I’ve been thinking a lot about organ donation lately and a story on MSNBC about a mom hoping to have a hand transplant [1] hit home. I am not an organ donor, nor am I prepared to say I want to be one. But I am not sure why. Why do I hesitate at the chance to give someone else the opportunity to, in some cases, live? What the hell is wrong with me?
When I do think about what organs I would be willing to donate, should I change my mind, I immediately think about things that are inside my body — things that no one would be able to tell went missing. That seems to bother me less. Well, except my heart; I am not so sure I would be willing to let that go. But then I think, really, if a doctor took my heart (after I am already, of course, utterly and completely dead) and gave it to someone who needed it, why should that bother me? I am not going to need it anymore… or will I?
Jerry Orbach donated his eyes [2]. His eyes! How will he see? Okay, obviously he is dead, he won’t need them anymore… so why am I having so much trouble with this?
How do I get past this silly feeling I have of violation? If I am dead, I’m dead, right?
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[5]Amy Boshnack [6]
[5]Latest posts by Amy Boshnack (Posts [7])
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