#is that i would donate a kidney and part of my liver if it meant we got a reckoners movie where stephen lang plays Prof

[crazynerdandproud]

Forget a Mistborn movie, where's the Reckoner's movie with Stephen Lang playing Prof

[ucsdhealthsciences]

Born with the rare disease cystinosis, Jordan was at a crossroads: continue toward the likelihood of kidney failure and a shortened lifespan, or be the first to undergo a unique stem cell therapy developed at UC San Diego

For the majority of Jordan Janz’s 20 years of life, most neighbors in his tiny Canadian town never knew he was sick. Janz snowboarded, hunted and fished. He hung with friends, often playing ice hockey video games. He worked in shipping and receiving for a company that makes oil pumps.

But there were times when Janz was younger that he vomited up to 13 times each day. He received a growth hormone injection every day for six years. He needed to swallow 56 pills every day just to manage his symptoms. And the medication required around-the-clock administration, which meant his mother or another family member had to get up with him every night.

“I was tired for school every day,” Janz said. “I was held back in second grade because I missed so much school. And because the medication had a bad odor to it, when I did go to school kids would ask, ‘What’s that smell?’ It was hard.”

Janz was born with cystinosis, a rare metabolic disorder that’s detected in approximately one in 100,000 live births worldwide. People with cystinosis inherit a mutation in the gene that encodes a protein called cystinosin. Cystinosin normally helps cells transport the amino acid cystine. Because cells in people with cystinosis don’t produce the cystinosin protein, cystine accumulates. Over the years, cystine crystals build up and begin to damage tissues and organs, from the kidneys and liver to muscles, eyes and brain. Numerous symptoms and adverse consequences result.

These days, Janz manages his condition. There’s a time-release version of the symptom-relieving medication now that allows him to go 12 hours between doses, allowing for a good night’s sleep. But there’s no stopping the relentless accumulation of cystine crystals, no cure for cystinosis.  

In October 2019, Janz became the first patient to receive treatment as part of a Phase I/II clinical trial to test the safety and efficacy of a unique gene therapy approach to treating cystinosis. The treatment was developed over more than a decade of research by Stephanie Cherqui, PhD, associate professor of pediatrics, and her team at University of California San Diego School of Medicine.

“The day they started looking for people for the trial, my mom picked up the phone, found a number for Dr. Cherqui, called her and put my name in as a candidate,” Janz said.

Janz’s mom, Barb Kulyk, has long followed Cherqui’s work. Like many parents of children with cystinosis, Kulyk has attended conferences, read up on research and met many other families, doctors and scientists working on the condition. Kulyk says she trusts Cherqui completely. But she was understandably nervous for her son to be the first person ever to undergo a completely new therapy.

“It’s like giving birth,” she said shortly before Janz received his gene therapy. “You’re really looking forward to the outcome, but dreading the process.”

The treatment

Cherqui’s gene therapy approach involves genetically modifying the patient’s own stem cells. To do this, her team obtained hematopoietic stem cells from Janz’s bone marrow. These stem cells are the precursors to all blood cells, including both red blood cells and immune cells. The scientists then re-engineered Janz’s stem cells in a lab using gene therapy techniques to introduce a normal version of the cystinosin gene. Lastly, they reinfused Janz with his own now-cystinosin-producing cells. The approach is akin to a bone marrow transplant — the patient is both donor and recipient.

“A bone marrow transplant can be very risky, especially when you take hematopoietic stem cells from a another person. In that case, there’s always the chance the donor’s immune cells will attack the recipient’s organs, so-called graft-versus-host disease,” Cherqui explained. “It’s a great advantage to use the patient's own stem cells.”

As is the case for other bone marrow transplants, Janz’s gene-modified stem cells are expected to embed themselves in his bone marrow, where they should divide and differentiate to all types of blood cells. Those cells are then expected to circulate throughout his body and embed in his tissues and organs, where they should produce the normal cystinosin protein. Based on Cherqui’s preclinical data, she expects the cystinosin protein will be transferred to the surrounding diseased cells. At that point, Janz’s cells should finally be able to appropriately transport cystine for disposal — potentially alleviating his symptoms.

Before receiving his modified stem cells, Janz had to undergo chemotherapy to make space in his bone marrow for the new cells. Not unexpectedly, Janz experienced a handful of temporary chemotherapy-associated side-effects, including immune suppression, hair loss and fatigue. He also had mucositis, an inflammation of mucous membranes lining the digestive tract, which meant he couldn’t talk or eat much for a few days.

Now, only three months after his transfusion of engineered stem cells, Cherqui reports that Janz is making a good recovery, though it’s still too early to see a decrease in his cystinosis-related symptoms.

“I’ve been sleeping at least 10 hours a day for the last few weeks,” Janz said. “It’s crazy, but I know my body is just working hard to, I guess, create a new ‘me.’ So it's no wonder I'm tired. But I'm feeling okay overall.

“One of the hardest parts for me is being inactive for so long. I’m not used to doing nothing all day. But I’m taking an online course while I wait for my immune system to rebuild. And I’m getting pretty good at video games.”

Like all Phase I/II clinical trials, the current study is designed to first test the safety and tolerability of the new treatment. Janz knows the treatment might not necessarily help him.

“When we started this trial, my mom explained it like this: ‘We have a tornado at the front door and a tsunami at the back door, and we have to pick one to go through. Neither will be any fun and we don’t know what’s going to happen, but you have to believe you will make it and go.

“So we weighed the pros and cons and, basically, if I don’t do this trial now, when I’m older I might not be healthy and strong enough for it. So I decided to go for it because, even if there are consequences from the chemotherapy, if it works I could live 20 years longer than I’m supposed to and be healthy for the rest of my life. That’s worth it.”

Besides the possible benefit to himself, Janz also sees his participation in the clinical trial as a way to contribute to the tight-knit community of families with children who have cystinosis.

“I’m willing to do if it helps the kids,” he said. “Somebody has to do it. I don’t have the money to donate to scientific conferences and stuff like that, but I can do this trial.”

“A Tornado at the Front Door, a Tsunami at the Back Door“

[animentality]

26

“That’s not the type of drowning I meant.”

The dissident jumps.

“What the-? You’re awake?” he says. He has a dead fox in his hand, his fingers clenched around its neck.

“When I asked if you had ever drowned…I meant… a child. Have you ever drowned…a child?”

“Um…” the dissident frowns, crouching by the fire the prisoner had diligently been keeping ever since he’d left to check his snares. “Two, actually. Little sister, she was just hours old, and little brother, who was…maybe a week old? My parents usually dealt with that stuff.”

The prisoner nods.

“Lemme guess, you guys never do that kind of thing?” the dissident asks.

“No.”

“Of course not.”

“Wouldn’t that disturb you?” The prisoner watches him slowly, carefully begin skinning the fox. He’s a poor medic, but a decent hunter and meat preparer. He does it quickly, neatly, cutting a perfect line from tail to throat.

The prisoner looks away, however.

As skillful as the dissident is, he doesn’t like watching him butcher animal corpses.

“Would what disturb me?”

“You know we do not believe in God. Or an afterlife. So if we ended our children’s lives believing that there was no afterlife, that there was nothing, and this is the only life we have, then wouldn’t that make us more despicable to you? For someone with our beliefs, it’s less cruel to preserve our children at whatever cost and never allow harm to come to them, since they have no other life, isn’t it?”            

The dissident pauses, his hands pulling at the animal’s hide.

“…I never thought of that,” he says contemplatively. “I guess that’s…better.”

The prisoner scoots away.

He hadn’t been looking but he knows the dissident is beginning to pull out organs now.

The first time he’d done it-

This is a human heart, you know?

Its owner died from heart disease, that’s why it’s all shriveled up and repulsive.

It reminds me of you.

Hold it.

I said hold it.

There.

You see?

Just like you.

Oh do stop with that face, you expect me to believe you’re all vegetarians?

This is a lung.

Hold it now, there’s a good boy.

It’s black because its old owner was a smoker.

I wonder what your organs will look like, when I pull them out?

You lead healthy lives, don’t you?

They need their little toy soldiers in perfect working condition, don’t they? I imagine you can’t smoke, drink, eat anything too fatty or otherwise bad for your cholesterol, correct?

Perhaps I’ll donate your organs to a medical facility. No use in letting perfectly good organs go to waste, right?

Of course, that would be giving you a purpose.

That would be giving you to an unsuspecting person, a very, very sick person who doesn’t deserve to have animal parts inside of them.

Maybe I’ll just dissect you for fun and keep your organs in a jar on my desk, how about that?

Oh, if I go that route, I don’t even have to put you under.

What would I take first?

The bladder, perhaps.

Then the liver.

The kidneys.

I think I would try for the lungs, if I could, but at that point, you may be dying or dead.

Maybe I should start with the heart.

Just so you can get the full effect.

The dissident is done.

He glances at the prisoner.

“Um…you ok, guy?”

The prisoner knows he doesn’t mean it. He just said it because he was polite, because it was second nature, because it was natural to speak to a human shaped creature as though it were the real thing.

He nods.

The dissident knows he’s lying, but shrugs. None of his business.

Link to rest of book

-Notes: 

What is it about viscera that’s so fucking romantic? I have no idea. 

[livinginlandmarketing]

When Michael Smith says he’s used eight of his nine lives, he’s not exaggerating.

