Lately, I’ve found myself reflecting on fear—how it creeps in and alters our perceptions. I can vividly recall moments from my childhood, specifically one instance at the age of 12 when I was faced with a daunting challenge. The neighborhood boys dared me to crawl through a narrow drainage tunnel beneath a long driveway. Eager to impress, I got down on my belly and entered the dark abyss, but my fear overwhelmed me, and I quickly backed out. My life has been a series of choices influenced by fear, from my teenage years into adulthood.
Then came motherhood. The word “fear” hardly encapsulates the feelings that arise when you have children. Gone are the days when my biggest worry was being alone in my room; now I spend nights reassuring my son that there are no monsters lurking about. I fret over school drop-offs, potential accidents, and their safety in a world that can be cruel. The anxiety escalates with marital struggles, bills, Autism, and health issues. Just when I thought I had reached my limit, my best friend received a cancer diagnosis.
It all started nine months ago, on June 18, 2014, when she was diagnosed with Primary Sclerosing Cholangitis (PSC), a rare bile duct disease that ultimately leads to liver failure. By August, the diagnosis turned grim: bile duct cancer, a rarity for a 32-year-old woman. Her life became a whirlwind of hospital visits, where she often cried herself to sleep, battling pain and the suffocating weight of fear. She flew 1,000 miles to Minnesota to undergo chemotherapy and radiation, bravely stepping into the darkness of uncertainty. Unfortunately, when she returned home, hope quickly faded with further complications. The only cure was a liver transplant, but the lack of deceased donors made a living donor her best shot.
Then, a pivotal moment unfolded between me and my four-year-old son:
“Hey buddy. You know I’m going to miss you like crazy, right?” I said, showering him with kisses.
“I’m going to miss you too, Mommy. Could you please stop doing that?” he replied, playfully squirming away.
“I need to give you enough kisses to last a while,” I insisted, launching into a tickle attack.
“I want to go to the soda town with you. Please take me there with you,” he said.
“The state is called Minnesota, but there’s no soda there,” I fibbed (they actually had soda there).
“Will you be extra sweet to your brother while I’m gone?” I asked.
“No,” he replied, as was typical for our conversations before my departure to donate my liver.
The transplant was set for December 15, 2014, but the day before, a staging surgery revealed the cancer had spread. My heart sank as I watched her mother receive the news. The reality of losing her only chance at survival hit me like a freight train. My friend, however, displayed remarkable bravery. I felt frozen, back in that tunnel of fear and disbelief. I had prepared for months, passing every test to ensure I could proceed with the donation. Now, it seemed that chance was slipping away.
My own son, dubbed “The Flash,” had his challenges too, having been diagnosed with Autism Spectrum Disorder. He often wrestles with intense emotions that leave him bewildered—much like the fear I had felt as a child. I had envisioned a moment where I could share my own courage with him, telling him how I fought against the most terrifying villain of all: cancer. Now, that opportunity seemed to vanish.
Yet, I realized fear is like the imaginary monster in my son’s room; it loses its power when exposed to light. It’s a distorted perception of reality that can either consume you or be conquered. While I empathize with that scared 12-year-old girl, she simply wasn’t ready to face her fears.
On December 19, 2014, I donated fifty-five percent of my liver to my friend, motivated by love. Miraculously, just three days after the staging surgery, further pathology reports reversed the previous diagnosis. We had only 18 hours’ notice before the transplant. That night in the hospital was filled with laughter and relief as we processed the rollercoaster of emotions together. At 4:30 a.m., I lay on my cot, reflecting on my journey through fear. I recognized that it wasn’t merely about the surgery; it was about setting an example for my children about facing fears head-on.
A couple of months later, I had this exchange with my son:
“What are you doing, sweetheart?” I asked, glancing over while driving, distracted by his antics with a blanket.
“I’m giving Nee Nee my liver,” he said, naming his beloved blanket.
“Oh yeah? Why?” I inquired, intrigued.
“Because he’s sick and I love him,” he responded.
And there it was. My thoughts on fear had evolved. What my friend and I experienced in those months defied description, much like the feeling of holding my newborns for the first time—it’s simply beyond words. My friend continues to fight but now carries a renewed sense of fearlessness.
As for me, I no longer worry about being late for school or dread my son’s meltdowns. I’ve let go of the fear surrounding Autism or whether I’m a good mom. When I returned home after my two-week absence to donate my liver, I was exhausted and sore, unsure if my youngest would remember me. Yet, when I walked through the door, he dashed into my arms, lifted my shirt, and gently rested his head on my healing scar.
Fear fades into insignificance when love is at stake. Throughout my life, I’ve often likened my experiences of fear to being trapped in that metal tunnel. Some moments evoke paralyzing fear for reasons we may never understand. My hope is that my journey as an organ donor will inspire my boys to find strength in their own moments of darkness. When they face their tunnels, I want them to remember to turn on the lights and discover the courage that lies within.
If you’re interested in exploring topics related to home insemination, check out this guide on artificial insemination kits and this resource on intrauterine insemination.
Summary
This article reflects on the transformative power of love and courage through the lens of fear, as shared by a woman who donated her liver to save her best friend’s life. It explores childhood fears, the challenges of motherhood, and the profound emotional journey of facing life’s darkest moments. Ultimately, the author learns that love triumphs over fear, providing a powerful lesson for her children.
Keyphrase: liver donation journey
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