A Pilgrimage: The Journey of a Donor

Many of you know that last November I was fortunate enough to donate peripheral blood stem cells to a patient battling Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia. Throughout this process, I often referred to it as a journey, but framing it as a pilgrimage resonates deeply with me. It embodies a willingness to embrace a journey that was chosen for me - a willingness to say yes.

And, what a journey it has been. It all began on March 7, 2015, when I attended an auction for a new organization called Cancer Can't. At the event, volunteers encouraged guests to swab their cheeks to join the global stem cell registry. I said yes.

Fast forward to August 1, 2023. While enjoying a summer day at our family river cabin, I received a call from Be The Match - the stem cell registry, not a dating service! They informed me that a 40-year-old man, somewhere in the United States, was fighting for his life, and I was a potential match. They asked if I was interested in proceeding with the next steps. I said yes. The process required a health screening over the phone and a blood sample.

I was heading to Texas for my niece's wedding and told them I could do the blood draw when I returned. However, they emphasized the urgency and hoped I could find time while I was in Texas. I said yes.

On August 8, in Texas, my mother-in-law accompanied me to the lab for the blood draw. She shared a story I had never heard before: Her father had been diagnosed with leukemia in 1967, but there was no option for bone marrow transplants at that time. He was sent home to get his affairs in order and tragically passed away a short time later, leaving behind his wife and 13 children. She told me I was the hero her father never had.

At the lab, they needed 15 vials of blood. I was informed that it could take up to 60 days to hear back, and that only 8% of potential donors go on to be the primary match. 

After returning home from Texas, I continued with my summer. Just 16 days later, on August 24, I received the call: I was the match! Was I prepared to move forward? I said yes. 

From that moment on, I felt an intense connection to the patient, whom I knew very little about. He occupied my thoughts every morning. I was overwhelmed with gratitude for the opportunity to potentially save a life, yet unexpected feelings of doubt crept in: Why me? What if it doesn't work? What if I wasn't enough? Despite the compliments I received about being a hero, I began to feel like a fraud. Anyone could do what I was doing; I wasn't special, and I had a hard time accepting that label.

No one ever said a pilgrimage was easy - fear and discomfort are often catalysts for growth. The donation day was set. My recipient would undergo intense preparations to receive my stem cells. For me, the process involved detailed physicals, more blood draws, vein analysis and a lot of waiting. My emotions were all over the place, and I just wanted the day to arrive so I could feel I had done everything in my power to help.

On November 4, I received my first injection of Filgrastim, which would stimulate my bone marrow to produce stem cells. I was warned it would be painful.

On November 8, I checked into the Be The Match donation center in Seattle. The process was straightforward: Blood would be taken from my right arm, processed through an apheresis machine to extract the stem cells and the rest returned to my left arm. In the surrounding rooms were donors on their own pilgrimages. I was not alone - each of us had swabbed our cheeks, often without giving it much thought, and had chosen to say yes. 

I sat in that chair for six and a half hours, accompanied by y cousin, who scratched my nose, fed me lunch and watched an entire season of Ted Lasso with me. And just like that, it was over. The whirlwind had come to an end.

I had felt a profound sense of purpose since receiving that call in August, and now that I had done everything I could, I faced an unsettling emptiness. I would hear nothing about my recipient until June, when I received an email confirming he was still alive.

I cried, and realized that my journey was not yet complete; there was more I could do. I reached out to Cancer Can't, the organization where I had first swabbed my cheek. They hadn't conducted cheek swabs at their events in years, but they welcomed my offer to volunteer. Not only did they allow me to set up a cheek swab table, but they also surprised me with the "Lifesaver Award."

At Cancer Can't 10th Annual Gala, on September 21st, 20 more potential donors said yes. The possibility that one of these individuals could one day save a life filled me with excitement. I also connected with my friend Erin Shields, a fellow Prep alum at Gonzaga University, and we're planning an event there soon. While my donation is complete, my commitment to this cause continues.

So...what is a pilgrimage? According to Wikipedia, a pilgrimage is a journey, often into unknown territory, where one seeks new or expanded meaning about themselves, others, nature, or a higher good through the experience. It can lead to personal transformation, after which the pilgrim returns to their daily life.

Reflecting on my journey as a bone marrow donor, all these elements ring true. I didn't realize it at the time, but I was searching for my relationship with God. This journey allowed me to relinquish control over events and outcomes and open myself to God's plan.

My personal transformation has instilled in me a deeper sense of gratitude for the many blessings in my life, especially the support of an amazing family throughout this uncertain process as well as my health, which enabled me to donate. I now feel a profound peace, knowing that who I am and what I did is enough - feelings that extend far beyond the context of this donation, which I hadn't anticipated.

On November 10, it will be one year since my recipient received my stem cells. On that day, I will sign consent to be contacted by him if he chooses. Of course, I would love that.

It's challenging to articulate the intense connection I feel to someone I've never met - I don't know his name, whether he has a family, where he lives or what he does for a living. But I do know that my cells are now a part of him, granting him this past year of life, and for that I will be forever grateful. All because one day in 2015, I said yes.