Elixir of Life

Chapter 9: It's Time

Faryal Hamed

May 7th, 2017

King Faisal Medical Centre

Faryal's long dark-brown hair lay beside her in the white-sheet bed of the Surgical ICU's Preoperative Holding Area. Wide, sky-blue curtains separated her bed from others, but each bed was given comfortable spaces in between. She was dressed in a soft-colored hospital gown, with a peripheral IV line in her arm. Faryal shared the bed with Ameerah lying asleep beside her.

Her stomach grumbled as she had not eaten since seven last night, and the clock on the bare wall ahead of her read, 1:50 a.m. No curtain covered the front side of her section as hospital staff walked back and forth across.

Unfortunately, even in medicine, not all lives were equal. A patient's position on a transplant list was determined by their level of sickness, other existing illnesses which could complicate their survival post-transplant, their mental state such as depression, any history of alcohol/drug abuse, current age, and dozens of many other factors. Lives were weighed on a balance to try and save the patients among the top of the determined list. Those in medicine made decisions on what they thought was right. And though we like to believe all lives mattered equally, reality tells us they are not. A patient is put on a list, and whomever is ranked higher in priority bumps others down. And when you are told you will wait four months for a heart transplant, all of a sudden you are waiting a whole year.

Faryal's nurse approached her side with a smile. "Good news, Doctor Belmadi, the donor's lymph node just confirmed your match, and the transplant is scheduled within the hour. And Naseem will be your surgeon."

Her heart danced and the two smiled. The nurse held out her hand and Faryal held on to it.

"Inshallah, Doctor Belmadi."

Faryal nodded smilingly. "Inshallah."

The nurse walked away and Faryal wiped along her eye. It was a wholesome thought which brought a tear to her eye, that the love of her life, her best friend for the past 20 years, the man that bathed her, fed her, wiped her clean the past year would be the one to truly save her life. Faryal closed her eyes and thanked God for the anonymous donor. The two would be making her whole again.

Faryal's transplant coordinator approached her, "How are we doing, Faryal?"

Her smile was wide. "Scared but excited, you know."

The coordinator pulled up a dark-brown leather chair, one of two in her divided section, and took a seat beside her. "I know, but it will all be worth it. I know it's been a very challenging year for you."

Faryal nodded. "So, I did want to ask, the donor family—would I be able to contact them to express my thanks?"

"It's the family's choice whether they wish to be contacted by you, the recipient, or not. Some families do want to know who receives their loved one's organs, while others want to leave it as anonymous. I was actually once invited to a heart recipient's wedding, and they invited the donor family. And right in front of me, when they met for the first time, the mother puts her ear to the bride's chest and hears her daughter's heart still beating."

The two had looks of amazement. "Wow."

"So, in this case for starters, you can write a letter to the donor family, and I can get it to them. And if they are comfortable, they can contact me if they want to meet you and we can go from there." The coordinator opened a padfolio she had with him. "Some paper and here's a pen."

Faryal set it aside. "Thank you."

"You're very welcome, my dear, is there anything else I can do for you?"