The message was received in the late afternoon – there is a transplant – a message on the phone so short, one letter which gives so much hope, joy, great feelings of gratitude forever.
There is approval from the donating family, and there is the consent of the doctors, there is a transplant, lung transplants, live transplants…
I look and see a beautiful young woman ready for surgery. Her breaths are fast and shallow as if counting them, afraid to waste them as if they had allotted a quantity and she should not finish it quickly. She is constantly smiling, but her eyes are tired. She does not show it, but I’m sure she’s scared too.
The transplant started, and I noticed that they had forgotten the book of Psalms outside the operating room. Can God respond so remotely?
Family members pray and recite Psalms one after the other. I remember “The Fisherman’s Marsh,” this is a prayer song by the fishermen. Its chorus goes like this:
My distant star is satellite,
Light my way, do not leave me,
Then I will know: I am not alone,
Because someone is thinking about me now.
Long hours of hope and joy alternate with tension and apprehension, the clock slowly moving.
The distress is replaced by tears that threaten to burst out. There are moments when the room is spinning fast to allow feelings to mix and darken, not to feel so strong, not to be so afraid, and not to rejoice so strongly. How good it is to be surrounded now by family and friends.
Many thoughts run through my mind about the donor. Anonymous only 20 years old, anonymous of a crying mother, unnamed of brothers and sisters, uncles, friends, city.
Two days later, in the intensive care unit… A beautiful and young girl woke up hoping for a new life.
I return in my mind to the donor, whoever you may rest your soul in peace.
Now, do not be left alone. Now you’re part of us.
Impressions from the transplant
