I registered with the international stem cell donation network OneMatch, shortly after I moved to Edmonton in 1996. I attended a lunch and learn session at work and was impressed by the speaker's account of her own experience as a stem cell donor. I thought, 'how cool would that be to have the chance to save someone's life'. So my name sat in the database - waiting.
In mid-June of 2007, I was navigating rush hour traffic when a seemingly random thought popped into my head, 'I wonder if OneMatch will ever call me?'. At the beginning of July, not two weeks later, they did. I was a potential match out of three candidates. They asked if I was still interested in being a donor. Of course I was interested! I told the caseworker right then, they needn't look further - I knew it would be me. The standard qualification process began.
I was interviewed and sent for blood work. Once again, I waited. Finally, on November twentieth I was advised that I was indeed, the best match for the recipient. Blood stem cells were required by the recipient and the risks and collection process were explained to me. I would be required to administer growth hormone (GCSF) injections for five days prior to the donation in order to generate enough stems cells for the recipient. The over production of stems cells would likely cause me some discomfort and flu-like symptoms. The stem cells would be harvested via apheresis which involves removal of whole blood using an instrument designed as a centrifuge. The desired cells are extracted and what remains is re-transfused. I was told this would take four to five hours. A physical, more blood tests and in depth interviews followed.
At every juncture the caseworker asked if I was still willing to donate. Just a few weeks prior to the donation when the recipient was in isolation undergoing a radical treatment to destroy his/her immune system to enable his/her body to accept the donor stem cells, she asked again. She informed me that if I changed my mind now, they wouldn't survive. But still, the choice was mine. I forged ahead.
On January fourth, 2008 I caught the train to the University Hospital where I picked up the supply of growth hormone. The pharmacist handed it to me in a paper bag and said, "Look both ways when you cross the street, the contents of that bag are worth about sixty grand." I mustered a weak smile and thanked him. From there I walked gingerly to the Cross Cancer Institute for a self-injection tutorial and my first dose of GCSF.
I arrived around eleven a.m. and was directed to the chemotherapy area. There was no vacancy. Every seat was occupied. All of these people were in various stages of treatment for a life-threatening illness. I thought of my recipient and everything they must've gone through to battle their disease. Now I was their last hope and it was humbling. I felt more than a little overwhelmed. The nurse assigned to show me the ropes quickly found me a seat and my tutorial began. Thankfully, she was both patient and thorough. By twelve fifteen p.m. I had administered my first injection. I thanked the nurse, bundled myself up against the winter weather and headed back to the train.
As I walked I began to experience a tingling sensation throughout my body and my mouth felt peculiar. By the time I boarded the train my neck felt stiff. I wasn't sure if these symptoms were real or imagined. When I left work at the end of the day, my legs felt like I'd had a rigorous workout. I ate supper, had a nap and awoke with a tremendous headache. The flu-like symptoms were upon me.
Over the next few days between injections, I tried to maintain a normal routine. I shopped, got a haircut, even hosted a family dinner. The less I sat still, the better I felt. On walks my mind drifted to the recipient; what they'd gone through, what their age and gender was, whether they were married or single, if they had children, where they lived, was English their first language, what their passion might be. I knew nothing about them. All I really knew for certain was, they wanted to live. I felt the depth of responsibility as the bearer of such hope for this stranger and his/her family. I prayed for all of us and asked legions of angels to gather.
The day before I was scheduled to donate my stem cells I had to have another blood test to ensure I was producing adequately. The results showed I would need an additional injection. The extra dose put the flu-like symptoms over the top.
On the morning of January eighth, donation day, I could barely move. To stand from a sitting position and vice verse caused a pulsing pain in my large bones that took my breath away. My sister-in-law escorted me to the Cross Cancer Institute and deposited me in the expert hands of two nurses who took more blood to check my white cell count and the ratio of stem cells in my blood stream. They took my vitals and had me complete a standard questionnaire. Then, laying in a hospital bed with both arms outstretched on supports they connected the apheresis. The long needles were uncomfortable at first but I tried not to think about it. An anti-coagulant was administered to keep my blood from clotting. This leaches calcium from the body and soon I felt myself vibrating uncomfortably as a result. The nurses tried everything to boost my calcium. Ice cream, milk, copious amounts of Tums, but it was to no avail. So they quickly started an IV drip of calcium to counteract the symptoms or the donation would be halted. It was a moment of peril. Thankfully, the IV was successful.
Throughout the day the two nurses who cared for me and monitored my progress and the apheresis, scratched my nose, fed me the most delicious chicken pot pie I'd ever tasted, kept me hydrated and cheered me on. While they administered to me I didn’t move. They offered me a bathroom break but I declined. I didn’t want to do anything to risk the process. I’d had weeks of bladder training and it paid off. Seven hours later, the countdown began until the indicator on the apheresis showed we had reached the number of stem cells required. We counted out loud. At the golden moment, we cheered and cried. The nurses secured the donation and disconnected me from the apheresis. Another nurse came in to whisk the donation off to the waiting courier. The room spun when I was finally helped up. I tried to scratch my nose, but I couldn’t will my arm to bend.
On January ninth while I recuperated at home, the recipient received all four hundred million of my stems cells. I took the time to complete the post-donation questionnaire, signed the consent form for a second donation, if needed, and enclosed an anonymous letter to the recipient with my best wishes. A few weeks later I received an anonymous letter in return, telling me how well the donation had gone and how grateful they were. We were all so hopeful. If the recipient survived for one year following the donation, we could meet if we chose. Sadly, they succumbed to their illness within that year. To console me, the caseworker who called, told me that I'd given them the most precious gift of all - the gift of time.
Aside from giving birth, caring for my aging parents, and jury duty, donating stem cells has been one of the most rewarding things I've ever done. I learned so much about myself and what I value in life. I also learned a lot about stem cell donation. For example;
- Family members are not always the best match.
- It's important that people of all ethnic origins register with OneMatch
- The recipient and donor must share the same ethnicity.
- Whether blood stem cells or bone stem cells are required is determined by the illness.
- After age fifty registrants are put on an inactive list. I was forty-nine when I donated.
Since donating, I’ve had to make one small adjustment. Every year, for the rest of my life, I am required to have a precautionary blood test because of the use of GCSF. OneMatch sends me a friendly reminder. It’s a small price to pay.
They say you can't buy time - but sometimes you can give it away.
 |
| Me and my 400,000,000 stem cells 1-888-TODONATE |
