADLs.  At 95 years of age, it wasn’t a question of if, it was only when.  I acted like I was prepared.  Had you asked me, I would have told you I was most certainly ready for the inevitable.  And yet…that morning when I got the call that he was gone (gone is the same as lost) I collapsed in a puddle on the floor.  I cried, I yelled, I moaned, I shook. This is how I was prepared for the worst.  Well done, eh?

Erika asked how I was and we exchanged pleasantries.  She told me that she heard back from the transplant center.  There was a long pause, during which I could actually hear my heart beating as if my head were pressed against my own chest.  Then she said, “There isn’t much information.  Apparently, he had a relapse. But he has been released from the hospital.  He is considered ‘clinically stable.'”  Huh?  What?  I asked what that all meant.  Erika really couldn’t tell me much.  She explained that they could still ask for another donation, and I quickly interjected that I am available whenever he needs, but they haven’t asked and she doesn’t know if they still have left cells over from my original donation.  I asked what the term “clinically stable” means, and she also wasn’t sure.  I think that whatever I thought I expected, this wasn’t it.  This vague “he’s ok-ish” update was not at all satisfying.  This last update.  This one last time I that I would hear about Cousin Bob’s progress from Gift of Life.  I felt unsettled and disappointed.  Whatever I thought the last update would be, this was not it.  I think I wanted a grand declaration of cured-ness.  A full and complete healing.  Something bigger…something with a joyful ending. This felt precarious.  Clinically stable sounds like he is scraping by…until he isn’t. In the emails and mailings I receive (frequently) from Gift of Life about galas and races and donors and recipients meeting, there never seems to be any mention of those who are clinically stable and have had relapses.  Those emails are of smiling, joyful reunions of people now bound together for life.  I felt somehow like I didn’t quite do my part well enough.  Why isn’t Cousin Bob cured too?  Why?

As if she knew I felt unsettled, Erika said, “If the recipient is willing, we can now do the exchange of information…are you interested in sharing your contact information?”  I said, “Yes! Of course! I mean, if he wants…I don’t want to bother him or pressure him…but yes…”  “Do you want me to contact you if your information is requested?” “Yes!” I said, “Please.”

And that was it.  The end, essentially, of my story.  Cousin Bob’s story continues, but my part in it is finished.  Unless, it isn’t.