“I have no more to waste,” he said.

The 49-year-old Menifee resident has had Crohn’s disease, ulcerated colitis, a liver lesion, blood clotting on the lungs and a long list of surgeries and therapies.

Menifee residents Natalie and Michael Smith are ecstatic that a cousin of hers was able to connect them with a relative’s family that donated Michael Smith a new liver. (Courtesy of Michael Smith)

Enough health issues for many lives.

Last year, just before the pandemic started, he was diagnosed with cirrhosis and needed a liver transplant. Smith, a classifications analyst for Los Angeles County, says he was able to work from home while he waited for a donor.

“COVID kept me safe because I was able to lock down with my family and avoid COVID and other contaminants.”

This February, Sierra Greider, 25, had a massive stroke in Utah that left her brain dead and on life support. Her mother-in-law, Soana, is a cousin of Smith’s wife, Natalie, and lives in Murrieta.

The two families connected and — remarkably — Greider’s liver was a match for Smith.

Among the other coincidences: Sierra Greider had a daughter named Natalie. Smith’s wife’s name is Natalie and they have a daughter named Sierra.

Smith had a successful transplant surgery in mid-February. A week later, Smith said his doctors told him his liver was more damaged than they had suspected and he would not have lived a year if not for the transplant. One of the doctors, who Smith describes as not religious, said the set of circumstances that came together to keep him alive amounted to divine intervention.

“I feel blessed,” Smith said. “I feel like I have been a part of a huge miracle … People who do not believe in a higher power may not understand, but I feel that I was saved for some reason that I now need to find out what to do about.”

The two families have never met, but they hope to get together soon, given that they live in neighboring towns.

Cameron Greider, Sierra’s husband, said his wife would have been touched to have her donated organs help others. Her kidneys were donated to two mothers.

“She was always giving and caring for others,” he said. “She was able to help multiple people.”

Cameron Greider, 26, is staying in Murrieta with his parents while he decides what to do next. He grew up in the city.

“We’ll keep moving on,” he said. “With hard things, you have to try and see the good things.”

Smith said he can empathize with the Greider family.

“I can’t imagine the pain they have been dealing with … Being a husband and a father, I couldn’t imagine how hard life would be if my kids and I had lost my Natalie so suddenly. My heart aches for Cameron and little Natalie. The fact that she will grow up not having her own memories of her mother just breaks my heart.”

Smith said it’s hard to put into words what Sierra Greider’s tragedy has meant for his life.

“The fact I know of this family and their tragic situation is unique. Almost intimidating. To know someone had to die so I might live is sobering and humbling.”

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He also hopes the gift he received of an organ transplant inspires others.

“People need to know how important it is to donate.”

Finally, he’s hoping to do great things with the life he has left.

“Life is full of strife, negativity and pessimism,” he said. “I myself can be very cynical. But I feel much differently now.”

Reach Carl Love at carllove4@yahoo.com

-on April 29, 2021 at 04:00AM by Carl Love

[utimagines]

Sorry this took so much longer than I expected, but here’s the second half of the abuse fic! The first half can be found here, but please read the warnings first <3

-Vaughn

Warning: This post may contain triggering content. You may continue to read if you feel you are safe doing so. This is tagged below as abuse mention, panic attack mention and harm mention. There will be no self-harm. Also, these are very long. Be prepared for that too.

Undertale

Papyrus

Narc parents. Never wrong, always right and always greater than everyone. Even their compliments are manipulative tactics in disguise. They say they love you, but they treat you like you exist only for the purpose of giving them authority.

Having your mother away from your life has made everything better. Now you are able to focus on the good, little parts of life; the crunch of snow beneath your feet, the warmth of the sun, and being around the people you trust. You can’t be brainwashed into believing your mother’s words and criticism anymore.

One day as you lay on the couch with a book in hand, you hear the phone ring. Looking down at its screen, you freeze. It was your mother.

Lifting the phone to your face, you furrow your eyebrows. ‘Mom. I told you to never call me again. If you call me one more time, I’ll take legal action.’

Your mother ignored you. ‘I went to the hospital today,’ your mother clucked. ‘My doctor said that I have an infection in one kidney. I’ll need a new one.’ You knew where this was going. A long time ago she tried to make you donate a part of your liver to your father.

‘No, Mom. Don’t call me again. As you were about to hang up, you hear your mother spit out one last sentence of manipulation.

‘Fine, don’t call me. Abandon me like everyone else! If I don’t get a new kidney I’ll die, and it’ll be all your fault!’ Your hands shake and sweat as you hit the button to hang up, the words she said to you all your life ringing in your head once more.

Okay, breath you thought to yourself. I just need to go upstairs.

Your knees shook hard enough for you to fear falling down, and you latched to the handrail as tightly as possible. When you finally managed to stumble up to the top, you knock on Papyrus’ heavily-decorated door.

He opens the door with a large smile that quickly faded as he saw your face. ‘Datemate, you’re crying! Come inside, quickly!’ You hadn’t realised that there were tears streaming down your face, perhaps too dizzy to notice. Papyrus hushed you into his room, trying to keep his volume down to not further stress you.

Sitting on the floor, Papyrus holds your hand. ‘Was it your mother? Did she call again?’ You nod your head, throat hurting too much to explain. Papyrus stayed silent for a moment to gather his thoughts.

‘Well... I don’t know what happened, but remember that you’re doing the right thing by cutting off contact. There is never any shame in avoiding people who try to hurt you!’ You look in his eyes as he gives you his small speech. He is as genuine as ever.

‘And if she does call you again, I’ll be there right by your side to help you! And so will all of our friends. Even if she says horrible things, there are many more people who love and care for you!

You sniffle a ‘thank you’ and pull Papyrus into a hug. With him around, things will get better.

Underswap

Sans (Blue/Blueberry)

You were the lower child, destined for nothing. Unlike your younger sister, you were destined for nothing. While your sibling was praised for their hard efforts, you were scolded for the smallest things; eating too much, eating too little, sleeping too much, studying but not spending time with family, and so on. You started to believe them.

Many years later, when you were an adult and your sister was a teen, you were taken to the mall to buy clothes. While your mother and sister scanned the stores for something suitable to their tastes, you sifted through the graphic tees. Right in the centre was the perfect shirt, and although it was slightly smaller than your usual size it would have fit just fine.

‘Hey, Mom, can I get this?’ You look over to your mother, displaying the tee across the store. She looks at you with a look of disgust on her face.

‘When I said I’ll buy you something, I meant something that wouldn’t make you look fat. Put it away right now.’ You fold the shirt back, hands trembling as you realise the whole store heard your scolding. One character in particular stares from the back of the store. Your mother and sister head to the counter, you shyly following. You sister had collected a small pile of clothing for her to wear.

The clerk looked very uncomfortable as your mother continued to berate you for the shirt incident, and the skeletons in the back slowly move closer once he sees your eyes, filled with tears.

‘Next time we go shopping together, I won’t be bringing you. You always choose something ugly, and-’

‘Oh, hey, it’s my human friend! How are you doing this fine day?’ The short skeleton rushes forward to link arms with you, and you jump back in surprise. You mother puts on her false caring expression.

‘Oh, Y/N, you didn’t tell me you had monster friends! How progressive!’ The skeleton cringes. What a rude thing to say. He clears his... throat? (if he even had one) before saying ‘how about you have lunch with me? I can drop you off after!’ You consider your options: Spend the rest of the afternoon with your mother and sister, or hang out with a potentially dangerous stranger. In a moment of what may have been poor decision making, you decide that perhaps the latter is the best option.

‘Uh... yeah, alright. Hey, Mom, I’ll be heading off now. Seeya.’ Your mother waves you off as the clerk finishes scanning the items.

As soon as you and the skeleton are out of sight, he turns around to face you, a much more serious look on his face.

‘Oh, I am so sorry you have to live with that. She seems horrible!’ You chuckle and make eye contact with him. ‘Luckily I don’t live with her anymore. I’ve been trying to cut off contact for months.’ He seemed like a guy you could trust, but you worried you might be oversharing.

He places his hands on his hips proudly. ‘Well, I’m glad you’re out of there now! Some people can be really mean. But, uh, do you still want lunch? There’s this really good place around the corner that makes pizza!’

You spend many hours eating and talking with the skeleton, who you later learned was named Sans, or ‘The Magnificent Sans’, as he put it. When you both realised that it was late, he walked you back home to your place.

‘My brother is probably wondering where I am now so I have to be quick, but here’s my number. Feel free to call whenever you stressed or bored! I’ll answer any time.’ Giving him a wave goodbye, you walk inside with the paper slip in your hand.

Maybe things are finally turning around for the better.

[gvbejvmes]

Task: Secret

Title: Blood Promises Rating: PG-13 Relationships: Past Gabriel/Jonathan, Past Gabriel/Nancy, Implied Gabriel/Jillynn Trigger Warnings: Non-descriptive mentions of child neglect/abuse Brief Summary: Some meetings were always meant to be.

How many murderers are on the National Donate Life Registry? If you matched with a convict, would you take their organ? Would you rather die than having the kidney of a man who killed six people? If they were the only person who matched with you would you take it then? Will an organ transplant from a convict give you their poor impulse control? Are you willing to find out? How many people die each year because their only hope lies in a person trying to lighten their sentence? 

