Organ Donation

So...an officer of IMPD was shot on Sunday. He was hit in the cheek, in the chin, in the thigh, and on his bullet-proof vest. He's been in a coma, "fighting for his life". Naively, I wondered how those particular injuries could be so grave, but they did an MRI on him yesterday and discovered that one bullet fractured his spine and another went through his brain stem and major blood vessels. The police chief held a press conference this evening to announce that the doctors have determined that he cannot recover from his injuries, that his family is preparing to "give David back to God," and that they are in the process of donating his organs. It's sad, really. He is a good looking young man, laid low by a nasty criminal with a long "rap" sheet. I think it is the family's hope that he will live on after this tragedy by giving his viable organs away to those who need them. It is a noble effort. *My only brush with organ donation came at the same time as my biggest brush with death: the brain aneurysm rupture. I felt pretty punk, but I didn't feel like I was dying. Still, I was airlifted to St. Francis Hospital in Peoria, IL, from Memorial Hospital in Springfield. It was night time. Once there, I was plunked into ICU. (I had to ask. I still didn't feel bad enough to be critical.) Once I was settled in, the nurse--a man--told me I could watch TV if I wanted to. I expressed concern that I would disturb the person in the other bed. His sad response was, "I wish you COULD disturb her." Without asking too many questions, I discovered that she was in her late 40s and brain dead, on a respirator, with the same malady as I had. Pretty sobering! *She and I remained roommates through my tests, craniotomy, and beyond. She didn't have many visitors because she wasn't conscious, but family members would come in, from time to time, and talk to/weep over her. "We will miss you," they'd say. One said, "You always had such beautiful eyes, and now someone else is going to see with them." I wanted out of there, not because I was afraid for myself, but because I felt that I was intruding--even with the curtain closed--on some very private and personal moments in the lives of that family. It also seemed like an insult to them that I was alive and well, when their loved one wasn't going to recover. She was kept alive for organ donation. *One night, a team of people in scrubs arrived with satchels and computers and all kinds of clap-trap. The comings and goings went on all night. They were the organ donation team. To my knowledge, no surgical procedures were occurring on the other side of the curtain, but apparently there are a lot of tests to take and data to gather. Although I hadn't said anything, my night nurse was apologetic, saying they were trying to find a bed for me outside of ICU. It was a long night. (In hospitals, every night is long!) The next day, I was put in a regular room. *I don't know the agony that Patrolman David Moore's family is enduring right now, but I have a hint. I was an unwilling spectator in one family's tragedy. I hope they got some comfort in knowing that parts of their loved one lived on. I hope the same for Patrolman Moore's family.