I can only imagine the procedure, the cold operating theater
now closed to the family, the bright lights, the surgical team
in scrubs, gowned and gloved. The whoosh of ventilators;
steady beeps; clinking tools; young nurses murmuring.
And that first incision, from the suprasternal notch
to the pubis, the gall bladder excised, retracting the esophagus
to the left with careful finger, another incision from the retro
hepatic inferior vena cava and the aforementioned esophagus.
One by one, quiet but hurried, her various organs
and useful tissues excised, removed, matched, tagged,
then hurriedly shuttled to other people who would
tearfully accept what could only be given in passing.
And now the heart, still soldiering on despite the absence
of orders from above, core cooling having gently slowed it;
cross clamping complete; chilled lactated Ringer’s solution
flowing to the liver, which is removed after the cardiectomy.
The kidneys removed, other tissues taken, and the donor
procedure is over. It has taken a little over an hour
to harvest her organs, for the green surgical drape
to cover her remains, a few minutes more for the
lead surgeon to swing open the doors to say again
how very sorry she was that such a life was so short
and so tragically ended, but that a part of her lives on now
in 58 other people, including a single mother with two
very young children, who received her heart; a man
with liver failure, spared; so many grafts, so many lives
saved, so much good from so much bad. She shakes
their hands, wishes them well and turns away to others.
And the family, proud but silent, turns away as well,
hearts broken in grief for the loss of her beautiful smile,
her crazy dances, her love of Jesus. And while the
young mother’s new heart is also heavy, still, it leaps
on, and on, and on, and on, in wild thanksgiving.