2004

"It looks good to the parole board." Flaco (according to his birth certificate his name was Cesar, but Gabe never asked) said, in full explaining mode. "I don't know why that wasn't a thing over in the Sand Waste, man. The parole board loves seeing that shit. They love seeing that you're trying to improve yourself. And besides, if you match with someone and you get to have surgery, you get a cushy stay in the hospital wing. It's a win-win, Gabe. Besides, what else are you going to do?" 

The way his cellmate phrased it made it sound like it was no big deal. Sign-up to give someone one of your organs or your bone marrow and hopefully you’ll get a lighter sentence out of it. According to Flaco, the Registry people came once a month and tested anyone who wanted to be added. The idea of signing up for the Registry just to do it didn’t sit right with him. If Gabe matched with someone, he knew he’d donate no matter what. That was just how he was which was why he didn’t know if he wanted to do it. “What are the chances of actually matching with someone?” He asked finally. He was looking at 25 years. A couple of years off his sentence and the good grace of the parole board? He wouldn’t mind that...

Flaco grinned, looking like he won. “That’s the spirit! I don’t know anyone who actually matched.” He admitted. “But I know guys who’ve signed up and nobody thought they were gonna get parole but boom! They ain’t here no more.”

Gabe nodded slowly. If the chances of matching were really that low, he wouldn’t have anything to worry about. What’s the worst that could happen?

Early 2019

"Good afternoon. This message is for Gabriel James-Michaels. This is Leslie Anderson with the National Donate Life Registry. I received your forwarded contact information from North County Correctional Facility. I'm reaching out today because we have a potential match for partial liver transplant. Please call me back as soon as possible to schedule additional testing. We understand that that it's been over a decade since you signed up for the registry, but we hope you're still interested. It's always exciting when we're able to find familial matches. Please call me back at...”

Late Summer 2019

"I feel like your mistress."  Kaleidoscope gushed out from the side of Gabe's bed. "Your kids and your straight life crisis think we’re staying up at my estate for the next two weeks." He made a 'tsking' sound. "What a bad boy." His friend and mentor had been talking at Gabriel for the past twenty minutes as they waited anxiously to be taken back for surgery. "What I don't understand is why you just didn't tell them what they were doing. Donating part of your liver to a total stranger is a big deal. You should have told them. Did you at least tell John?"

A wry smile slid onto Gabe's features. It amused him to no end that someone whose legal name was Kaleidoscope couldn't call a grown man Johnny because it sounded too childish to him. "Why would I tell him? We're not married any more, remember? You wanted to throw me a divorce party." He reminded him, raising an eyebrow.

"The fact that you didn’t let me is a travesty." Kale pouted, but he didn't let Gabe's obvious deflection distract him. "Because I watched you fill out your intake papers, Gabriel. You've been divorced, what? A year? And separated even longer?" When Gabe nodded, he continued on. "And yet, you haven't legally changed your name back to just James and you still have him listed as your emergency contact. Even though you know I’m more than willing to be your emergency contact. You’re mine, after all. Besides, he'd care that you were having surgery."

He shook his head. "We can't tell anyone about this surgery, Kale. Ever." He tried to convey the level of seriousness with his eyes.

Kale rolled his eyes. "Oh, because you're donating an organ to the secret child that no one knows about?" He joked out, never able to stay serious for too long, but when Gabe didn't laugh, his face fell. "Gabriel Anthony, tell me you're joking.”

Sighing, Gabe scrubbed his hand over his face. "I don't know for sure." He defended as Kale made all sorts of noises, obviously processing the information. "All I know is that CJ swears she has a vague memory of another kid being around when she was little. DJ is pretty traumatized from around that time so she can’t remember much of anything. Nancy and I were trying for another kid before Georgie died. It seems convenient is all, and they seem to think I'm a familial match."

"Gabriel." Kale breathed out, just staring at him, at a loss for words for once in his life. It sounded like he wanted to say more, but Gabe wouldn’t let him.

"He's a minor and he's here with his parents. This isn't something that anyone else needs to know about, including him. We share the same DNA, but he's not my kid, not really, okay?" He all but begged the other man to understand. 

It was quiet for a very long time before Kale said anything. "Do the parents know who you are?" His voice was much quieter than normal.

Gabe nodded. "They haven't verbalized it, but it's kind of hard to ignore sharing so much DNA with someone and the knowledge that my information came from a prison database. We discussed it, and it's best if he doesn't know where the donation came from." 

Kale didn't get a chance to say anything else before the anesthesiologist came in.

2008

Groggy. He felt so groggy and he couldn't open his eyes. There was beeping going on around him, And voices. There were a couple of different voices - one familiar, the rest alien. There was something on his face. A breathing mask? He couldn't lift his hand to pull it off, but it didn't matter. He was distracted the second he realized he could understand the voices around him. 

"Sir, don't make me call security."

"I told you already. That is my client in there and I need to see him immediately."

"And I told you already. No visitors. Only immediate family under supervision and there is only one name on that list and it is not yours."

"I am allowed to see him if the injury is directly related to his case and getting stabbed two weeks before his trial is supposed to start is just cause!" 

"And if he was in any state to talk to you, I'd agree with you, but he's not. You need to leave."

"I need to see my client."

"That's it! I'm calling security."

 Late Summer 2019 (Continued)

"Jay?" Blinking his eyes open, Gabe tried to remember why he was in the hospital this time, There was shuffling to his left, and he glanced over to find a dark haired teenager hanging onto an IV pole. He looked the way someone who was out of bed six hours after surgery looked: like he wasn't supposed to be on his feet.

The boy shook his head, his hair shifting into his face at the motion. "No, sorry." And he dragged himself into the chair next to Gabe's bed. "Is that your husband?" He gestured to Gabe's left hand, which was splayed open on his stomach, the name Jonathan more than visible on the side of his ring finger.

"Used to be." Gabe said with a cough. hand closing immediately. He glanced over to the padded bench in the corner where Kale was sound asleep. "That's not him though." He nodded towards his friend before putting his bed up a little bit and reached for the water pitcher next to his bed. "Your folks know you're out of bed, kid?"

"Of course not." He shook his head and looked at Gabe like he was crazy. "They would kill me, but I wanted to see you and thank you, but I knew they wouldn't let me. I know who you are."

Gabe looked at him as he took a sip of water and sighed. "And who am I?" He asked him tiredly.

The teen, Knox, rolled his eyes in a way that reminded Gabe so much of himself that he had to do a double-take. “I know I’m adopted. I’ve always known. I don’t remember a lot before Social Services took me away, but I remember having two big sisters and a mom who forgot about me sometimes. I had a dad, but he never talked to me. He pretended that I didn’t exist.” Knox sighed and chewed on his bottom lip. 

“I think I knew then that I wasn’t his, but I don’t remember him too much. What I remember are my sisters talking about their Dad, a man who died. This guy who could do no wrong. The Dad who magically saved the day. I used to be so angry that he was gone, that I didn’t get to meet him. And then...” Knox closed his eyes, a small smile on his face. “When we thought I was going to die, when we thought I was never going to get a donor - you appeared out of nowhere and I knew immediately that it was you. That it had to be you - my dad.”

Gabe sighed and set his water cup down. “Kid, I may have given you half your DNA, but I’m not your dad. That man asleep in the other room? That’s your dad. I just made you.” He whispered out. “And when your parts break, it’s my job to help you patch up.”

The boy looked at him. “That sounds like a dad to me.”

Frustrated and tired, he scrubbed his hand over his face. “You should go back to your room before your parents wake up and realize you’re missing. This was supposed to be a blind donation.” He reminded his son.

“I know, but...” The boy looked beyond frustrated. “Will I ever get to see you again? See my sisters again? Meet your ex-husband?”

A smile slid onto Gabe’s features, and he reached out and gave the boy’s hand a squeeze. “You got a part of me stuck in you forever, kid.” At the fallen look on Knox’s face, he couldn’t help but to squeeze his hand again before letting go. “As soon as you turn eighteen, call me. Your parents have my number. And we’ll go from there. Until then...”

“We never met.” Knox whispered out getting what Gabe was saying. He nodded and then pulled himself out of his chair, using the IV pole for support again. He made it all the way to the door before turning back to look at Gabe. “Hey, dad? Thanks.”

Once he was gone, there was a sigh from the other side of the room. “Is that what you were like in high school? But with more eyeliner?” Kale asked, because of course he was awake and had pretended to be sleeping.

Gabe groaned and lowered his bed back down.

“Right.” Kale said, treating Gabe’s groan as a sentence. “I know nothing. I saw nothing.”

It was quiet for a long moment before: “I like him.”

“Me, too.” Gabe whispered out. “Me, too.”

[subtonychang-blog]

Presentation: October 1 - Tony & @dommequinnfab

Kinks: Suspension & Impact

Tony let out a calming breath as he let his weight go. After he and Quinn had arrived, he’d stripped to his briefs, allowing the Domme to help him into the bindings on the apparatus they’d chosen. Once he was bound, the frame tilted, leaving Tony at a 45 degree angle facing the floor. His eyes slid shut to concentrate. It put a strain on his biceps and calves, but the light pain was nice. “I’m ready, Miss,” he told her softly, running over the parts of the body they had discussed.

