Kirkepiscatoid

The phone rang about 7:45 a.m. this morning. It was one of my anesthesiologist friends at the hospital. "Well," I laughed, I wondered who the first person was going to call me in 2010 would be...congratulations!"

We had a good visit for a minute, as she had been one of the "lurkers" from my Virtual New Years Eve Party on Facebook last night. "Oh, wow, I LOVED all the '80's tracks you found last night, it was great!" We laughed about the party atmosphere of it all and how when you are on call, virtual margaritas, mojitos, and blue Hawaiians are very handy. Then she got down to business.

"We've got an organ donor. The organ harvest team is on their way and they are going to want some frozen sections." For the non-medical, a "frozen section" is when we freeze a little piece of tissue and make a slide of it, stain it, and examine it. In this case, the purpose of the frozen section is to see if selected transplant organs are viable.

I did not know the details of the case, but I did know it was a person far younger than me, and given the timing of it, my assumption is "probable vehicular trauma." The first day of 2010 was starting off for me knowing a young person is brain dead.

As I drove in to the hospital this morning, I thought about how the first day of the year is starting off horribly for some family--they could be losing a child, a spouse, a parent, a sibling, a friend. The first day of the year leaves this family little hope, little promise that 2010 is going to be anything for them but a year of grief. I thought about what a great time I had last night, how...how, well...ALIVE I felt in the center of my "virtual party." Alive and grateful for a past, a present, and a future. Alive and grateful with the love of my live time friends and my cyber-friends. Now my real world didn't just creep in, it barreled through the front door and tracked mud on the carpet. That little twinge of guilt crept in--that tiny feeling that maybe I did not deserve to be so blessed. As a more or less "secular monastic," I realize that if I dropped dead, I don't have immediate family members in the house that would be directly affected, but most other people do. Yes, there would be plenty of folks to grieve for me, but my immediate household, to put it bluntly, consists of two dogs.

The twenty minute drive to the hospital from my house for this purpose is always one of the longest, loneliest drives of my life. In almost twenty years, I fail to avoid sadness for what I am about to do. I know that in a few minutes, the sole purpose of my life is to sit behind my microscope and declare pieces of tissue "viable" or "not viable." It is as close as I get, and as close as I want to come, to sitting at the Judgment Seat of God. Then, a life will end and the work of harvesting of organs will begin. If all goes well, optimally there will be two kidneys, a liver divided into halves, a pancreas, heart, two lungs, two corneas, and possibly even bone marrow and soft tissue/connective tissue harvested from this one person. Of course, it all depends on what was irreparably damaged and what was not, but in short, a lot of pieces and parts will be collected.

Then, without fail, a different set of images creep into my mind. I tend to think about "what happens next." All over the country, phones are ringing. I think about a line of people who have been waiting. Waiting and slowly dying. Waiting for a phone call that might not come in time--and the words "we found a donor."

I think about how something in I just participated in, something I hate to do and think about, has started a chain of events all over the country that is bringing hope and new life to people I don't even know. How the first day of 2010 is a day of "rebirth" for other families. How the prayers of others were answered. How one person's death is another's new life. In those moments, my heart moves from darkness to light. How every time in this scenario, the drive back home seems lighter and freer.

Today, at the stoplight of Potter and Baltimore, I felt compelled to recite the General Thanksgiving in the Book of Common Prayer, and I had to fight to keep the tears from welling up too much. It feels so weird to have tears of simultaneous sadness and joy, and it felt even weirder for it to be happening at a stoplight, but there it was...

Almighty God, father of all mercies,
we your unworthy servants give you humble thanks
for all your goodness and loving kindness
to us and to all whom you have made.
We bless you for our creation, preservation,
and all the blessings of this life;
but above all, for your immeasurable love
in the redemption of the world by our Lord Jesus Christ;
for the means of grace, and the hope of glory.
And, we pray, give us such an awareness of your mercies
that with truly thankful hearts we may show forth your praise,
not only with our lips, but in our lives,
by giving up our selves to your service,
and by walking before you with holiness and righteousness all our days;
through Jesus Christ our Lord,
to whom, with you and the Holy Spirit,
be honor and glory throughout all ages. Amen.

Today, on this first day of the year, take a minute to pray for the family and friends of one who was lost so young--someone who will never have the life and memories that you and I have and the blessings of this life we so casually ignore. Take a minute to pray for the recipients of the living gift they are about to receive on this day, for the hope and new life they bring...and yeah, even take a minute to pray for a country pathologist who every now and then has to sit behind a microscope and be both Bearer of Light and Shadow of Death, all at the same time. There's enough prayer to keep us all busy for a spell, here.