Over this past year, sports fans have witnessed some pretty astonishing things (the St. Louis Cardinals…really??). We’ve also been privy to some things best forgotten (Ndamukong Suh’s impromptu Thanksgiving Day audition for Stomp). The Trail Blazers and the NBA are back from the brink, and the Oregon Ducks have a shot at a Rose Bowl championship. Spring Training is just around the corner. Best of all, it’s only about three months before we get to begin obsessing about the Timbers all over again.
The thing I’ll remember this year for has nothing to do with sports. What I’ll remember is an example of selflessness and sacrifice, a lesson in perspective we could all learn from. So many of us get so wrapped up in the fleeting, ephemeral results of games and seasons that we sometimes forget that sports aren’t life. Life is real. Life matters. Sports aren’t life and death; life and death are…well, life and death. Sports aren’t serious; ultimately they don’t really even matter. Life and death? That matters.
A few days ago, my girlfriend’s brother-in-law, Burke, received a kidney transplant at Good Samaritan Hospital in Portland. I spent the day at the hospital, hoping for the best and doing what little I could to help. That experience left me with a much different perspective on my own life and good fortune. It also left me disturbingly aware of the sometimes horribly arbitrary and capricious nature of the universe.
I’m 51, and I’ve never spent a night in a hospital. Sure, I’ve had my share of sports injuries- concussions, dislocations, knee and ankle injuries, and an assortment of sprains and strains. That’s chump change compared to what Burke’s endured. The kidney transplant he received was his second. Burke suffered a heart attack in college, and he’s suffered through a distressing catalog of assorted maladies and medical issues over the years…and he’s all of 38. He has a wife, Amy, who adores him and three beautiful children. This is a man who should be wondering where his two-year-old son hid his binky, not whether he’ll be around to walk his daughters down the aisle at their weddings.
A couple years ago, Burke and his family met and became friends with Liz, who works with my girlfriend, and her husband Brian. They became close over time and gradually became aware of Burke’s history. When his kidney began to fail about a year ago, the idea of another transplant became an undeniable and ever-present reality.
Liz is a nurse, and she understands the medical realities of a transplant, so it was no surprise when the conversation turned to blood types. Before long, Liz and Burke discovered that they had something in common. Without being asked, Liz offered to donate a kidney to Burke…and so the journey began that led to me sitting in a critical care waiting room at Good Sam.
No matter how “routine” surgeons try to make it sound, there’s nothing remotely routine about harvesting a kidney from one body and inserting it into another. To a layperson like myself, the entire exercise seems akin to playing God- miraculous, awe-inspiring, and…well, miraculous. It took two teams of surgeons and about five hours for the whole process to be completed, but in the end it was a success. Burke has a properly functioning kidney and the prospect of better health in front of him. Though he’s facing a lengthy recovery, he’ll eventually be healthy enough to do the job he most loves- being a father. Liz is a couple pounds lighter and in good shape. Her recovery will be somewhat shorter, and before long she’ll be able to resume her life with a minimum of restrictions.
This holiday season, Burke’s received the ultimate Christmas gift. Liz has the satisfaction of knowing that her friend will be around for his family. Brian should be recommended for sainthood for not only being amenable to his wife’s sacrifice, but in holding up as well as he did. It couldn’t have been easy knowing that someone you love dearly is assuming risks she doesn’t have to, even if it’s to help a friend.
The good news is that everything went well. Burke has a healthy kidney and can plan on being around for his wife and children. Liz, though she’d never openly do this, can take pride in the knowledge that she’s literally given the gift of life to Burke. They and their families will forever have a connection and a bond that goes beyond mere words. All of us, myself included, can and should take a measure of inspiration from the selflessness of the sacrifice Liz made without concern or hesitation.
The bad news is that while Burke was fortunate to find a compatible and willing kidney donor, many others aren’t so lucky. Roughly 88,000 Americans are currently waiting for a kidney transplant. On average, twelve Americans die every day while waiting for a compatible kidney. As most of us are born with two kidneys, my hope is that the knowledge that we can live a normal life with only one might set some of us to thinking. Liz’ example has me considering the possibility of being a living donor. After witnessing Liz’ selflessness, I find myself inspired by witnessing the difference one person can make.
If you’re curious about kidney donation and think you might be interested, check out the Alliance for Paired Donation. There you can begin the process of learning how you can make a difference. Not everyone can or might be willing to donate a kidney (cash also helps). If even one or two people reading this can see their way clear to donating, that’s significant. That will make a difference and perhaps even save a life.
I’ve learned from Liz’ example what true heroism is all about. As fans, we listen to sportswriters and sportscasters prattle on about “heroism” in the athletic arena, but what I witnessed that day at Good Sam convinced me of one very simple truth. Real heroes aren’t the ones wearing cleats or high tops. They don’t score touchdowns or hit home runs. The real heroes are lying in hospital beds. They’re wearing surgical scrubs and an IV needle with a morphine drip. They’re eating food that could only charitably be described as “prison cuisine.” Real heroes are people like Liz, who give of themselves and subject themselves to pain, discomfort, and no small amount of risk in order that another might live. Real heroes are those who do something they’re under no obligation to do; they do it so that a father may live and be there for his family. Next to this astonishing selflessness and undeniable heroism, sports seem so…insignificant. When you think about it, sports ARE insignificant. Life and death? THAT’S significant.
My wish for all who read this is that you’ll enjoy a wonderful and peaceful holiday season. May you and yours be and remain safe, happy, and possessed of good health and good cheer. And may you never have to travel the path Burke and his family has.
Merry Christmas, y’all!
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