The initial part of the Presentation - their introduction to the Heads, getting Tony’s limits and safeword, had all proceeded as normal.  Quinn allowed herself to settle into her own head as they proceeded, thinking of nothing except the task in front of her.  If her mind wandered it would wander to her previous failure, and she didn’t need to think about that any more than she already had.  Getting the submissive secured was a quick process, and she nodded at his assurance.  “Good boy.  Let’s start...here.”  She gave him two strikes with her leather paddle at roughly where his kidney would be, the double tap indicating that he should be thinking of what was beneath rather than the surface she’d hit.

Tony crinkled his nose at the slap of leather on his skin, but didn’t hesitate more than a breath before answering. “Kidney, Miss. Located in the retroperitoneal space of the abdomen, part of the urinary and endocrine system. Function is to filter toxins from the body to be excreted. Procedures involving the kidneys are dialysis, urinalysis, and nephrectomy in the case of renal cell carcinoma to cure it,” he rattled off without even thinking.

“Very good,” Quinn nodded.  Not that she could actually tell whether he was right or not, because her knowledge of biology had started and ended in high school, but it sounded right and she was willing to assume that meant it was.  Tony was incredibly smart, bound for med school, and he most certainly knew what a kidney did.  She circled him slowly, deliver small slaps that weren’t meant to be questions, before double-tapping the skin over his heart.  There was so much to say about that, after all.

He smiled softly at the praise, letting out a soft breath before just relaxing into the light slaps. The hints of pain helped him focus on the task at hand. Breathe and focus. Tony hissed at the double slap, then cleared his throat. “The heart, Miss. Divided into four chambers, used to filter and pump blood throughout the body. Issues can include valve problems, thin muscle in the walls of the heart, and irregular heartbeat, among others. Most fascinating procedure involving the heart is bypass, when a machine is used to pump blood through the heart so that the affected veins or arteries can be properly fixed during surgery,” he said with a hint of awe in his voice. Though it wasn’t a new thing, bypass still fascinated him.

Quinn stalked around him as he answered, her heels clicking lightly with each step.  She kept her head cocked to one side, listening to make sure that his answers weren’t becoming rote - after all, they were there to interest the Heads, not to lecture.  Fortunately the passion in his voice was very compelling, and found herself wanting to know more even though she hadn’t really been interested previously.  “Very good.”  Another series of slaps followed, spread all over his body and this time more forceful, before she stopped again.  “Let’s try something a bit more complicated.  How about...this?”  She delivered two quick blows to a spot on his abdomen roughly where his appendix would be.

The sting made him squirm slightly, heat flushing through his skin as the crop swatted over him. “Mm, yes, Miss.” Tony arched as she smacked over his gut, swallowing hard. “Yes, Miss. The appendix. Widely thought to be useless since it can be removed without much trouble, but it maintains good bacteria in the body, which can help with gastrointestinal disease. However, in the case of appendicitis, it could lead to death if the appendix remains untreated.”

Quinn nodded, trying to decide on her next target even as Tony spoke.  If they got too predictable, that would only cost them points in the end, so she decided to make a last-minute adjustment and hope that Tony could play along.  “You’ve done well so far, Tony.  But let’s try something a little bit different this time.  I’m going to give you seven swats.  The part of you that I hit the fifth time is the part I want you to describe for me.  I know you can focus and get this.”  She dispersed the swats quickly, and nearly randomly.  Foot, arm, buttocks...on the fifth, she rapped him on the head, indicating his brain, before adding two more swats to his chest.

Tony thanked her for the compliment, his head spinning pleasantly as his subspace began to take hold. His eyes blinked open to focus on her command. It was different than they’d discussed, but he hadn’t sunk deep enough yet to be unable to comprehend. “Yes, Miss,” he agreed, her title ending on a soft yelp when she began swatting him. One, two, three, four, five… “The brain, Miss. More specifically, the frontal lobe, the center known for housing the ability to problem solve, to make judgement and motor function. Subject to many maladies, including encephalitis, menangitis, brain tumors, cerebral edema and intracerebral hemorrhage. Also subject to many procedures, including craniotomy, where holes are drilled into a patient’s skull to relieve pressure in the case of swelling inside the brain.” He could have gone on for hours about the brain, his main interest, but he made himself stop.

Relieved that Tony had been able to work with her on the fly, Quinn smiled as he described the segment of the brain she’d indicated in great detail - he was extremely knowledgeable, and there was no doubt in her mind that he’d go on to med school just the way that he wanted to.  “Very, very good.”  She continued her slow path around him, delivering stinging swats on his thighs and torso.  “I’m not going to hit you for the next one, I’m just going to touch the crop to it.”  Lifting the tip to his head, she pressed it down over his eye and held it there for a moment to make sure he felt it.  There was no way she could have hit him there without risking damage, so a simple press would have to do the job.

He smiled at the praise, letting out a relieved breath. “Thank you, Miss.” Each little swat made the sub whimper happily,that pleasant swirl in his mind getting even more pronounced with each spark of pain. Tony closed his eyes, concentrating on where the crop hit. He flinched slightly when leather pressed lightly to his eye. “The eye. It’s made up of two separate parts, with over thirty different components. The human eye is capable of detecting over 10,000 colors. Most ocular surgery is done with lasers now, thanks to the advancement of technology. But it remains one of the most delicate places to perform surgeries on, because of how delicate the muscle and veins inside are.”

Quinn nodded, the crop swinging back and forth against his body as regular as a metronome.  They weren’t savage blows, or even particularly powerful ones, but on top of all the swats that she’d already landed she knew Tony was going to feel it in the morning.  “Not to mention that they come in so many pretty colors,” she murmured softly.  “You’ve done so, so well.  Let’s try two more, and we’ll consider your exam finished.  How about…here?” she tapped him on the chest twice, right over one of his lungs.

The rhythm of the slaps of the crop was almost soothing, the overall sting on his skin probably one of the best feelings he could imagine. “Mm, that’s… also a perception, Miss,” he murmured, his words almost slurred since they weren’t an exact answer. Tony gulped hard, nodding, stuttering out a breath. “The lungs. The main organ of the respiratory system. Though they’re covered under two separate surgical specialties - pulmonology for the respiratory tract, and cardiothoracic for the lungs themselves. They’re susceptible to many diseases, considering the amount of work they have to do for the body. The right lung is heavier and bigger than the left, consider the left lung has to share chest space with the heart.”

“Excellent,” the crop began its steady beat once more, leaving the ghost of red kisses up and down Tony’s skin.  There were very few areas she hadn’t already colored, but she was slowly finding them.  “Just one more, and you’re there.  Such a good boy.  Why don’t you tell me about...this?”  She tapped his upper abdomen on the right side, hoping that she remembered correctly where the liver was.  That area was crowded with organs, and she didn’t want to mess him up by indicating something other than what she was asking for.

The sting of pain was wonderful, but making his head spin a little bit past his ability to think straight. Tony sucked in a breath, shaking his head slightly, his brow furrowing to try and keep his focus. “The… the liver, Miss,” he said after a moment, figuring it was what she meant since it was the biggest organ in that area. “It’s actually a gland, and it works in detoxifying the blood, and the production of biochemicals for digestion. It produces bile, which gets stored in the gall bladder. The only way to fix failing liver function is a liver transplant, though dialysis can work in the short term. However, those who donate livers can still have normal liver function because it regenerates.” He let out a breath, sagging lightly in the bonds holding him to the frame.

There was a long moment where Quinn wondered whether she’d get an answer, but fortunately Tony did an excellent job of focusing and picked up on exactly what she’d wanted him to explain.  “Wonderful,” she praised.  Turning her attention to the heads, she raised her voice slightly.  “Hopefully you were entertained and educated, and we thank you for the chance to present for you today.  I’ll be taking Tony back to my suite for aftercare.”  She returned her attention the submissive, loosening his restraints and helping him step down from the frame.  “I’ve got you,” she murmured quietly.  “Lean on me as heavily as you need to.  You did so well, and I’m proud of you.”

He let out a happy sigh when Quinn turned to address the headmasters. He could relax now, could appreciate the fuzz inside of his head… could just ride the high of his submission. “Thank you, Miss,” he murmured, his voice almost slurred as he leaned against her side. Tony was more than ready to just have some quiet time, hopefully kneeling with his head on Quinn’s knee, until he felt more himself - though he really didn’t want to come out of this blur of submission any time soon.

[hoaryoldbitch]

Unintended (1)

My entry for Day 3 (Hearts) is going to be a multi-chapter fic. I'm afraid there's no Sansa in the first chapter yet, but we'll meet her in chapter two. I'll post the next chapters on the 'fill days'.

I don't have a medical background. Everything in this chapter is just based on things I've picked up watching House M.D., so I apologize for any mistakes.

***

It's Jon and Ygritte's first wedding anniversary. But nothing is the way it's supposed to be on that day.

***

The divorce papers look inconspicuous enough on his coffee table. He's smoothed them out and folded them again, even crumpling and almost shredding them a couple of times, meaning they practically look as if they could fall apart if he picked them up now.

*** Jon swallows and nods, almost forgetting the other man can't see him. "Aye, this is Jon Snow."

"Mr. Snow, I'm Dr. Tyrion Lannister from Casterly Memorial. Are you free to talk?"

"I am."

"I'm afraid I have bad news for you, Mr. Snow. Your wife has been in a motorcycle accident. She's been admitted to our E.R. a couple of hours ago. She's stable, but prospects are... bad. We need you to come here immediately."

