Finding My Donor Family III

I have to admit that since I posted my original note, that I have stalled in my quest.  This has been largely due to commitments at university and if I am honest with myself, I suspect that nothing more will now happen until August, when I am no longer bound by timetables, or deadlines.  And then I have days like today, where the enormity of the situation overtakes everything else in my head and I have to just stop what I am doing and shed a few tears.

I cry because he missed out and because his entire family missed out in watching him do, learn, explore, grow, change, develop.  I often wonder about the lad who saved my life.  He'd be 36 now, if the facts that I have are correct.  Would he have married?  What would he have done?  Was he a good kid? Was he a little monkey?  What happened to his best friends at school?  I know mine rallied  when my life support was nearly switched off - in fact their actions saved my life; I came round, out of a coma when mum repeatedly played the tape of them singing, laughing and talking which they'd sent to the hospital.

I cry because I can never make it right for that boy.  If a kid hurt themselves in the playground, I used to give them a hug and just be there for them; I can't do that for him.  I know absolutely it was not my fault that he died, but there is such a thing as survivors guilt.  I am alive, because he is not.  I just want to scoop him up, give him a big cuddle and tell him it will be alright.

I cry because next year I turn 40.  How on earth did I get to 40?  HOW?  It beggars belief that I am probably going to celebrate this milestone.  I am stunned.  Most people seem to run away from admitting they are THAT old - I'm running towards it, with my arms open wide, ready to embrace the next decade.  The fading looks, the increased wrinkles are minor details that really don't matter.  

I  AM GOING TO MAKE IT TO FORTY! 

I cry because I wonder if I have done enough.  Has my life been justification enough for that hellishly expensive operation and that lad's passing?  Have enough of my days counted?  Have I tried to do the right thing?  Have I been honest enough? Kind enough? Thoughtful enough?  Achieved enough?  Truthful enough? If I ever meet my donor mum, will I meet her expectations?  I have two lives for which to account; have my actions been the right ones?  Should I be a better person?

I cry because of the chances I have had, that would have been denied me, had I died back in 1988.  It so nearly wasn't my turn, but a twist of fate, or a stroke of luck, a guardian angel, or the devil watching over me - however you choose to phrase it - has granted me some of the most amazing experiences a person could wish to have.  I have never managed to work out whether I was the luckiest bugger alive, or if I have had the worst hand of cards dealt.  I tend towards the former, but occasionally the latter wins over.  Either way, I know I won the lottery in 1988 and gained a prize worth more than the multimillions you can win on the Euros.  

Finding My Donor Family II

Two leads have come so far, for possible names.  Obviously, I am not going to divulge that information, because at least one of those is wrong and I have to protect their identities.  I feel oddly and fiercely protective towards the memory of my donor - think mother lion and her cub and you'll be approaching the sentiment.  On top of that, it is not fair to anyone who is not my donor!

So now what and where?  Neither lead matches exactly.  One is a year too young and the other is geographically challenging.  One has a mum who was a bit younger than my guesstimation.   I don't feel as if it can be them, but then I can't count them out of the running.  In neither case has the DOD been confirmed, but both were registered in June.  Then there is the accuracy factor.  I searched myself on findmypast.co.uk (or com?) and the record contains an inaccuracy, so are those two leads accurate?  

If I assume all the information I have believed for 26yrs is wrong, then that widens the search area to a ridiculous level.  I have to at least assume it was a boy and that he was approximately 10 years old.  The only 100% known fact is that he passed away on the 6th June 1988, because organ viability.  It's possible the accident happened a week (several weeks?) before and he spent time in hospital.  A cursory glance at some genealogy sites indicates a number of deaths of youngsters (9-11yrs) in 1988: a lot - far far too many.  It was rather sobering.  Maybe I need to sift through all of them, regardless of location, or exact age.   I feel like I'm looking for a needle in a needle stack.

One thing is certain about this, it is quite easy to build a picture of a random strange family online, just by punching in a few details; in fact, I think I've found one lad's brother on the great FB.  It's great for genealogists, but I do feel a bit stalkerish!

