You’ll never seea PBS program, let’s say a NOVA about the effect of The Simpsons on Tourette’s patients with echolalia, brought to you by a grant from the
Richard A. and Ellyn S. von Huben Foundation. But that does not mean that I do not have a deep desire to perform at least one grand philanthropic gesture in my life. Grand philanthropic acts are much easier if one has something to give away. Money always being in short supply around here, I was thrilled to receive a phone call from the HLA Registry that I was a partial match for someone in need of a bone marrow transplant. Because my initial blood sample, given at a time around 1990, only tested for 4 of 6 markers, I submitted another sample a few weeks ago. I guess it is necessary to match all six markers, though I thought I saw somewhere that 5 out of six was close enough.
When the woman from the registry called, I felt as if
I had won the lottery. A decision I had made, over a decade ago, and mostly forgotten about except for yearly updates, was of some significance. Somebody out there might need me. Here was my chance at philanthropy.
After weeks of praying that things would work out, that God’s will be done and things would be OK for that anonymous someone referred to in my prayers as, “you know, that person,
*” I received a letter from the HLA registry. Sort of like getting the thin letter from a college of choice, I knew this wasn’t good news. If the next two markers had matched, there would have been a phone call. A flurry of activity. (The drawing of the supplementary specimen was an example of clerical efficiency and FedEx timing as poetry in motion.) A letter says, “Sorry. The other two markers weren’t a match. Thanks you for your generosity. We’re throwing your name back in the pool....”
I have only ten more years of eligibility. (If I knuckle under and replace my hip I’m out of the running altogether). Maybe I’ll get my chance. But today it’s back to performing small acts of love and generosity. Very small.
For now, I’d appreciate any prayers for “you know, that person.” That person who has a lot more at stake than a chance to make a grand gesture.
* Now I understand why the bone marrow people have such rigid controls about how much a donor can know about a recipient, at what point they can correspond and when, so many years after a succcessful transplant, they can actually meet. In the few weeks awaiting the results of the blood test, I became quite attached to my potential recipient. I, the less than lachrymose type, shed a few tears after reading my letter. (My letter was sweet and upbeat. You know...you’re back in the running, kid. You may hear from us again. etc.) I can only pray that the person who was in need of marrow and perhaps peripheral stem cells has a future that is quite so bright. Knowing next to nothing about he/she, I can never forget “you know, that person.”
When I was growing up, the churches in my hometown were reference points. (e.g., “take a right where Hwy. 57 forks at St. Francis Borgia” or “the new little restaurant is across from First Immanuel”) I hadn’t thought much of that until I was talking to a woman who is new to the area and was unsure to which parish she would belong. And I’m telling her how to find the church by using the GAP as a starting point. “...Then go south one block...blah, blah, blah.”) I don’t think this is the first time I’ve done this. I think there is a significance to this. Beyond the fact that the GAP, Williams-Sonoma and Starbucks have negotiated prime locations.
