Minus the Rum
I haven't written about my liver in a few years. Last night, though, a friend who has a marked interest in my liver reminded me that I have 'liver pieces'. She didn't mean that my liver is in pieces (well, not yet anyway). No, she meant a couple blogs I wrote back in 2010 - 'The Smell of Liver Failure in the Morning' and 'An Owner's Manual for a 1969 Model Liver' (Both appear in my book, Notes from the Red Birdhouse). When I wrote them, they were intended to be a funny take on a very serious subject. My friend's daughter had (and still does have) a rare form of a hereditary liver disease and I was on the short list of people willing to donate a portion of my liver. She ended up not needing mine, but did have a substantial portion of hers removed.
Fast forward a little more than two years... That same friend with the daughter with the rare form of hereditary liver disease has been diagnosed with the same disease. I suppose that's why she re-read my 'liver pieces' the other day. I imagine her subtle mention of my 'pieces' was her way of letting me know I was still on the hook. She didn't need to tell me. I've known (or maybe assumed) for awhile now that my services (ie. my liver) might still be needed.
It's not something I fear or even question. As I'm fond of saying - It is what it is. I will do what I can when I can. Period. It's a no-brainer. I understand that to some people my decision may seem hasty or not thought out. Some may think that I have a death wish or want a big scar on my abdomen. Or maybe I want the glory. Or maybe I want our story to go viral on Facebook and Twitter so I can be famous. I want none of these things - I don't want to die or have a scar or go viral.
It's much easier than that for me. I'd loan her my last dollar, something I might actually need. I don't need my liver, at least not all of it, so why shouldn't I donate it? And lest anyone think I'm completely selfless and altruistic, here's another small slice of reality. What if my friend died and my liver could have saved her life? How could I ever look at her children again? I had the power to save their mother's life and I chose, what? Not to risk my own death or have a scar or whatever? That is completely unacceptable to me. If I'm a match, she's got it. No question.
Who is this friend, this person who is so important that I'm willing to go through major surgery and give away one of my vital organs? In reality, it doesn't matter who she is. Yes, she is one of my best friends. Yes, I wear a ring she gave me every day of my life as a reminder of our friendship. Yes, I believe she was brought into my life for a reason and vice versa (though that has nothing to do with God and angels and the like). Truthfully, though, it wouldn't take any of that. If another friend or co-worker was in need and I was a match, I wouldn't think twice. Sign me up. Life is life.
Of course, at this point, I'm already on the hook. Until my friend tells me different, like she and her daughter have been miraculously cured or that I'm definitely not a match, I'm not budging from her short list. She's mine and I'm hers. Maybe one day we will be one. Well, two heartbeats and one liver.
In the meantime, I'm going to keep drinking diet ginger ale and diet root beer. Minus the rum. You see, I have a vested interest in keeping my liver healthy. I'm not sure it's required but these days I'm mostly a non-drinker. Because, for better or worse, my liver is off the market.
Fast forward a little more than two years... That same friend with the daughter with the rare form of hereditary liver disease has been diagnosed with the same disease. I suppose that's why she re-read my 'liver pieces' the other day. I imagine her subtle mention of my 'pieces' was her way of letting me know I was still on the hook. She didn't need to tell me. I've known (or maybe assumed) for awhile now that my services (ie. my liver) might still be needed.
It's not something I fear or even question. As I'm fond of saying - It is what it is. I will do what I can when I can. Period. It's a no-brainer. I understand that to some people my decision may seem hasty or not thought out. Some may think that I have a death wish or want a big scar on my abdomen. Or maybe I want the glory. Or maybe I want our story to go viral on Facebook and Twitter so I can be famous. I want none of these things - I don't want to die or have a scar or go viral.
It's much easier than that for me. I'd loan her my last dollar, something I might actually need. I don't need my liver, at least not all of it, so why shouldn't I donate it? And lest anyone think I'm completely selfless and altruistic, here's another small slice of reality. What if my friend died and my liver could have saved her life? How could I ever look at her children again? I had the power to save their mother's life and I chose, what? Not to risk my own death or have a scar or whatever? That is completely unacceptable to me. If I'm a match, she's got it. No question.
Who is this friend, this person who is so important that I'm willing to go through major surgery and give away one of my vital organs? In reality, it doesn't matter who she is. Yes, she is one of my best friends. Yes, I wear a ring she gave me every day of my life as a reminder of our friendship. Yes, I believe she was brought into my life for a reason and vice versa (though that has nothing to do with God and angels and the like). Truthfully, though, it wouldn't take any of that. If another friend or co-worker was in need and I was a match, I wouldn't think twice. Sign me up. Life is life.
Of course, at this point, I'm already on the hook. Until my friend tells me different, like she and her daughter have been miraculously cured or that I'm definitely not a match, I'm not budging from her short list. She's mine and I'm hers. Maybe one day we will be one. Well, two heartbeats and one liver.
In the meantime, I'm going to keep drinking diet ginger ale and diet root beer. Minus the rum. You see, I have a vested interest in keeping my liver healthy. I'm not sure it's required but these days I'm mostly a non-drinker. Because, for better or worse, my liver is off the market.
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