A couple of days ago while typing up some product descriptions and describing cotton as soft for the hundredth time, I got an email. Well, I get emails all day long, but when staring out the window for distraction gets old I actually decide to read those pesky suckers. This one was from my transplant coordinator and amongst a bunch of other administrative stuff, read:

“Will you give me a call? The NY donor network called and I want to discuss it with you.”

My immediate thought: “Uh oh. What did I do now?” Mind you, this is coming from a lifetime of being a problem child. I wasn’t allowed to go on field trips, unless my mother was a chaperone. I mean this couldn’t be good if it had to be over the phone. I prefer all my confrontations to be written. Hence, the blog.

Anyway, I took a break from feeling up cotton sweaters and called her back.

What was the big news?

My donor family has reached out and wants to contact me. I didn’t know what to say. To me, it’s only been four months. To that family it has probably been the longest four months of their lives.

I am grateful, but I am reasonably scared. Will these people be happy for me, or will they hate me? If they want to reach out to me, I thought it’s the least I could to do let them do so. If it does make them happy, I am sure there joy will be beyond compare. I wanted to give this family some sense of joy or closure or whatever it is they are seeking.

But then a wise friend told me, that my feelings matter too. I am confused and unsure. But at the end of the day this donor gave me my life back, and letting them contact me is one small form of thanks. Saying “no” because it’s hard to me, just doesn’t feel right.

I always thought about this possibility, but never thought it was anything more than that. Truth be told, I walk around admitting I had a heart transplant, but omit the consequences and sacrifice that the process required. I mean, I’m no stranger to having hairs, nails and lashes that aren’t mine. But this, this is a whole new realm. I have some other families heart.

Ultimately, I said “yes.” That was my decision. Because if there is one thing I have learned from all of this, is that most “problems” are menial. And if I have the power to change my circumstances or others’ with a simple “yes,” wouldn’t I be doing a great injustice if I gave any other response.

I am scared. Scared to feel deep sympathy and sorrow. (I can’t even bear the end of Titanic)Scared to admit the truth. Scared to hear what they have to say. Scared to accept my reality. Scared to know what they have been through, on account of what feel like my fate, or fault. But I have been told I’m brave. And what is bravery or courage without fear. Probably just arrogance.

This is the package the NY Organ Donor Network sent to me, wishing me well.