When Jon comes home too early that afternoon, he tries to busy himself with task after chore, each of which, he convinces himself, is as urgent as the last. After he's finished with the most necessary ones, he starts inventing new ones. Putting his folded clothes into the closet shouldn't take more than five minutes, but he tells himself it's the perfect opportunity to sort every item by colour. It takes him half an hour, even if most of his clothes are black.

He moves on to the kitchen. He rinses a couple of mugs and glasses and the single plate he used the night before again even though he's already washed them before leaving for work early that morning. When he cuts himself on one of the glasses, gripping it too tightly while drying it, he sighs and turns to the living room, preparing himself for what he's been trying to avoid for the last two hours.

The divorce papers look inconspicuous enough on his coffee table. He's smoothed them out and folded them again, even crumpling and almost shredding them a couple of times, meaning they practically look as if they could fall apart if he picked them up now.

He still hasn't decided whether he should sign them, though they've been on that table for almost two months and he hasn't seen Ygritte in almost three. He's not even sure what it is he feels for her. He couldn't say if it's love, but he knows he's been madly in love with her since that first day, drawn to the boldness and optimism which she approaches everything in life with.

With a shock he realizes they've only known each other for fifteen months. If anything, it has been a wild ride, and he has to admit he's had trouble keeping up with Ygritte a couple of times. Even though he's hardly been able to catch his breath during the year they've been married, he's enjoyed every day of it. It all came to an abrupt end three months ago, when he informed her of the decision he'd made.

The words had barely left his mouth, when she started screeching at him, lunging forward as she did. "You're going to do what?!"

Jon stared at her. "I- I'm joining the army."

Ygritte huffed and poked a sharp finger into his chest. "Oh no, you're not, Jon Snow!"

He raised his eyebrows at her, taking a step back. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"I hate the army," she clarified. His face pulled into a frown. "What? Don't tell me you've turned into a pacifist now! I've seen you in more than one fight, don't give me that peace and love crap!"

She rolled her eyes at him. "You know nothing, Jon Snow. That's not the point! It's not the violence that bothers me. The army is an evil institution!"

He barked out a laugh. "Is it now?"

She gave him an incredulous look. "One word: interventionism! We shouldn't be sticking our noses into other people's business!"

He shook his head. "It's about helping people! Protecting the world from real threats! We have a duty!"

"You actually believe that, don't you?"

Jon gave her a single nod and Ygritte glared at him for a minute. "You've made up your mind then? Fine, I can't tell you what to do... But you can go and do it by yourself. We're done."

She whirled around and he reached out in shock, turning her by the shoulder to face him. "What do you mean, we're done? Can't we talk about it?"

"There's nothing left to talk about!"

"We're married, Ygritte! You can't just walk out on me like that!"

She laughed in his face. "Watch me, Jon Snow!"

He hasn't seen her since. One day he came home to find a big, brawny fellow with an impressive orange beard standing next to the door to his apartment. "Jon Snow?" the man grunted. Jon threw him a defiant glare. "Who's asking?"

"Tormund Giantsbane. Gritte asked me to give ya these."

He shoved the divorce papers into Jon's hands before turning around and leaving without another word. Jon sighs and picks up a pen, clicking it up to the point he's infuriated by his own fidgeting. He's startled by the sound of his phone ringing. He doesn't know the number and almost decides to ignore the call, but picks up anyway. "Hello?"

A male voice answers him, asking. "Mr. Snow? Jon Snow? Husband to Mrs. Ygritte Snow?"

Jon swallows and nods, almost forgetting the other man can't see him. "Aye, this is Jon Snow."

"Mr. Snow, I'm Dr. Tyrion Lannister from Casterly Memorial. Are you free to talk?"

"I am."

"I'm afraid I have bad news for you, Mr. Snow. Your wife has been in a motorcycle accident. She's been admitted to our E.R. a couple of hours ago. She's stable, but prospects are... bad. We need you to come here immediately."

Jon feels as if his heart has sunk through the sofa and floor under him and all the way to the basement seven floors below his living room.

***

An hour later Jon is sitting by Ygritte's hospital bed, watching her still form. Her right arm and leg are twisted in an unnatural angle. He's gripping her other hand tightly, trying to force himself to feel something, anything, but his heart is still missing from his chest. His mind is in a haze and it feels as if he's been locked inside a bubble, separating him from the rest of the world.

He smooths back some of her wild fiery curls from her pale face. She doesn't even look like Ygritte anymore, as if she's already gone. Dr. Lannister was blunt, but Jon supposes he would appreciate it if he was able to properly process anything right now. She's not going to make it. Her kidneys have shut down, no longer able to filter the toxins raging through her body because of her ruptured liver.

"But people get liver transplants all the time these days! And there's other things you could do for her kidneys, right?"

Dr. Lannister sighed. "Dialysis might help to clear the toxins from her system, but it can't repair the damage. And transplants have to be approved by a committee. They'll never give a liver to someone without kidneys. I'm sorry, Mr. Snow. There's nothing we can do."

The doctor squeezed his shoulder, offering him a tight-lipped sad smile. Jon sat waiting for the tears to come, expecting to break down any minute now, but he only felt numb. He still does. Today's our wedding anniversary, a voice in his head reminds him. He almost huffs at that. His mind wanders to the day they met.

They were leaving the pub, walking back to the car. Sam tripped, probably over his own feet, and stumbled into Jon, sending him crashing into a skinny redhead. Before he had a chance to apologize, the girl had whirled around and pushed him against the wall. "Watch where you're going, oaf!"

"I'm sorry, miss," Jon mumbled, "I didn't see you there."

She started studying his face, pulling back and letting her eyes travel lower to take in his body. "No need to call me miss, pretty boy. Name's Ygritte. What's yours?"

Ygritte took him home that same night and Jon moved in with her two weeks later. A month later she proposed and they were married less than two months after that. Ygritte's motivations weren't necessarily romantic in nature, it was just he way she did things. Impulsive, Jon thought, and if she wants something, she goes after it.  She never bothers considering any decision from a long-term point of view. If she feels like doing something, she'll just do it.

She bought the motorcycle a few months after their wedding. She told him riding it made her feel free and truly alive. Oh Ygritte. He warned her on a couple occasions that her desire for freedom might kill her someday, but it was supposed to be a bad joke, nothing more. "You know nothing, Jon Snow," she answered him every time. I wish you'd been right, Ygritte.

He's pulled from his thoughts by a soft voice. "Mr. Snow?"

He turns around to see that another doctor has entered the room. She's very young. "Mr. Snow, I'm Dr. Tyrell. I am so sorry to bother you right now, but I need to do this."

Jon blinks at her. Dr. Tyrell hesitates for a moment. "I wish we could save your wife, Mr. Snow, but we can't... But her heart is strong. She could still save someone else's life."

He stares at the doctor, not understanding what she's trying to tell him. "As Ygritte's husband, you have to sign the papers concerning the donation of any organs, Mr. Snow. I know this is probably the last thing you want to think about right now, but I'm afraid the decision is up to you. I'll give you a couple of minutes to consider your options, but I must urge you, we don't have much time."

"No."

Dr. Tyrell inclines her head. "Of course, I understand, Mr. Snow."

He blinks at her again. "No, I only meant, I don't need time to think about it."

He turns back to Ygritte, smiling at the thought that she's lived her life to the fullest, imagining the world will be a darker place without her brightness. If they can't save her, at least one part of her should live on. "You can take her heart, Dr. Tyrell. What do I need to sign?"

[teachingenglishuniverse-blog]

The Donor World by Megha

Attention: ALL DONOR BABIES. Please report to the main examination room immediately. “Here we go again!” exclaimed Josh. Josh wasn’t his real name; his real name was D-143, which really meant “donor number one-forty-three”. “Again, a new family is probably in need of a kidney or a liver or maybe even an eye for their precious daughter or ancient grandmother”, sighed Josh, sarcastically. “Oh c’mon Josh, you already knew why were here, why we’re created”, said Sarah or generally known as D-142 – his best friend since their birthing. Sarah and Josh were born a day apart, and were held in the same incubators for the first 3 months of their lives. They knew everything about each other. Which body parts they had given, which parts they had left, and especially how they felt about the new world. “Our sole purpose in life is to serve as protectors of the human race. To ensure that humans live their full lives with no harm done. To donate what is necessary in order for their survival, including our lives” they both chanted, as if it were an anthem.

Donor Babies: Take your assigned seats. “What do you think is wrong with the new family? Heart attack? Baby needs a kidney? Grandmother needs a new hip replacement? Or the regular; kid fell off his bike and broke his arm?” whispered Josh. “Shhhh Josh, the commander is going to hear you”, Sarah said worriedly. “Let them hear, I’ll give them a piece of my mind”, said Josh.

We have a new family. They are in dire need of a liver transplant; the father is a hardworking male, who provides diligently for his family. To relax he takes a couple of drinks but never too much. Each donor baby who tests positive to help this suffering family will receive the chance to win one stop-out donation opportunity. Meaning, you will have the freedom to say no to the next given opportunity to donate yourself. “Just one stop-out?! They want us to give our liver to an alcoholic, so he can continue to drink until he ruins this liver? ALL FOR JUST ONE STOP OUT?” Josh yelled silently under his breath. “I’m so tired of being treated like an animal, used for the parts they want and then being tossed aside like nothing matters”. The assembly was over, and all the donor babies returned to their rooms to await the announcement for who would be the donor.

