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Ethan leaned back against the faded couch, absentmindedly running his fingers over the faint scars on
his neck. The calluses on his fingers, developed over years of playing the guitar, felt strange on the much
softer skin below his jaw.
This wasn’t his skin. Though the tone was nearly identical, particularly since Ethan’s natural skin, rough
and tanned from so many hours in the sun playing pickup games of basketball and Frisbee with his
friends, had paled from the weeks he spent in the hospital after the accident.
He had been in the basement when it happened, had just gotten off the phone with a buddy of his who
was going through a rough patch with his on-again, off-again girlfriend. Although Ethan’s parents were
out that night, celebrating an early anniversary dinner before the whole family went up to Denver to
visit with their extended family for a weekend, out of habit Ethan sequestered himself in the basement
to finish his phone call. The conversation (one-sided though it was, Ethan did more nodding and
“mhmm”-ing than anything else) had run longer than he anticipated, and it was nearly ten thirty when
he started up the steps that led from the basement to the kitchen. It was only then that he smelled the
smoke. Panicking, Ethan thrust open the door only to come face to face with a sheet of smoke,
illuminated by flames that had engulfed the stove and surrounding cabinets. His heart stopped. For a
moment he just stood there, stunned and horrified at his own stupidity; had he forgotten to turn off the
stovetop? Had there been a candle burning that he had neglected to extinguish? A smoke-induced
coughing fit brought him out of his nightmarish reverie, and he remembered his sister. Had she already
escaped the house? Ethan fled the burning kitchen and raced up the stairs, barely noticing the
thickening smoke as he ascended. He fumbled his way down the hall- he was lightheaded and almost
nothing was visible through the smoke and flames- grasped a doorknob, feeling the hot metal scorch his
palm as he opened the door to his sister’s room. He tried to shout her name, but he couldn’t stop
coughing. He stumbled into the room, heard something crashing behind him, and then went black.
Ethan woke up two days later in the hospital. His family filled him in on the details; his sister was unhurt,
she had been at a friend’s house that evening, and was never in any danger. A neighbor had seen the
smoke and called 911. The fire department had entered the house and found Ethan unconscious,
trapped beneath a smoldering bookcase. His injuries were severe; fractured ribs and third degree burns,
and his right leg had been all but crushed by the bookcase. It would have been amputated had they not
been able to use donor tissues to repair lost circulatory connections. The same donor provided the skin
they grafted onto Ethan’s face and side, to prevent significant scarring, disfigurement, and lower the risk
of infection and death.
It was a strange thing, Ethan thought, to owe your life to someone else. It made you see things a little
differently. Ethan had always been told that each day is a gift, but just as the accident reaffirmed for him
how quickly life can be lost, the scars- from minor burns, and the pink, still-healing lines around the
grafts on his face, neck, and right arm reminded him that he owed his health to someone, someone he
had never met. He didn’t even know their name. This frustrated Ethan. He knew, logically, that he
should above all feel grateful. Grateful that he was alive, that his family was unharmed, that the skin and
tissue of a donor meant that he would not be permanently disfigured. Yet Ethan had never been
comfortable indebted to another. It was even hard for him to accept help from his family following the
fire; to let his mother spoon soup past his cracked lips as his bandaged hands lay useless on the mattress
below him, to let his father help him undress, careful to avoid the patches of raw, uneven skin, still
sensitive from the graft. As his body healed, Ethan learned to accept and be grateful for the help offered
him, but he still felt the need to give something back, to repay the sacrifices made by his family and by
the individual who had given him a second chance at life. He knew how to repay his family, he saw them
every day, and surely he could care for them in the years to come, and be as helpful as possible until
then, to show his gratitude. But how could he repay someone who had died, whom he had never met?
How could he possibly thank someone who had given him so much? The answer came to him so
suddenly he was amazed he hadn’t thought of it before.
Ethan had read the brochures- three weeks in the hospital had given him plenty of time to read
everything in sight- so he knew that, thanks to new advancements in medical procedures, more organs
and tissues than ever could be used from organ donors. A single donor could give their organs and
tissues to dozens of people. So many lives changed, so many lives saved. He recalled something he had
been told, once before, though the words had meant very little to him then. Now, they carried a new
weight, and he grabbed a pen and a notebook to write down the quote that would become the guiding
philosophy of his life; “There is no greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friendsi”. Ethan
would devote the rest of his life to helping others, and if he should die before his time, he would help
others in death as well. He would become an organ donor.
Works Cited
“FAQs.” Organ, Eye and Tissue Donor Registry. Donate Life Virginia.
2012. Web. March 31, 2013.
“Organ Donation: The Process.” Donate the Gift of Life. U.S. Department of Health and Human Services.
Web. March 31, 2013.
Bhimji, Shabir. “Skin Graft.” MedilinePlus. U.S National Library of Medicine, National Institutes of Health.
January 25, 2011. Web. March 31, 2013.
“Frequently Asked Questions.” Life is in Your Hands. . The Tissue Center of Central Texas.
2010. Web. March 31, 2013.
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John 15:13, The New American Bible