six months ago, I know he loves her more than anything in his world, the child’s mother isn’t in the picture, and he’s thankful to me for giving his little girl a second chance. The child has since turned three, and her remission is holding, which is the most important part of this story.
But that’s not the whole story.
It began with a call on a Tuesday night from Be the Match, an organization that’d done a registry drive at the clinic where I work in Little Havana more than three years earlier. Honestly, I’d forgotten all about having my cheek swabbed until I got the call that I was a match for a child battling leukemia. Would I be willing to undergo further testing?
Of course I was willing, and the testing was scheduled.
That call from Be the Match turned my life upside down for a few weeks. My parents had freaked out about me going under general anesthesia to donate bone marrow to a stranger. What if something goes wrong? they’d asked. Thankfully, Nona intervened with them, after seeing how hell-bent I was on saving the life of a child I’d never met.
“Maria is a nurse,” Nona said. “This is what she does. You must trust her and have faith in her judgment.”
I’ve always adored my Nona, but never more so than I did then. She dealt with my parents, which gave me the space I needed to mentally and physically prepare for the procedure. After we attended information sessions and my parents learned there was very little risk to the donor, they came around to supporting my determination to donate.
My cousin Carmen, who along with my sister, Dee, is my closest friend, accompanied me to the hospital and kept the rest of the family informed throughout the day.
Nona and Abuela, Carmen’s grandmother and a third grandmother to me, cooked enough food to feed ten people and delivered it when we got home from the hospital. Really, it was more about confirming for themselves that I was truly fine than it was about food, but I appreciated their concern. Carmen spent two nights at my place, making sure I was okay before she went home.
I was stiff and sore for a couple of weeks after but went back to work a week later. I considered the entire thing a small price to pay to save a child’s life.
Six months after the procedure, I received an anonymous email from the child’s grateful father, through channels provided by Be the Match.
Dear Ms. M,
You saved my daughter’s life. There’s no way I can possibly tell you in mere words what you mean to my family and me or how much we appreciate what you did for us. I want to tell you about my daughter, E. She’s a little spitfire with blond curls and big blue eyes. She loves to dance and play dress-up. I’m a single dad, and she’s my whole world. When the doctors first told us she had leukemia, I thought I’d die myself from the idea of my precious love suffering in any way.
The next few months were pure hell. That’s the only word I can think of to describe it. They tried everything but couldn’t get her into remission. That’s when they decided she needed a bone marrow transplant.
I’m going to be honest with you—the whole thing was terrifying. Thank God I had my parents with me through it all, or I might not have survived watching my baby go through hell. And E, she was such a trouper, so brave and strong. She kept trying to comfort me. Imagine that—a two-year-old comforting a twenty-eight-year-old man. But that’s my girl. She’s amazing and full of love, and now, thanks to you, she’s in full remission and back to singing her nonsensical songs in her own particular language and dancing and playing and laughing. Her hair has grown back—curlier than ever—and her cheeks are pink again. Because of you.
I’ve never met you, and I love you like a member of my family. You are a member of my family. And when the required one-year waiting period is up, I hope we can meet and talk and share pictures, and you can see the life you saved for yourself.
Thank you. From the bottom of my grateful heart. Thank you. We love you.
Mr. A
I must’ve read that email a thousand times after I first received it and sobbed my way through the first, second and third reading of it. I was