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I wasn’t supposed to need one liver transplant, let alone two.
I was born with biliary atresia, a rare disease that slowly destroys the liver. Before I was old enough to understand it, my life depended on a transplant. My dad became my hero in the most literal sense. He donated a part of his liver to save mine.
Because of him, I got a childhood. I got time.
Years later, my transplanted liver began to fail, and I found myself back in a place I never thought I would return to, needing another transplant.
This time, my story unfolded in a way I never could have imagined.
Years earlier, I had sent banana muffins to my cousin while she was away at college. She posted about them, inviting friends to come grab one. One of the people who showed up was the man who would later become her fiancé.
The rest is history.
When I needed a second liver transplant, that same person, someone who came into our lives because of a simple act of kindness, stepped forward and chose to donate a part of his liver to me.
Later, I stood beside them as the maid of honor in their wedding.
It is hard to put into words what that means, to be given life not once, but twice. Once by my father, and once by someone who became family in more ways than one.
My second transplant was not easy. There were complications I never expected, including a bile leak, sepsis, and a collapsed lung. I was placed into a medically induced coma and spent 40 days in the hospital fighting for my life.
There were moments my family did not know if I would come back.
But I did.
Because two people said yes.
Because two people chose to give parts of themselves so I could keep living my life.
Organ donation is not just a medical procedure. It is a ripple effect. It is love passed from one person to another in ways you may never fully see.
I am alive because of it.
Please consider registering as an organ donor. You never know how something small, something as simple as sharing a muffin, could one day help save a life.
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