by David Goldman
Tomorrow is a big day for me. June 7, 1997 was the date of my successful pancreas transplant.
June 6, 1997 was the last full day I spent as a diabetic.
June 6, 1997 was the day Krissy Frank didn’t see the truck coming.
Krissy was a 17 year old high school student from a Minneapolis suburb. She had everything in the world to look forward to and there was no reason to think she wouldn’t attain it all. Everyone I’ve met who knew her told me the same things: she was smart, she had a great personality, and she would light up the room as soon as she walked in. She was a member of the National Honor Society at her school. Classes had just ended for the year. Just one more year of high school and she was on to college. Maybe medical school would follow after that.
She played softball for the high school girls’ team. On the afternoon of Friday June 6th, 1997 she was attending a school sponsored party for the team. Krissy had her driver’s license since the previous October and she was only a couple of miles from her house.
On Friday June 6th, 1997 I had been a diabetic for 41 years. It was a long time to be taking shots, dealing with partial blindness, kidney disease, and more. During the last few years that I had diabetes I had reached a point where my blood sugars were on a daily roller coaster ride. They went literally from too low to read, to too high to read before diving back down low again. I had absolutely no control of my sugar levels anymore. To make matters worse, my body no longer recognized the telltale signs of an insulin reaction that occur when the blood sugar is too low. I had gone through kidney disease and a successful kidney transplant. But the diabetes was getting to me. I always thought I felt normal but that was changing too. I felt like I was wearing down much faster than I should have been for my age. The diabetes was taking a toll on me.
I had gone on the transplant waiting list for a pancreas the past November. They said it would probably be three to six months before a good donor match came up. The thing is, I never truly considered that my donor would be a living, breathing person who had a family and a place in the world. I know that sounds incredibly stupid and naïve, but I guess it’s just how I rationalized things. In order for me to receive my pancreas, somebody had to die. The furthest I let myself go was to think, no, to assume it would be someone without a family and without a life. Maybe someone drowning his or her sorrows in a bar who got into a car and accidentally ended a life that nobody had noticed in the first place. You could call it a warped version of wishful thinking.
Krissy got in the car and offered to take one of the other girls home. She was the sort of person who was always willing to help someone out, and offering a ride was in her nature. They got in, buckled their seatbelts, and were on their way home.
In order to get from the softball field to their homes they had to cross a highway. It was a north-south highway with two lanes in each direction separated by a median strip. Krissy stopped as she approached the highway and checked traffic coming from the north. When it was clear, she moved across two lanes and stopped in the median before crossing the northbound lanes. Witnesses said they saw her look and check the oncoming traffic as she crossed the last two lanes.
The small truck headed north at 55 m.p.h. was in her blind spot.
Our phone rang at 5:30 am Saturday morning. The caller ID said it was the Transplant Center at the University of Minnesota. It was “The Call”. For the past seven months every time the phone rang I thought it might be them. Anyone who’s ever been on the transplant list knows what it’s like. Anytime the phone rings it could be “The Call” that’s going to save your life. Some people wait for years. Far too many never get “The Call”.
The voice said they had a donor for me. “… a very good match. She was a 17 year old girl who was killed in a car crash”. Suddenly, everything changed. I didn’t want it to be a 17 year old girl. I didn’t want a 17 year old to die so that I could live. It wasn’t fair. “David? Can you make it up here?” It was supposed to be someone without a life, without a family or friends. Shouldn’t it be somebody who wouldn’t mind dying and wouldn’t be missed?
June 6, 1997 was the last full day I spent as a diabetic.
June 6, 1997 was the day Krissy Frank didn’t see the truck coming.
Krissy was a 17 year old high school student from a Minneapolis suburb. She had everything in the world to look forward to and there was no reason to think she wouldn’t attain it all. Everyone I’ve met who knew her told me the same things: she was smart, she had a great personality, and she would light up the room as soon as she walked in. She was a member of the National Honor Society at her school. Classes had just ended for the year. Just one more year of high school and she was on to college. Maybe medical school would follow after that.
She played softball for the high school girls’ team. On the afternoon of Friday June 6th, 1997 she was attending a school sponsored party for the team. Krissy had her driver’s license since the previous October and she was only a couple of miles from her house.
