 |
| What Am I … Chopped Liver? |
|
In February 2002, my uncle Michael underwent blood tests that revealed liver problems. Years earlier, Michael, a hemophiliac, had contracted hepatitis C from a tainted blood transfusion. As it commonly does, hepatitis led to cirrhosis. His physician informed him that his life depended on receiving a new liver. He was officially placed on the national transplant list in June 2002. This is a tale of several CUA alumni. Michael, B.A. 1957, J.D. 1964, is the oldest of five children. The second oldest is my father, Martin, B.A. 1960, coach of the CUA men’s tennis team since 1961. One of my aunts, New York Times columnist Maureen Dowd, B.A. 1973, is the youngest. Michael and his wife never had children, but when my siblings and I were growing up, they were very close to us. After Michael became ill, I began organ-donation research, and the statistics shocked me. How was it possible that 17 people die every day for lack of a donated organ when there is an existing solution? Organ donation — OK’d on a driver’s license or by verbally telling loved ones — could completely solve the problem. I eventually realized that by the time Michael would be entitled to a donor liver, he would likely be too sick to survive the surgery. Then I came across the living-donor option. This relatively new procedure involves a healthy donor undergoing a surgery in which 60 percent of the liver is removed and placed into the sick recipient. In yet another miracle of the human body, the liver is capable of regenerating itself, so that, over time, both donor and recipient have fully functioning organs. When I asked Michael about the option, he unequivocally said no. He said it involved risks to which he would not subject me, my parents and my grandmother. Being a pig-headed lawyer, I ignored him. But I knew I couldn’t get him to concede unless the procedure truly was a viable option. To that end, and without Michael’s blessing, I contacted Georgetown University Hospital. I was not optimistic when Dr. Lynt Johnson, chief of transplant surgery, stated that less than 5 percent of willing donors are suitable matches — not to mention Fortunately I passed all their tests, with the only hurdle coming from the psychiatrist who practically scolded me, asking, “Why on earth do you want to give away half your liver?” Taken aback by his tone, I joked that I wanted to lose a quick 2 pounds. He wasn’t amused, so I told him the truth. I told him that I loved my uncle; I told him how much Michael meant to me and to my family; and I told him that I simply could not watch him languish on the 80,000-person waiting list if there was something I could do about it. I was approved to be Georgetown University Hospital’s 13th live liver donor in November 2002. That was easy. A more difficult convincing lay ahead. In retrospect, I understand the resistance I encountered. Indeed, I experienced doubt myself. Not all organ-donation stories end well, and family and friends repeatedly pointed out the risks, including death. For a while, I questioned whether I possessed the mettle to go through with it, and Georgetown offered an escape — I could decide to back out and they would tell my family it was a medical decision made by their team. No one would be the wiser. Most unnerving was when my mother, Jone Dowd, tried to dissuade me. Mom has been a fixture on the staff of CUA’s Department of Athletics since 1960. My respect for her character and integrity demanded pause as I faced this decision — which I recognized was only my own to make. Ultimately I realized that there was no way I could do nothing when I had been approved to do something. After making that resolution, I approached Michael. Over dinner one evening, I asked for permission to save his life. As before, he refused. Whereas I was weighing the probability that Michael would die on the waiting list versus the risk of an even earlier death via unsuccessful surgery, he was also factoring in the risk to me, and that was unacceptable to him. Fortunately, my persistence paid off. I think Michael realized that his refusal would not only practically ensure his own death, but it would deprive me of helping someone I love. I know his allowing me to participate was probably the most difficult decision of his life. But to me, the alternative was unthinkable. On May 28, 2003, we underwent the procedures that removed his diseased liver, cut off part of mine and placed it into him. My first memory was waking up in the ICU and asking when the surgery was to begin. My sister, Dana, B.A. 1989, who had been crying, finally laughed and said it was over. My hospital stay was tearful, but otherwise uneventful. I joked with the surgeon that he replaced part of my liver with extra tear ducts. I cried every time the nurses brought in flowers or letters from friends. I cried when I phoned my grandmother (Michael’s mother) and let her know it was over. I cried the first time I walked into Michael’s room after surgery where he was still unconscious. And I cried again two days later when I saw him finally awake and he whispered “thank you.” Shortly after surgery, my aunt Maureen told our story in her New York Times column. In it, she explained why she had been afraid of becoming an organ donor but then asked millions of Times readers, “If Jennifer is brave enough to do it alive, how can I be scared of doing it dead?” That column elicited hundreds of e-mails and letters to the Times, from people saying that my aunt’s words had convinced them to register as organ donors. Because of the column, we were invited to the New York Organ Donor Network’s 25th anniversary celebration. There Maureen spoke and Michael and I lit ceremonial candles. Maureen bought me a dress with the middle cut out to expose the surgical scar. Trust me … wearing that dress took more courage than deciding to donate! Our story was used by Maureen in two more Times columns and in a Good Housekeeping magazine article. The following year, Maureen won an award from the Association of Organ Procurement Organizations for her writings about organ donation. While all the attention was nice, Michael and I didn’t go through this to have our story in print. We never intended to inspire non-donors to sign up, or to educate the public. I simply wanted to keep Michael around a little longer. Today, more than two years post-op, the surgery is considered a complete success and we’ve both received clean bills of health. So now, when people say how generous my decision was or how brave I am, I thank them. I realize how fortunate I am to have been given the opportunity to act on my convictions. And while I believe my actions were no different than what others would do in the same circumstance, now I know I have the wherewithal to“just do it!” |
Return to the CUA Magazine Contents Page Return to the CUA Public Affairs Home Page Revised: November 2005 All
contents copyright © 2005. |
When people hear about what I did in 2003, they universally react with high praise — lauding my actions as altruistic and heroic. I’m often called courageous or — sometimes — crazy. The compliments amuse and even embarrass me since I don’t particularly agree with them. I never thought of
saving the life of someone I love as “extraordinary” if it was within my power … but “thinking” and “doing” are two different matters.