The other day, I left for work later than I would have liked. It was early evening and already darker than dark could be. Given the time, I took my "running late route," criss-crossing the city from the freeway to city streets. Traffic had been moving fine and then unexpectedly slowed to a dead crawl. "Great," I thought. Construction, probably... or an accident-- some moron running a red light. I waited through five traffic lights at the busy intersection, glancing at the clock radio and wondering how much longer??!!By traffic light cycle #3, I saw that spectators had already gathered onto the sidewalks outside the Walgreens. Definitely, an accident. By the time I crossed the intersection, I'd seen it-- the bright blue SUV that was completely flipped over on its side. I couldn't figure out how that happened, couldn't see any other vehicles. As I drove by, a cluster of people were talking to emergency personnel. Off in the distance, I heard more on the way. I shook my head. Days before Thanksgiving...such a shame. Damnit-- who cares if I'm late.
A few minutes later, on the same street, I saw an ambulance ahead of me. Its lights were off, its siren silent, and for a flicker of a moment, I saw a young woman in the back. She was in her late twenties [maybe thirties], dark hair. Her eyes were closed, her skin was glowing, and she looked eerily peaceful. Flash... the ambulance turned left, the moment was gone, but the image of the woman stuck. I couldn't get her out of my head. What did she do that morning? Where was she going? Where is her family? What was her last image?
"Tomorrow is promised to no one, " I read somewhere recently. Often, we take it for granted. What doesn't get done today can be tackled tomorrow. We can give our friend a call later. We can see the world after we retire. What if tomorrow doesn't come for us? What if we never retire? Flash forward-- What if the world just stops? Sure, there are lots of 'what ifs', but I've learned to accept the mystery. I may not know how much time I have, but whatever it is, it won't be time enough for the things I want to do, the people I'd like to meet, and the places I'd like to see.
Days after seeing the young woman in the ambulance, I had the mundane task of renewing my drivers license. Everything was routine until Question #3. I paused at the checkbox: Give Life! Become an organ and tissue donor.
You see, I've never been an organ or tissue donor. When I was in high school, my dad lost the majority of one of his kidneys to cancer. I was terrified that there would be a day when I'd be asked to surrender a kidney to him. I knew I'd want to say NO! but he's my dad, and there lies the complication. I lived in fear that I'd have to make that choice someday. So, the idea of someone harvesting my organs and my eye tissue in some sterile environment upon my death just weirds me out. My brain can accept the idea of cremation easier than the idea of donating my organs. Why? I don't know. It's one of those things. "You're dead. Why do you care?," people will say. Well, yeah, I'll be dead, but it's the idea of it.
I deliberated, I had an entire conversation about it in my head. And still, there was my pen, hovering above the checkbox on Question #3: Give Life!
Click, click, click... the conflicting thoughts were knocking about in my head like billiard balls. Give Life! After an eternity, my pen made contact with the paper. I checked the box. I've never checked the box and part of me couldn't believe that I had. What was the tipping point, you may wonder? I thought of that young woman in the ambulance and I thought of myself. To save my life, medical personnel might need to cut me open, carve me up, perform surgery-- do whatever it takes to save me. I may even need an organ someday. Who knows? The little pink dot that will appear on my new drivers license says that if I were beyond saving, I can save someone else. I checked the box in black ink: I'm now an organ and tissue donor.
http://www.donateLIFEcalifornia.org
Copyright 2009 by KLiedle
Photo credit: 'elegant death' by Rodrigo Adonis
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