Attention: D-143 please report to examination room A. Josh knew that this meant, he was the one chosen to be a liver match for the new family. As he walked as slowly as ever through the hallway, he thought, “what if I was apart of the new family, what if I was born into a family that got donor parts instead? Would I be happier? Of course I would”. The room was white and had digital screens floating in the air. The machines were making noise as if they were releasing air into the airless white room, and in the middle of all of this was a big white surgical bed, which Josh knew was just for him. There, beside the bed, the commander stood tall and straight in his ironed out black suit. “D-143, you know what that means?” he asked firmly. “It’s my name, commander”, Josh replied. “ ‘143’ – humans have decoded that into the words ‘I Love You’”. Love, you’re named after love. You do not know what that feels like but let me tell you; the human race cannot function without love, they cannot function without you”, preached the commander. For one brief moment, Josh felt a sense of importance, as if he was needed by someone, but that was just the way the commander got donor babies to donate, without having to use force. It just made everything easier. “I want to feel love”, Josh thought, as he got into the white surgical bed, preparing for the painful liver surgery. “They only take a little piece and your liver will regenerate, for further use in the future”, the surgeon squealed behind his mask. In that moment, Josh snapped out of the trance of importance the commander made him feel, and refused to part-take in the donor transplant. “No thank you Commander, I do not wish to donate”, he said. Without any hesitation, the commander signaled two big security patrolmen, and Josh knew that he was not going to leave that room without donating his liver. As the patrolmen started shadowing in with the tranquilizing needles behind their backs, and Josh knew it was now or never. He had the choice to run for his freedom or stay and be livestock for the rest of his painful life in the Dome. So he ran. He ran for his life, and just made it through the closing doors. D-143 was free. Josh was free.

Attention All Donor Babies: Please return to your rooms. The Dome is under lockdown. If anyone sees D-143, please let one of the patrolmen know immediately. Sarah heard this and immediately started to panic. She knew Josh was unhappy, but she never understood why, she just wanted to know he was safe. Shortly after, Sarah heard a loud knock on her room door. “Hello?” Sarah said hesitantly, because she was afraid it was the commander looking for Josh. She went to open the door, and there he was panting and out of breath. “LET’S GO” Josh yelled. “RIGHT NOW, WE HAVE TO LEAVE NOW”. Without thinking Sarah grabbed his hand and ran with him, leaving D-142 behind.

[kansascityhappenings]

Colorado officer donates her organ to young stranger and helps pay medical bill

https://newsource-embed-prd.ns.cnn.com/videos/newsource-video-embed.js

DENVER — It took every bit of Clyde Hoffman’s willpower to not touch every button, switch and lever in Colorado’s Wings Over The Rockies Air & Space Museum.

“If I could flip the switches, I’d tell you how to turn it on,” the 12-year-old aviation enthusiast proclaimed as he sat in the museum’s Boeing 727 cockpit exhibit. “This is where I want to be when I grow up.”

On this day, Clyde and his parents, Mark and Melissa, made the hour-and-a-half trip north from their Colorado Springs home, in part, to appease their son’s infatuation with airplanes.

But their main reason for the visit was this: to meet up with the woman who’d saved Clyde’s life 16 months earlier.

‘This was something I was meant to do’

Officer Carolyn Becker knew from a young age that her life’s mission was to serve her community — particularly children.

“I know it’s in my nature as a person to want to help even people that I don’t know,” said Becker, a six-year veteran of the Broomfield, Colorado, Police Department and a mother of two boys.

Officer Carolyn Becker knew from a young age that her life’s mission was to serve her community — particularly children. In March 2018, Becker signed up online to donate part of her liver to a complete stranger.

After spending most of her career as a school resource officer, she decided she wanted to do more. So, in March 2018, Becker signed up online to donate part of her liver to a complete stranger.

“If I had a kid needing an organ, I’d be in a very desperate spot to see my kid healthy again. I felt like I could help,” she explained. “I had my moments where I thought, ‘Wow, I’m crazy.’ But this was something I was meant to do.”

Clyde Hoffman had been born with Alagille syndrome, a rare genetic disorder that can affect the liver, heart and kidneys. Symptoms can range greatly based on the severity of the condition.

“There are people who have mild symptoms or potentially no at symptoms at all, even as they get into adulthood,” said Dr. Shikha Sundaram, medical director of the Pediatric Liver Transplant Program at Children’s Hospital Colorado. “And there are others who are affected earlier in life and may have severe problems with their liver and potentially with their hearts and kidneys.”

For the most part, Clyde had a fairly active childhood until the spring of 2018.

“He was having a hard time eating enough calories to really keep himself active,” said his father, Mark Hoffman.

“It was hard to concentrate, and he’d be really tired,” explained Melissa Hoffman, Clyde’s mother. “His liver was probably functioning at 10%.”

Doctors determined Clyde had severe liver disease and needed a new liver soon. In June 2018, his name was added to the transplant list and the Hoffmans’ wait began.

“They (the doctors) made it clear to Clyde what the consequences were if he didn’t get a liver,” Mark said.

“He would have died for sure,” Melissa added.

Less than a month after his name was added to the donation list, doctors told the Hoffmans the good news: He was getting a new liver from a healthy stranger.

On August 6, 2018, doctors removed a third of Becker’s liver and successfully transplanted it into Clyde. The Hoffmans saw improvement in Clyde almost immediately. His yellowish complexion faded away and his appetite quickly returned.

“The first time I ate a meal, I ate all of it,” recalled Clyde. “I had an appetite again, and that was amazing.”

Above and beyond

As the Hoffmans focused on their son’s recovery, they were also amazed at the selflessness of the donor.

Mark Hoffman said he remembers on the day of Clyde’s surgery looking over to the wing of the hospital where Becker was having part of her liver removed and feeling a connection with her.

“I was just relieved that we knew that Clyde was going to be matched up with a liver that was going to help him,” he said. “It still hasn’t sunk in that people are willing to do that.”

When a healthy person like Becker agrees to donate part, or all, of an organ to someone they don’t know, it’s called a non-directed donation.

And it’s incredibly rare.

In 2018, there were 350 non-directed organ transplants in the US, according to the federal program that maintains the national database. Of those, 338 were kidneys and 12 were livers — including Becker’s.

“It’s a pretty incredible gift,” said Sundaram. “I’ve been in this field for a long time, and yet, when I think about it, it really makes me very emotional. I really can’t think of anything more selfless that somebody could do.”

But Becker wasn’t done helping just yet.

Seven months after the transplant, she got a card through the medical team that performed the transplant. It was a thank-you note from the 11-year-old boy.

“Dear Donor, Thank you so much for my chance at a new life,” the letter started.

It also contained his school picture with only his first name written on the bottom. From there, Becker’s investigative instincts took over. She wanted to know who Clyde was and where he lived.

She found an online fundraising page set up by the family to help with the large medical bills from Clyde’s transplant and ongoing medical care.

“It was really painful to hear,” Becker recalled. So the police officer came up with a simple way to help.

“I decided to stand on the side of the road with a sign — much like panhandling — and just rely on the generosity of my community to help this family out,” she said.

For much of this summer and as the seasons turned cold, Becker stood along busy roads with a handwritten sign that reads: “I donated my left liver lobe to an 11-year-old stranger. Help me raise $20k for his transplant bill.”

In just a few months, she raised more than $10,000. She sent it into the family as an anonymous online donation.

The Hoffmans didn’t learn that the donation came from Becker until December — more than a year after the transplant surgery — when they met.

Their first meeting was private, and a few weeks later, they let CNN cameras film their get-together at the air museum in Denver, where Clyde chatted with his new friend about all things aviation and his dream to one day be a pilot.

“It’s a little strange that a piece of me is walking around outside,” Becker said. “But yeah, it felt really good to be able to help not only a child but to help a parent as well … a fellow parent.”

The Hoffmans say they’ll never be able to repay Becker for her life-saving gift. By sharing his story, though, Clyde hopes more people will think about donating their organs to strangers:

“Anyone can donate,” he said. “And if you do donate, you’re an amazing person who’s helping everyone out.”

from FOX 4 Kansas City WDAF-TV | News, Weather, Sports https://fox4kc.com/2019/12/23/colorado-officer-donates-her-organ-to-young-stranger-and-helps-pay-medical-bill/

from Kansas City Happenings https://kansascityhappenings.wordpress.com/2019/12/23/colorado-officer-donates-her-organ-to-young-stranger-and-helps-pay-medical-bill/

[anounceaweek]

An Ode to the Death and Life of Benjamin

The death of Benjamin occurred curtly past the midnight of November eleventh. Twelve years, a short amount for those of his kind, have lasted longer than the love of the young marriages told about in the stories of my grandmother. The inevitable Graying, she used to say, once a thing like this happens to you, unfolds in moderation, but does not fail in succession. First, the wood of the tocador will lose its sensuous concentricity. The kamagong will soon look more like a yakal, made dull, lacklustre, cheapened. Once dense, it will turn hollow; a knock on its side will reverberate a distant echo in approximately the key of B minor. The smooth, unfinished walls of cement, she iterates, already gray, will gradually turn into a shade of domestic eggshell; a tone similar to the walls of the public clinic, of which the kidneys of my father consistently avoids. The floors, despite any effort with a walis tambo, or any dusting with an old abandoned shirt by way of jerking the foot back and forth in a wiping motion, will gather more dust than was ever possible for an enclosed space. You will sneeze at once, you will sneeze again, and you will sneeze infinitely. The space, she adds, in fact will cease to be enclosed; windows of capiz, once emanating a gentle eerie light with its tiny frames of mollusk (who thought oysters could double as a kind of glass?), will at once fall off its hinges, shattering on the ground below as if they were never connected in the first place.