On Friday June 6th, 1997 I had been a diabetic for 41 years. It was a long time to be taking shots, dealing with partial blindness, kidney disease, and more. During the last few years that I had diabetes I had reached a point where my blood sugars were on a daily roller coaster ride. They went literally from too low to read, to too high to read before diving back down low again. I had absolutely no control of my sugar levels anymore. To make matters worse, my body no longer recognized the telltale signs of an insulin reaction that occur when the blood sugar is too low. I had gone through kidney disease and a successful kidney transplant. But the diabetes was getting to me. I always thought I felt normal but that was changing too. I felt like I was wearing down much faster than I should have been for my age. The diabetes was taking a toll on me.
I had gone on the transplant waiting list for a pancreas the past November. They said it would probably be three to six months before a good donor match came up. The thing is, I never truly considered that my donor would be a living, breathing person who had a family and a place in the world. I know that sounds incredibly stupid and naïve, but I guess it’s just how I rationalized things. In order for me to receive my pancreas, somebody had to die. The furthest I let myself go was to think, no, to assume it would be someone without a family and without a life. Maybe someone drowning his or her sorrows in a bar who got into a car and accidentally ended a life that nobody had noticed in the first place. You could call it a warped version of wishful thinking.
Krissy got in the car and offered to take one of the other girls home. She was the sort of person who was always willing to help someone out, and offering a ride was in her nature. They got in, buckled their seatbelts, and were on their way home.
In order to get from the softball field to their homes they had to cross a highway. It was a north-south highway with two lanes in each direction separated by a median strip. Krissy stopped as she approached the highway and checked traffic coming from the north. When it was clear, she moved across two lanes and stopped in the median before crossing the northbound lanes. Witnesses said they saw her look and check the oncoming traffic as she crossed the last two lanes.
The small truck headed north at 55 m.p.h. was in her blind spot.
Our phone rang at 5:30 am Saturday morning. The caller ID said it was the Transplant Center at the University of Minnesota. It was “The Call”. For the past seven months every time the phone rang I thought it might be them. Anyone who’s ever been on the transplant list knows what it’s like. Anytime the phone rings it could be “The Call” that’s going to save your life. Some people wait for years. Far too many never get “The Call”.
The voice said they had a donor for me. “… a very good match. She was a 17 year old girl who was killed in a car crash”. Suddenly, everything changed. I didn’t want it to be a 17 year old girl. I didn’t want a 17 year old to die so that I could live. It wasn’t fair. “David? Can you make it up here?” It was supposed to be someone without a life, without a family or friends. Shouldn’t it be somebody who wouldn’t mind dying and wouldn’t be missed?
“Uh … yes, how soon do I have to get up there?”
“As soon as you can make it.”
“Okay.”
Friday night the Franks also received a phone call from a hospital. Their daughter had been in an accident. A bad accident. They needed to get to the hospital as soon as they could. The ambulance had taken Krissy to the nearest hospital. Her injuries were severe and she had to be transferred to a trauma center. Her passenger, the girl Krissy doing was a favor for, was pronounced dead at the scene of the accident.
When Krissy's parents arrived at the hospital they thought she looked like she was sleeping. However, the news wasn’t good. She had suffered significant brain damage. They were waiting for test results. Her mother sat and held Krissy’s hand for hours. She would squeeze Krissy’s hand and at times it seemed Krissy squeezed back. Her mother held out hope. Finally, the doctor came in with the news no parent should ever have to hear. “I’m so sorry. We’ve done everything that we can but your daughter has suffered irreversible brain damage. She is brain dead. There is nothing left that we can do.”
They heard the words but couldn’t comprehend them. Somebody made a mistake. Can time just be rewound so this doesn’t happen? This isn’t supposed to go like this. She has to finish high school and then she’s going to college. She’s going to wake up soon. You’ll see! She’ll be fine. Maybe a little bruised but that’s all …
My wife and I walked into the hospital Saturday morning and went to admissions. On our way to the room we stopped at the gift shop to pick up a newspaper. We were told it would probably be a few hours before my surgery. I went to my room and sat there as doctors and nurses came in taking blood, asking questions, prodding and poking. Then came more tests and more prodding. Finally, my wife and I were left alone in the room. The entire time I had been thinking that someone died and because of it I was going to live. I felt guilty. Logically, I knew I shouldn’t. Emotionally, it was a different story. My wife opened the paper she purchased in the gift shop and said, “Oh no …”. On the front page was the story of a car accident from the night before in which two high school girls were killed. I couldn’t look at it. I didn’t want to hear what it said. When I was released from the hospital a few days later, we brought the paper home with us.