Finding my Donor Family

The Background:

On Monday 6th June 1988, at 8.50pm I was sat in the kitchen at home, in Eastbourne.  I was at the table revising for my exams the following day; mum was upstairs watching TV, her feet were up after a long week working as a nurse at the local hospital.  The phone rang and when I answered a polite lady announced it was the hospital; she asked if she could speak to my mum.  A matching set of donor heart and lungs had been found.

Mum and I were transported to the hospital by a blue-light ambulance.  When we arrived there, it was soon apparent that the operation would go ahead this time and by 11.50pm I had said goodbye to my mum and was in the operating theatre.

Back in 1988, we were told little about our donor families and writing/contact was not encouraged.  I think it has now become common practice for the recipient to write initially and say thank you; if they get a reply back, then both parties can continue to correspond, should they both choose to do so.  

'Thank you' is probably the biggest understatement of the century.  You have no idea how 'thank you' really just does not cut it, until you have been there!  However, I have wanted to write that letter for years, but I never really knew how to go about it, especially as so much time has passed.  There aren't just the emotional issues, but also  practical things to consider; my donor family could have moved and the transplant co-ordinator may not be able to pass on the letter.  What if my letter caused upset, instead of bringing comfort? The last thing I want to do is cause more distress to a family who made the ultimate gift-giving decision, but I know I have to do it.  There is a mum and dad (maybe brothers or sisters) out there whose son is still here, 26 years later.  With this in mind, I am attempting to make my gratitude known - maybe social media can help to make this happen. Feel free to pass this on and repost it!

My Donor:

I don't have much information on which to go, but I do know he was a 10 year old from the Reading area.  I *think he passed away after he left school on the afternoon of Monday 6th June, 1988.  The exact date is guess work; I appreciate that the accident may have happened a week before and he spent time in hospital.  However, considering I got THE CALL just before 9pm, I can't imagine that it would have happened much after the end of the school day, because of roadside attendance of the ambulance and the process that has to happen before donation can be granted.  The chances are that happened before the early evening.

Does this sound like someone you used to know?  Did you live in Reading in 1988 and know a family that lost their son at the beginning of June? I am keen to trace my donor family - even if they don't want to write/meet, I'd love them to know how grateful I am and how great things have been, that the operation was a success and that we are still ok - both of us.

If any info is not right, but the date fits and you donated, then we may be in the right direction.  You'll have to forgive me, it was 26yrs ago and none of this is confirmed...other than the date!!!

A Red Herring?

From a TV donor drive/news interview a few days after my operation I also suspect the following: my donor mum was between 30-45 years of age and she had dark? brown? hair; from the camera angle, it looked short - a jaw length bob? a pixie cut?  The lady was interviewed about organ donation as her son had passed away a few days previously.  The camera angle was from the top of the chest up and you seemed slim, your face was at least.

Even if the description is not quite right, were you interviewed on TV about the need for organs?  Does this seem familiar?

To My Donor Mum,
If you are reading this, please know that your decision was the right one.  I have lived a good life, with many friends and family.  I am loved and I do love.

I am eternally grateful to you and your family; it was down to you that my mum and dad did not lose me.  It was because of your son that I have lived my life.  It is because of your son that I am looking forward to my 40th birthday, next year.  He has run with me for the last 26 years at a steady rate of 90bpm.  He has drawn in air for me, 16 times per minute, hour by hour, day by day.  Firemen, nurses and doctors save people all the time, he has saved me one beat at a time, one drawing in of a breath at a time, for the last 26 years.  It is an understatement that I call him a hero.

Together we have achieved much.  I've been to university, I've travelled, I learned to drive, I have fallen in and out of love.  I've had a career.  I bought a house. I have a cat!  None of this would have been possible without you, or without your lad.

I think of my donor family as my other family; you are never far from my thoughts and as the 6th of June comes round every year I try to mark the occasion in some way.

I have lots more to say to you, but a public posting is not the right place.  If you are 'my mum', or a member of the family then you can leave a comment.  No comments are published, unless I give permission, so all information is confidential.  If you don't want to be found, then this too is absolutely fine.  If you just want to know more about me, then you can read this blog.  Whatever the outcome, I hope that you know we are both ok and that I do my very best to look after your boy.  Together we are an excellent team.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart and with love xx