Just as she had described, upon Benjamin’s death, it all happened. In the beginning, it wasn’t so terrible. The cavernous drawers were altogether manageable, and though the walls had an air of malaise, it was really the taste of nausea that was the bother. The floors, at first merely gathering dust, in time were swarmed with long strands of hairs, too. In trying to walk too quickly, a bundle of strands would trip me over; though, the pain of falling was none compared to the feeling of ticklish tresses between the gaps of my toes. In an attempt to combat the cold, I plastered large posters on the wall. Darlings and idols, accumulated and amassed over the years, have finally come to some sort of use. Except, nearly every evening, a strong gust of wind would blow a hole straight through them, as if a ghost; thereby, at once, I came upon the idea of manufacturing a Frankenstein plug to fill the break, in gluing together: an anthology of Spanish poetry, Blood on the Tracks, a Björksnäs bed frame, some heavy blankets, socks with avocado print on them, and a number of knick-nacks collected in a trip to Europe about four years ago (which I had originally meant for a scrapbook, but then got lazy, and then I stopped caring about the whole experience, and the whole endeavor was senseless anyway).

I would be lying if I said that I didn’t try to revert Benjamin’s death. I heard once that you could fashion a real, working heart, by putting together an unopened can of liver spread, processed cheese, some fried galunggong, all soldered together with bits of bronze. Careless that I was, I forgot the part about it needing to be consecrated; and though it was in vain, I remembered that I had lost the phone number of my pastor anyway (it was useless, of course, to ask a stranger to bless your makeshift heart). Then, I remembered the uncle of my grandfather, who was said to be a katalonan. I imagined him, as my father had once told me, whispering mysticisms to the foreign occupiers in the jungles of Luzon, rendering him invisible to their eyes and ready to strike. (If a tree falls quietly in the forest, maybe it was never there). Or how, in demonstrating the grit of the spirits residing in his body, he would bite the head of beer bottles with his bare teeth, ingesting the shards of glass with a measly gulp. (I am, therefore I bite). And so, with these in mind, I called for his magick: in silent appeal for nearly a day and a half, I prayed to the ancestors of my ancestors. And to no avail. Hence, I made up my mind that, perhaps through time, due to an insincere intention, or due to a pure lack of faith, the magick of the ones who gave me my name, in fact, perchance, had an unprecedented date of expiration of which my father had, swept in the emotions of his recounts to me, forgotten to disclose.

Still, in feverish and mad hopes to revive my only and beloved Benjamin, following a number of other futile shortcuts and tactics, I had finally decided to consult an expert on the matter. Upon a lengthy discussion of options (of animation, which was a no, on his part; of modifications, which also resulted in a resounding no, on my part; and naturally, I refused to submit Benjamin to any kind of freezing or skin-mounting), we eventually came to an agreement on an affordable and yet luxurious Memory Foam™. As I do anticipate, the temporary depression upon any kind of petting will inevitably deform the look of Benjamin. The incremental return to its original state however, following the slightest bit of pressure, shall have the effect of Benjamin responding as if in vital motion (an advantageous feature).

Admittedly, when I was told that it would be difficult to hide the scars of the incision, I could not hide my dismay. I did not, by the slightest means, want to be reminded of his cadaverous state. I knew that my wishes, however dire, were idealistic- quixotic even. As such, the expert offered me a kind of compromise: if I truly wanted this illusion to be grounded in reality, I must then commit the ultimate sacrifice of renouncing the privilege of having both of my two eyes. Through the surrendering of one eye, one measly eye, for the benefit of Benjamin, I would then be rewarded in two ways.

The first is that, in seeing through only one eye, the left eye, my perspective would be entirely skewed in a sense that I will no longer be able to, so much as I try, notice the scars of the incision. No matter which angle I attempted as a point of vantage, I shall not see it; it will not be there. In retrospect, I had forgotten to ask what else would be amiss, and in this report from having completed the operation in question, I suppose I haven’t missed much, yet, or at least, of anything that I am aware of. The second is that, in donating my other eye, the right eye, to take the place of Benjamin’s right eye, I shall have the rare and gratuitous honour of, as well, seeing the world as it appears from the perspective of Benjamin. Dubious, I know. I was also curious about how this would unfold.

Nonetheless, I had consented to the operation before the expert could enclose to me as to how exactly it would transpire. What can I say, when the serpent gives you fruit, what else are you to do but to squeeze the juices out of that fruit until it runs dry?

As you are reading this, I can only imagine that you are anticipating the the results of my decision. I shall make no further delay in telling you: this double vision, a kind of simulated mirror of the world, as an effect of having each eye in two separate locations, has been miraculous and has entirely transformed the procession of my life. I have become the cinematographer of my own perception; a kind of omnipotent ad hoc God. At any given point, I can choose to close my right eye and view an event from the West, or close my left eye and view it from the East, or see through them both in concurrent discord (which, I have to say, produces a refraction of lights, colours and shadows, most pleasing to the senses). The mode of having such a malleable and manipulable vision is quintessentially surreal- the possibilities of which, as I imagine in both eyes now, are incalculable. Its application in any sort of activity involving the visual is manifold; its resources, inexhaustible until I perish (and I have Benjamin’s immortality, now, to thank as well).

My preoccupation in testing the limits of this newfound ability has, as an understatement, served well to pass the time. Things do not quite appear the way they used to; they are different, the same, and yet different, but in the good sense. The Graying was still there, though somehow, the double vision (a miracle) made it appear less pitiful, more ephemeral. If I shut one of my eyes, I could fully neglect half the room. Best of all, not only have I encased Benjamin into an ultimate and solidifying permanence, (and lately, I have also been considering my very own transition) but I have also acquired this cutting-edge vision: effervescent, imprecise, absolute

to which, not even the latest model

of a mirrorless Canon© can compare to.

[vernicle]

<p>The incredible story of baby Eva Grace: the superhero who never lived.</p>

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My spouse Keri and I went in for the regular 19-7 days anatomy scan of our next child. As a mother or father, you assume that appointment is all about finding out boy or female, but it is about a complete whole lot far more.

In our scenario, our daughter was identified with a unusual start defect referred to as anencephaly — some three in ten,000 pregnancies unusual. The phrase our doctor used in outlining it was "incompatible with everyday living," which seems to be as horrible in text as it sounds. The child fails to build the frontal lobe of the brain or the prime of their cranium. The probability of survival is %. We sat in a doctor’s office environment, five months ahead of our daughter was to be born, recognizing she would die.

The options weren’t wonderful. There was (a) inducing early, which in impact was terminating the being pregnant or (b) continuing the being pregnant to comprehensive expression.

In a moment or so of finding out, Keri asked if we could donate the baby’s organs if we went to comprehensive expression. It was on her heart and brain, but we still left the doctor and still invested the next 48 hrs choosing what we had been going to do. It was excruciating. We regarded as terminating. We had to. Ended up we capable of having on the fat of the 20 weeks in advance? In our minds, we had been deliberately having on the decline of a child, fairly than the decline of a being pregnant. And, certainly, there is a variance.

We made the decision to proceed, and we chose the title Eva for our female, which signifies "giver of everyday living."

The mission was uncomplicated: get Eva to comprehensive expression, welcome her into this globe to die, and let her give the gift of everyday living to some other hurting spouse and children.

It was a realistic method, with an goal for an currently settled ending position. We satisfied with an organ procurement business referred to as LifeShare of Oklahoma and discovered out we’d be the eighth spouse and children in the state to donate the organs of an toddler.

There was not significantly of a precedent or course of action in area for the reason that, until only not long ago, most mother and father of anencephalic infants didn’t know it was an possibility. There’s this strange grey spot concerned for the reason that, even without a brain, these infants cannot be declared brain dead. Her heart would need to end beating, leaving a finite window of, let us get in touch with it, "possibility," to recover her kidneys, liver, and perhaps pancreas and heart valves. We asked about other things, like her eyes or corneas, but LifeShare explained to us they’d in no way carried out that ahead of, even with an grownup.

All pics by Mitzi Aylor/Alyor Photography. Made use of with the permission of Royce Younger.

Aspect of the issue of the conclusion to carry on was the actual physical being pregnant and the mental burden of carrying a little one for 20 far more weeks recognizing she would die. The kicks and punches to Keri’s bladder served as a constant reminder of what was within. (Sure, Eva kicked like any other little one her brainstem was finish, which is what controls primary motor capabilities. I know, we had a really hard time wrapping our minds about it much too.) She feared folks asking what she was acquiring or the owing day or if the nursery was ready.

What we unexpectedly discovered, while, was pleasure in the being pregnant. We fortunately talked about our sweet Eva, and working day by working day, our like for her grew. We got energized to be her mother and father.

