If there's a reason I'm still alive when so many have died

Miss Madeleine at Easter

It’s Donate Life month, so I thought it would be a propos to talk about something that seems simple, but is often not—gratitude post-transplant.

I will celebrate my eighteenth transplant anniversary in July. To me, that is mind blowing. I am eternally grateful that my donor, Suzanne, decided to donate her organs. Otherwise, I would be dead. I would’ve died at age 23, eighteen years ago.

I would’ve missed so many things, not the least of which is seeing my siblings get married, seeing my godson grow up, getting a new goddaughter in Patty, and meeting my two precious nieces.

Miss Hailey

Now, that being said, that doesn’t mean I don’t have bad days. If you’ve read my book, you know this. There are days when I am sick of doctors, sick of meds, sick of spending time in hospital waiting rooms. That’s normal. Med side effects can be really terrible.

But the thing is, I’m alive. I never come out of an appointment going, I wish I hadn’t had my transplant.

Post transplant life isn’t a life with no health problems. It’s different health problems, but I’ll take it because I am alive. The meds cause problems—we’ve been over this here. Diabetes, early menopause, weight gain, messed up joints—it’s happened to me. I deal with it, some days more gracefully than others. But I never wish away my life.

My friend Sage never got the chance I got. I think about her so often, and when I see people saying that they aren’t grateful for their transplant, I get really angry because I miss her so much.

To me, that dishonors your donor. That dishonors the gift.

Seventeen people die daily waiting for an organ that will never come. Every nine minutes, someone else is added to the national list.

I don’t understand how I got so lucky. I don’t know why I’m alive when so many have died. (If you don’t get that reference, here you go:

To not realize how lucky you are, to not be grateful that you are still alive every single day post transplant, is….unconscionable. (And most of the recipients I know are so grateful. We are.)

I could’ve been one of the 6,000 people who die every year waiting. I wasn’t. I don’t know why. But as long as this ride lasts, I will be eternally grateful for it, even on the days when I want to SCREAM at the incompetence of medical professionals and the insanity that is parking at the New Resort.

Because I’m here, when I could very well not be.