About two and a half years ago I went to London to jettison
a few of my extra stem cells, I gave them to a stranger who needed them more than I did. Whilst this was of course exceptionally heroic,
selfless and fantastic of me, it was also extremely easy: I had to endure the
hardship of a couple of days off uni, free transport to and accommodation in
London, spending a couple of comfortable hours attached to a machine that
selectively extracted (apheresis) my extra blood cells (which I’d made with the
help of a few G-CSF injections previously). I then had some time to leisurely
amble around London and see a few friends before travelling back home feeling
smug.
I was probably insufferably sanctimonious for a good while
after this, I’d proudly wear my Anthony Nolan T-shirt confident in the
knowledge that I’d be eventually starting my medical career with a plus-one
advantage on lives saved and so I’d casually drop my admirable sacrifices into
Facebook statuses and conversations wherever they could be shoehorned in. My delusional
sense of self-importance slowly began to wane as I began to realise that what
was easy for me would be hugely significant for a patient somewhere whose
treatment cells carried no guarantee of success. There was a very real chance
that for someone in the world suffering a long and unpleasant encounter with
blood cancer my donation of stem cells represented only an unfulfilled promise
of cure, a missed chance, a dire conclusion. Suddenly I didn’t feel quite so
cheerfully heroic anymore.
Yesterday my mood on the subject changed somewhat: I received a short thank
you letter from the lady who received my cells, and truly it made my week. I’m
grateful for the letter and its consequence and I will keep it always. The
Anthony Nolan Charity takes steps to prevent premature contact between donor
and recipient to minimise any potential for emotional harm or coercion, and to
protect anonymity and patient confidentiality. For these reasons I’ve been
asked not to share the contents of the letter but I think I can share my
inference that the writer is a European lady who, to my delight, is both alive
and well. (In addition she has my DNA kicking about in her veins which is
pretty cool; I hope she doesn’t bleed at any crime scenes.)
So it’s super easy to give someone a chance at life, and,
reverting to smug mode, it feels really great. I’ve also come to appreciate
that not all of these chances end as well as it did for my recipient and so I
have two conclusions:
One, self-congratulatory fist pumping is not always
immediately appropriate, better to be humble and to try and first consider the
impact and risks for the patient (let the patient be your first concern etc.).
Two, for these patients to even have a chance requires as
many people as possible to register to give up some blood if they are a match.
I cannot overstate how easy it is to join the register, and the donation
process is itself ludicrously easy (and painless), and also a fun and exciting
day out. I can’t see a reason not to sign up.
(You get to feel a bit pleased with yourself by getting
involved too, but see above for some obvious caveats. Basically, be classier
than me.)
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