I assume a major aspect of that was connected to the conclusion we made to proceed on, which was empowering. She had a title, an identity, and a function. The thought of selection in being pregnant is a sophisticated a single, and a single I type of want to stay away from right here. Anywhere you drop, just know, we had been empowered by our conclusion, our responsibility to be Eva’s mom and dad for as extensive as we could. We went from seeing the being pregnant as a auto to assist some others to wanting forward to keeping her, kissing her, telling her about her brother, and staying her mother and father.

The time we’d have was absolutely unfamiliar, with it ranging any place from five seconds to five minutes to five hrs to, in some far more optimistic estimates, five days.

We made the decision to have a planned c-part. We wished to increase our prospects of seeing Eva alive and be in a position to control as lots of variables as feasible.

There wouldn’t be any shock labor in the middle of the evening. We could have our 1st child Harrison there to meet up with his sister and grandparents ready to maintain their granddaughter even if she was only alive for an hour or so. We wished to do what was very best for our female. Which is what mother and father do.

As the day neared, the conferences and appointments cranked up. We had what absolutely everyone referred to as the "Significant Conference," a collecting at Baptist Medical center of about 30 folks that incorporated various folks from LifeShare, NICU nurses and medical professionals, neonatologists, and other "Incredibly Essential Medical center Men and women." We had been the 1st toddler organ donor ever at Baptist, and they had been establishing a protocol on the fly. There had been plans and contingency plans and contingency plans for the contingency plans.

The course of action was going to be fragile, and to be frank, it seemed progressively unlikely that it would do the job. There had been a whole lot of things that had been going to need to go just proper, even with the intricate plans that had been staying set in area. It was made distinct to us more than and more than and more than all over again how if Eva’s kidneys or liver didn’t go right for transplant, they would go to investigate, and toddler organ investigate is very valuable.

But I wished a tangible result. I wished to be in a position to meet up with and hug and shake the hand of the human being my daughter saved.

I couldn’t aspiration about what my daughter would develop up to be, so I fantasized about the variance she could make.

What if the human being who got her kidneys became president? What if her liver went to a minor boy and he goes on to acquire the Heisman Trophy? I was creating the "30 for 30" script in my brain every single evening as I went to rest. It was some thing to maintain onto it was the type of hope I wrapped up with both equally arms. Exploration was nothing at all far more than a are unsuccessful-harmless to me, a Strategy B that I didn’t want any aspect of.

There had been some problems from the hospital's ethics team about Eva and our plans. As I explained to them — and to any one else out there who has this thought that we grew a daughter just for her organs — Eva was a terminal child. And as her mother and father, we elected to make her an organ donor. Which is it. She would be born, stay an indefinite sum of time, and then we had been selecting to donate her organs.

Then out of the blue, we had been in the two-7 days window. In two weeks, we’d be prepping to welcome our little one female into the globe and planning to say goodbye to her.

I planned on sitting down down that working day to write Eva a letter, like I did ahead of Harrison was born to give him on his 18th birthday. She’d in no way go through it, but I was going to go through it to her. Keri didn’t truly feel Eva move significantly that early morning, but we both equally brushed it off and went to lunch. We arrived household, set Harrison down for a nap, and Keri sat down in her preferred place and prodded Eva to move. She wouldn’t.

We started off to get worried. Keri got up, walked about, drank chilly water, ate some sugary stuff. She sat back down and waited. Probably that was some thing? We made the decision to go to the medical center. We held on to hope that we had been just staying extremely anxious and didn’t get any bags.

We arrived, and a nurse appeared for a heartbeat on the doppler: nothing at all. Not unconventional it was occasionally really hard to uncover for the reason that of the added fluid. They introduced in a bedside ultrasound device and appeared. It seemed that perhaps there was a flicker of cardiac action. They explained to us to get ready to hurry in for a c-part.

I just bear in mind repeating, "I’m not ready I’m not ready I’m not ready I’m not ready." I was meant to have two far more weeks. What about the program? What about Harrison? What about Eva’s aunts and uncles and grandparents? What if they couldn’t make it in time? What about her letter?

They introduced in a improved ultrasound device. Keri and I had observed more than enough ultrasounds to straight away know: There was no heartbeat. Eva was long gone ahead of we ever got to meet up with her. The brain controls steady heart capabilities, and Eva’s last but not least gave out.

Keri rolled onto her aspect and set both equally arms more than her face and let out a single of those people uncooked, visceral sobbing bursts. I stood silently shaking my head.

We had attempted to do every little thing proper, attempted to assume of some others, attempted to get every single feasible action to make this do the job, and it didn’t. No organ donation. Not even for investigate, our are unsuccessful-harmless. We felt cheated.

The term I still have circling in my head is disappointment. That does not definitely do it justice for the reason that it is profound disappointment. The type of disappointment that will sneak up on me at various situations, like when I’m mowing the property or rocking Harrison or driving to a match.

Due to the fact there was no motive to control variables anymore, the medical professionals induced Keri into labor. The relaxation of Sunday and into Monday early morning had been the darkest, most painful hrs of our lives. We had previously occur to conditions with the result and had just about discovered a pleasure in the function of our daughter’s everyday living. We had appeared forward to conference her and loving her. We knew we’d harm from her decline, but there was hope in the variance she was earning. We had listened to from recipients of organ donation that had been so encouraging and uplifting.

But the offer got altered. It felt like we had been letting absolutely everyone down. (I know how preposterous that sounds.) I felt embarrassed for the reason that all that positivity about conserving lives was not taking place now. (I know how preposterous that sounds.)

On prime of it all, the ultimate kick in the gut: We wouldn’t even see her alive. I struggled with the thought of Eva’s existence and her humanity all alongside, about whether a terminal analysis made her dead currently. I clung to recognizing her humanity would be validated to me when I saw her as a living, breathing human staying. I wished to check out her die for the reason that that would necessarily mean I got to check out her stay. I longed for just five minutes with her — heck, five seconds with her. All of that realistic stuff about organ donation was irrelevant to me now. I just wished to maintain my little one female and see her chest move up and down. I just wished to be her daddy, if only for a handful of seconds.

Eva arrived surprisingly rapid on Monday. Keri pressured me to go get some lunch  —  a unhappy, lonely lunch showcasing me having bites of chicken fingers in between sobs  —  and I got back to the medical center about noon. Keri sat up and felt some agony. Then she felt a further shot of agony ring via her entire body. Our photographer had just arrived and was environment up. Keri started off to worry and asked for nurses to occur in. They checked her, and it was time to have a little one. I still was not ready.

At twelve:20 we referred to as our spouse and children and explained to them to hurry.

At twelve:30, our doctor, Dr. Pinard, arrived.

At twelve:33 and twelve:35, Laurie from LifeShare attempted calling Keri.

At twelve:37, Eva Grace Younger was born. I reduce her umbilical cord at twelve:38.

My telephone rang at twelve:40 and twelve:forty one, and then a textual content arrived. It was Laurie from LifeShare. "Hey Royce, it is Laurie . Will you give me a get in touch with when you get a probability? I assume I have some superior news for you."

Keri and I held every other and cried as the nurses cleaned Eva, and Dr. Pinard referred to as LifeShare for us.

Then, she walked up to the foot of the mattress.

"I’m on the telephone with LifeShare," Dr. Pinard stated, a smile cracking via on her face. "They have a receiver for Eva’s eyes."

It is strange to say that during almost certainly the worst expertise of my everyday living was also perhaps the very best instant of my everyday living, but I assume it was the very best instant of my everyday living.

The timing of it all is just some thing I cannot describe. It was not what we planned or hoped for, but it was every little thing we required in that instant. I buried my head in my arms and sobbed more difficult than I ever have. Keri set her arms more than her face and did the same. Satisfied tears.

This was our reaction when Dr. Pinard explained to us about Eva’s eyes.

As the nurses handed her to us for the 1st time, significantly of the dread and panic was lifted from us and changed with hope and pleasure all over again. Listed here arrives Eva Grace Younger, the superhero she was often meant to be.

None of it went as we planned. We’re seeking to relaxation on recognizing we did the very best we could. We often stated we wished to limit our regret, and I assume in 20 yrs or so, as we replicate on this, there is not significantly we’d transform.

We’re proud to be Eva’s mother and father. We’re thrilled with the influence she’s made. Men and women from about the globe have despatched us messages telling us they’ve signed up to be organ donors for the reason that of Eva.

Eva’s the 1st ever —  not little one, but human being — in the state of Oklahoma to donate a complete eye, and she donated two.

Simply because of her, LifeShare has made connections in other states to set up eye transplants for the upcoming. They have an toddler organ donation program they now are working with sharing with other organ procurement companies in Colorado and Texas. They get in touch with it the Eva Protocol.

I keep thinking about wanting into her eyes some working day, but far more than something, I assume about her eyes seeing her mom, dad, and brother.

We often puzzled things about Eva, like what color her hair would be, if she’d have Harrison’s nose, if she’d have dimples like her mama, or what color her eyes would be. In the time we invested with her, a single eye was just a minor little bit open up, and I fought the temptation to peek. I cannot ever maintain my daughter all over again. I cannot ever talk to her or hear her giggle. But I can aspiration about wanting into her eyes for the 1st time a single working day and finding out what color they are.

This tale 1st appeared on the author's Medium and is reprinted right here with permission.

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