Dear Granite Stater,
I hope you’re doing well.
I’m writing to thank you for the granite that now runs through my veins.
Wait, what? Perhaps I should clarify.
See, reader, 12 years ago, when I was 17 years-old — just barely a senior in high school — I was a passenger in what was a very serious and near-fatal motor vehicle accident. During that traumatic event, I was rushed to an acute care facility — the hospital closest me —where within, my injuries were patched up and treated the best they could be.
During the accident, I lost a lot of blood, my brain sustained damage, my right hip was fractured, 3 ribs were broken, my liver was shredded up significantly, a lung was punctured.
To live, obviously, I required several blood transfusions from the local blood supply. Instead of my body rejecting the help of those in the NH community at large, it accepted the help from those that could without hesitation. (For which I am thankful!)
I decided to write this post, really, because I am completely and irrevocably fascinated with the fact that even if something happens to the donors that saved my life (knock on wood), a small piece of them — of their story — lives on in me.
It’s an intimate thing — to share your body with those around you. And because of it, I feel I have inherited a deeper sense of the humility that defines residents of New Hampshire — the natives and transplants of this amazing place.
I’m currently a 5-time blood donor. I have shared, and shared, and shared, and shared my story with an unknown recipient so they can carry it, and in so doing, also carry the stories of those that saved my life.
It’s a wonderful thought that nobody can’t help but B+ about.
Post Script: And for some reason, I now drink Dunkin’ Donuts regularly. Weird. Feel free to share characteristics you’ve developed since giving or receiving blood in the comments below!