The Art of Taking a Heart

This is fiction

My mom had just died,
Then followed he dad,
Her dog,
And then my friend Megan.

That,
Coupled with this?
It will always make me cry.
I’m sure I won't do it justice,
But I will still try.

So,
Without further adieu,
Let me set the scene,

Here’s a beautiful boy,
And his last Halloween.

He,
In his kindness,
And responsibility,
Walked home from the bar,
With that inebriated fragility.

You might ask,
Just how was he rewarded?
Pinned between car and guardrail.
Instantly broken and twisted.

Hit and fucking run,
And just like that,
His life was done.
The autonomic brain,
And mechanical ventilation,
Were the only two things,
Prolonging his resignation.

You need more context,
Still.

The etiology of the injury,
It was unfortunately unique.
Unusually,
Leaving the thoracic pristine.

His was the first heart to be taken,
In this hospital’s history.
I couldn’t afford to be shaken,
And I had to be ready.

In the horror of medicine,
They call it a procurement.
But I can assure you,
It is anything but detachment.

I’ll start at the beginning,
When I got my assignment.
Wrangling Vanderbilt and Mid-America,
Preparing for transplant.

And then,
It was time,
For my trek to the SICU.

I was an angel of death,
My scrub cap taboo.
I’ve done this before,
It comes with the job.
But that walk and what followed,
Still gives me pause.

I tried to avoid the hall,
As I have learned to do.
But there was no escaping,
The crowd that grief queued.

My profession offers a disguise,
It helped me school my features.
But it did not stop my lips,
From becoming quivering creatures.

You also have to understand,
That the nature of these procedures,
While the response is swift,
Death comes of its own natures.

And so I made my way,
To that beautiful boy’s bay.
And there was his family,
Wiping their tears away.

There was that UNOS list,
The decider of the impossible.
Where tragedy becomes a gift,
With death as collateral.

And there was my doctor,
My ICU physician.
My partner,
Once again,
In this unfortunate situation.

And even she couldn’t hide,
The glass in her eyes,
This woman a warrior,
Hardened,
As she called the time of demise.

A literal sprint,
Is what happens next,
Down to the OR,
Fighting organ death.

And so my ICU doc,
Bunny-suit clad and all,
Called his time of death again,
At the five-minute mark.

And so incision was made,
Sternum sawed apart,
And somehow,
Some way,
We took his heart.

It was so,
So quick,
One minute it was there,
The next being iced,
And rushed down the stairs.

And soon,
It would be in the air,
Well on its way,
To a life-saving affair.
When all was said and done,
I got a letter months later.
It really struck my humanity,
That his gifts saved 60 people.

But I will tell you,
And be done with the gore,
That seeing someone drained of blood,
Rocks you to your core.

It was then that I needed,
To be relieved for a moment,
And then I cried,
For that boy we made heartless.

But I did come back,
And see him off.
One has to honor such gifts,
With appropriate awe.

I had also found out later,
That his mother had went on,
To advocate for organ donation,
In honor of her son.

She said that the staff impacted her,
In a way that she’ll never forget.
And I thought to myself,
Fuck,
That’s as graceful as it gets.




Even later than that,
I saw that she had taken a video,
Of the whirlwind down the hall,
For her son,
The hero.

I really don’t know how,
I looked so put-together,
Somehow sure of myself,
And not like a pretender.

That video,
I haven’t looked at it since.
I’m not convinced that it was me,
And,
Hopefully,
This makes sense…

But that perspective,
Outside looking in?
I never want to see it,
Not ever again.

These procedures,
They’re always very hard.
I remember every one,
But I’ve only taken one heart.

So this one is for that beautiful boy,
Victim to senseless cruelty.

I’ll never forget him,
His gifts,
Or the nurse that he’s made me.