San Francisco Chronicle - (Sunday)
What it really means to be an organ donor
It was a Thursday in January when my husband, Rick, got a text that his younger brother, Bob, was experiencing a medical emergency. It was just two days after Bob’s 66th birthday. He was in intensive care at the Community Hospital in Monterey. We packed a bag, got our dog, fixed a cup of coffee and headed out.
Bob Moran worked as a sales representative for Built-in Distributors, (an appliance store in Seaside) and lived in Santa Cruz. He told co-workers of headaches when he arrived that morning. Around 10 he rose from his chair, walked a few steps, grabbed his head and went down. First responders arrived within moments and performed CPR on Bob for 25 minutes on the way to the hospital.
Doctors performed tests, took blood and examined him. It was an aneurysm, a brain bleed.
He never regained consciousness.
Strict COVID protocols allowed only two visitors at a time, so Bob’s wife, Lori, and Rick went in. After a couple of hours Bob’s daughter, Terra, and I were allowed in.
Tubes were feeding Bob air to keep him alive.
It was late in the day and Lori looked beat. “Let’s get some food in you,” I suggested. We were both steeling ourselves for what was coming — Bob wasn’t going to make it. But she would wait for his youngest daughter to arrive before making any decisions.
As Lori finished her sandwich, her phone rang with a call that no one expected. Bob was an organ donor.
She had no idea.
That’s when this journey took a different turn. What felt like the end suddenly became the beginning of something else.
California’s Donor Network Registry is automatically notified when a person is on life support and meets certain criteria. Donor advocates wanted to meet with Lori right away. Doing so wasn’t a choice.
That’s because when Bob got his driver’s license, he checked the box to be a donor, and from that point on, it is considered a legal document of his wishes. State and federal laws back the rights of donor organizations to support that decision and they carry it out. Advocates come to the hospital and facilitate the administration of the donor’s wishes. Who knew?
Within hours, Lori and Rick were signing paperwork, answering pointed questions about Bob’s habits and life choices. At a vulnerable point, they held together. As Rick said, “It took the grieving right out of it when it turned bureaucratic.”
Terra and I stayed with Bob, letting him know how much he is loved. We wondered, is he alive? Gone? In limbo?
It felt like yes to all of that. We couldn’t inform other family members of his status because we weren’t sure. As a donor myself, I never knew the process until I saw it with my own eyes.
Though legally bound, we tried our best to mentally and emotionally come around. If this was Bob’s wish, we would carry it out. Lori, Rick, Terra and I, with the support of the Moran family, got through it advocating for Bob and the family as much as possible. We discussed what this gift-of-self would mean to others knowing that Bob liked helping people.
Hospital staff spoke softly to us, in polite tones. But one nurse came in and delivered it to us straight. “Oh yeah” he said. “They’ll wheel him into the operating room, have a moment of silence, they’ll read a message from the family to the surgeons, and they’ll go to work harvesting kidneys, lungs, liver, tissue, anything that can be used. Usually, a row of vehicles wait outside to transport organs to other hospitals, to people in need. It happens very quickly.” We appreciated his candor. That last day we were greeted with some amazing news. There were perfect matches for Bob’s kidneys and liver!
We imagined families quietly celebrating, prayers answered, a recipient grabbing their go-bag to meet up with destiny. The lifesaving organ will give them more time with their child, husband, wife or friend. And they will know that someone, some unknown family is giving everything they had to help a perfect stranger.
We were ready for Bob’s final ride, called the “Walk of Honor.” In a hospital bed, he was wheeled down the corridor with Team Moran behind him. ICU staff lined the hallway, hands either in prayer or on their heart. Lori whispered to Rick: “Bob always loved a crowd.”
We thanked the staff as we walked. The door to the operating room opened wide. Bob was wheeled in and the doors closed. And then was gone.
If you have a pink dot on your driver’s license, it means you’re an organ donor. If you are, talk with your friends and family. It’s easy to check that box on your driver’s license application. People need these lifesaving organs and there are not enough donors to answer the call. But go in wide-eyed knowing what you’re asking of your family. It will be a shock if they don’t know it’s coming.
If you do check this box and communicate openly and honestly with your loved ones, it will be the gift of a lifetime. Someone will receive this generous gift of life, allowing them to fulfill their purpose. Though confidential, it is possible for donor and recipient families to agree to connect.
Our family certainly wants this, to share in how Bob’s life brought us together.
Bob’s essence will live on, saving people he never even knew. It makes his loss more bearable.