A representative from Minnesota’s organ procurement agency came into the room where the Franks were trying to grasp what had happened. The woman came in to ask them if they would consider donating Krissy’s organs so that the loss of their daughter might save others’ lives. “Many people’s lives can be saved and others enhanced.” We all know that if and when we are asked, the correct response to the question is yes. Life must go on right? But it has to be one of the hardest decisions anyone can be asked to make. How can you even think straight at such a traumatic time? Too many people say no and as a result, more people die.
But the Franks knew what they had to do. They knew what Krissy would have wanted. They said yes.
I came out of surgery at 2 a.m. Sunday morning, June 7, 1997. After 41 years I was no longer a diabetic.
Monday morning Krissy Frank was buried. Prior to the funeral a representative asked me if there was anything I wanted to say to the family. All I could say was I’m sorry and thank you. Then I broke down and cried my eyes out.
A year after I got home I was finally able to read the newspaper article about the accident. I’ll always wish it was not those two young girls.
When Krissy's parents arrived at the hospital they thought she looked like she was sleeping. However, the news wasn’t good. She had suffered significant brain damage. They were waiting for test results. Her mother sat and held Krissy’s hand for hours. She would squeeze Krissy’s hand and at times it seemed Krissy squeezed back. Her mother held out hope. Finally, the doctor came in with the news no parent should ever have to hear. “I’m so sorry. We’ve done everything that we can but your daughter has suffered irreversible brain damage. She is brain dead. There is nothing left that we can do.”
They heard the words but couldn’t comprehend them. Somebody made a mistake. Can time just be rewound so this doesn’t happen? This isn’t supposed to go like this. She has to finish high school and then she’s going to college. She’s going to wake up soon. You’ll see! She’ll be fine. Maybe a little bruised but that’s all …
My wife and I walked into the hospital Saturday morning and went to admissions. On our way to the room we stopped at the gift shop to pick up a newspaper. We were told it would probably be a few hours before my surgery. I went to my room and sat there as doctors and nurses came in taking blood, asking questions, prodding and poking. Then came more tests and more prodding. Finally, my wife and I were left alone in the room. The entire time I had been thinking that someone died and because of it I was going to live. I felt guilty. Logically, I knew I shouldn’t. Emotionally, it was a different story. My wife opened the paper she purchased in the gift shop and said, “Oh no …”. On the front page was the story of a car accident from the night before in which two high school girls were killed. I couldn’t look at it. I didn’t want to hear what it said. When I was released from the hospital a few days later, we brought the paper home with us.
A representative from Minnesota’s organ procurement agency came into the room where the Franks were trying to grasp what had happened. The woman came in to ask them if they would consider donating Krissy’s organs so that the loss of their daughter might save others’ lives. “Many people’s lives can be saved and others enhanced.” We all know that if and when we are asked, the correct response to the question is yes. Life must go on right? But it has to be one of the hardest decisions anyone can be asked to make. How can you even think straight at such a traumatic time? Too many people say no and as a result, more people die.
But the Franks knew what they had to do. They knew what Krissy would have wanted. They said yes.
I came out of surgery at 2 a.m. Sunday morning, June 7, 1997. After 41 years I was no longer a diabetic.
Monday morning Krissy Frank was buried. Prior to the funeral a representative asked me if there was anything I wanted to say to the family. All I could say was I’m sorry and thank you. Then I broke down and cried my eyes out.
A year after I got home I was finally able to read the newspaper article about the accident. I’ll always wish it was not those two young girls.
I’m told a lot of transplant recipients feel guilty over the new life they have received. I don’t know if it’s guilt I feel, but sometimes it is hard to accept the fact that I benefited from Krissy Frank’s death. I don’t think a day has passed since June 6, 1997 that I haven’t thought of Krissy. I imagine I will think of her for the rest of my life.
David,
ReplyDeleteThanks for sharing your story and a beautiful memorial for Krissy...and her gift.
Harvey
What a happy and sad story all at once. Happy you are with us!
ReplyDeleteFern