Be The Match, Part 1: Answering the Call

It was a Tuesday afternoon when I made the phone call, the kind of lazy summer day when everything seems slower. Even when work is busy during the summer, I feel like I’m walking through the shallow end of a swimming pool, dragging my feet and struggling to build momentum, while the world seems to continue rushing by. I’d been at my desk, slogging through a service plan or progress notes or some other task that isn’t the main reason why one chooses to go to social work school, when the small number “1” suddenly appeared in parentheses in one of my email tabs. I clicked on the email and immediately sat up straighter in my desk chair.

“You’ve been identified as a possible marrow match,” the email read. “Please call me immediately.”

I left my desk to find a quieter space where I could internalize what I was reading and make the call to the representative. I re-read the email a few times to make sure I hadn’t misunderstood. The text didn’t offer much information, aside from the fact that the potential recipient was a man a few years older than me, but the message was clear.

“When you joined the National Marrow Donor Program’s Be The Match Registry, you did so knowing that one day you could help save a life. Now someone is waiting for your response.”

A chill ran up my spine as I texted T about the email. I began swimming through mental images of needles, hospital gowns and sick days, doing my best to keep my balance as brightly colored spots began dancing in front of my eyes. I opened the window next to me, sat down and forced myself to breathe to relieve the sudden vertigo. There was something about putting it in writing, even if it was a text message, that solidified the reality of the situation for me; it didn’t matter how little information I had at that point.

“I’m about to call. I should say I can donate, right?”

The truth is, I had already made the decision when I asked the question. I knew I was going to donate, whether that meant a pinprick in my arm or a large needle in my hip. I’ve always gotten a bit squeamish when talking about medical procedures; I have to lie down for blood draws in order to keep from fainting, for instance. And then there was the time I got a regular checkup and turned the color of St. Patrick’s Day clovers when my doctor mentioned doing regular checks for testicular cancer. This situation, though, felt different. My historically weak medical tolerance notwithstanding, I had already decided I was in by the time T’s answer of “Of course” came through.

I took a deep breath and shook out my arms to loosen up. I hadn’t realized how tense my shoulder blades had suddenly become, not to mention my neck. I put my feet up on a nearby chair, slowed and deepened my breaths and began dialing.

The call itself lasted about an hour. The representative asked me a series of preliminary questions about my medical history, which I answered with “Yes,” “No,” and “God, I hope not.” She determined that I still met the criteria for continuing with the process and gave me more information about the different donation procedures. Maybe it was the fact that I was so caught up in the conversation or maybe it was that I had already moved past the initial bout of discomfort but, this time, I had no problem hearing mentions of needles, blood draws and general anesthesia. I wasn’t going to find out for at least two months – and perhaps up to six! – whether or not I would be chosen as a match for this particular patient but I was already preparing.

A few days later, I went for the blood work to determine whether my body was as good a match in reality as it seemed to be on paper. T and our kids came with me, partially to make sure I didn’t faint and partially because we had explained to E what was happening. We told him that people’s bodies are made up of building blocks called cells, just like his Lego bricks. We said that there was someone whose Lego cells weren’t working quite right and that he needed cells from someone else’s body to replace his in order to stay alive. That was where I came in; I was going to try to give him some of my cells so that he could live. He gave me a hug, smiled and agreed that what I was doing was “cool.”

The blood test went off without a hitch; not only did I not faint, I was making jokes with the nurse throughout the draw. (It wasn’t lost on me, of course, that one of the reasons she kept me talking was to prevent me from fainting in the first place. Also, spoiler alert: fainting is going to come up again in the future.) But I finished, gave E and S hugs and kisses, and got on the train to go to work.

Then it was all about waiting.

Please visit Be The Match to find out more about their mission, their program and the people they have helped. I hope you’ll also consider joining the Be The Match Registry so that you can potentially help save someone’s life. 

Also, just in case you were wondering, I haven’t partnered with Be The Match in any official capacity for this post, aside from my being on their donor list. I wasn’t compensated at all, nor will I be for any future posts or my involvement in the program. If you’d like to read the other installments in this series, you can find them here.