December 13, 2011 6:26 AM

Real heroes don't wear cleats

As I’m writing this, it’s an uncharacteristically sunny and beautiful Monday afternoon in Portland. I’d like to say that I’m outside enjoying the all-too-infrequent December sun; instead I’m sitting in a surgical waiting room at Good Samaritan Hospital in Northwest Portland. Erin’s brother-in-law is in the midst of a kidney transplant, and I’m waiting for events to play out. It makes for a very long day, but I’m not about to complain. I have the easy part.

It’s hopefully a positive turn in an interesting, sad, and heart-warming story that I’ve been privy to for the past few months, but it all began long before I came into the picture. It’s a story that has me reflecting on how incredibly fortunate I am and on how disturbingly capricious and arbitrary the universe can be. I’m not going to use real names because I don’t know how the people involved would feel about me telling their story. That said, I just can’t let this pass without recognizing one of the few examples of true heroism I’ve witnessed in my life. Alas, I’m getting ahead of myself….

I’m 51 years old, and I’ve never spent a night in a hospital. The only time I’ve been so much as put under anesthesia is when I had my sinuses rearranged a few years ago. I went to sleep and work up about four hours later (though it felt immediate), none the wiser for whatever it was the surgeon did to rearrange my nose. It was day surgery; before long, I was out the door and done with it. Sure, I’ve had numerous concussions and some sports injuries, so my knees, ankles, and back aren’t what they used to be…but all the really important things work just fine. I’ve always pretty much taken that for granted- until I met Erin’s brother-in-law (I’ll call him Craig).

As fortunate as I’ve been health-wise, he’s had the exact opposite experience. Craig’s receiving his second transplanted kidney today. There was the heart attack he suffered in college, along with numerous other health issues, some quite significant, others not so much. The bottom line is that Craig’s had more than his fair share of health challenges- and he’s all of 38. With a wife who adores him (I’ll call her Lisa) and three beautiful children, this is a man who should be worrying about getting his daughter to her basketball game, not having to deal with another failing kidney. Yet here we are, sitting in a surgical waiting room and waiting for some good news. Craig and his wife have been down this road before, so they know what to expect, but as with any surgery, it ain’t over ‘til it’s over. And so we wait.

The story of how he’s receiving his new kidney is one that’s reminded me that sometimes the most extraordinary contributions come from those we might under different circumstances define as ordinary. In this case, there’s nothing ordinary about Craig’s kidney donor. One of Erin’s co-workers (I’ll call her Anne) became friends with Craig and his family, and over time she became familiar with his history. When the donated kidney he received years ago began to fail, Craig and Lisa we’re discussing transplant options with Anne, who’s a nurse and familiar with transplant issues. When the subject of blood types came up, it turned out that Craig and Anne had something in common. Without missing a beat, Anne offered to be Craig’s donor. One thing led to another, all the tests came back positive, and so here we are.

When I saw Anne this morning, it was clear that she hadn’t given much thought to what an amazing and heroic thing she was about to do. Here she was, about to give one of her kidneys to Craig, and the import and impact of her selflessness seemed to be completely lost on her. Anne was willing to incur the risk involved in donating a kidney in order that her friend could regain his health and be around for his family. When I think of heroism, I don’t think of someone scoring touchdowns or hitting home runs. I think of people like Anne, who assume risks they don’t need to in order that someone might live…and I’m in awe.

As I sat in the waiting room this morning talking to members of both families, the nervousness and concern came from two very different places. Anne’s family knew that they had little to gain and everything to lose, Craig’s family everything to gain and little to lose. Everyone recognized the need for and import of what was about to happen, but having an organ removed from one’s body and inserted into another’s is never a simple, straightforward procedure. Nor is it something to be taken lightly. The surgeons on the harvest and implant teams did their best to make the procedures sound routine, but to a layperson like myself, it all seems akin to playing God…and thankfully, those professionals play God with surpassing skill and aplomb.

….

It’s late afternoon. Both Anne and Craig are out of surgery and in recovery. The worst appears to be over, the healing process about to begin. Before long, both Craig and Anne will be back to normal. Craig can get used to being healthy once again, and he can get back to the work he loves the most: being a father. While they were already good friends, he will forever have a connection with Anne. That’s an amazing and wonderful thing that moves me more than I’d thought possible.

I’m not a medical professional, so the entire process of transplanting an organ seems like nothing if not magic. Part of the magic is the idea of going through life knowing that part of someone else is not only inside you, but helping to keep you alive. If giving that gift to someone isn’t heroism, then I don’t know what would be…though I’d have to think there are easier ways to lose weight.

I don’t know that I possess the vocabulary to express to Anne just how completely in awe of her I am. She assumed a significant risk to help a friend live, and she did so with no concern or hesitation. In my book, she’s the very definition of a hero. I only hope that if I’m ever faced with a similar decision that I’d make it and follow through with half the grace and selflessness that Anne has shown throughout the process. She is truly and without a doubt my hero.

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This page contains a single entry by Jack Cluth published on December 13, 2011 6:26 AM.

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