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I was the match.
A potentially fatal leukemia was diagnosed in my father a few months ago. My biology has made me the best potential donor of cells that can give him a better chance of survival.
"I'm sorry to have you do that," he said on the phone. "But, basically, you're saving my life."
"You have nothing to regret," I reassured him.
And I was really very happy to help. As I watched the leukemia wreak havoc on him – causing him to lose weight quickly, making him so tired that he sometimes did not even want to catch up on the phone – I had wished I could do more to that man. so loved Now, I could.
But the truth was that I had found the prospect as discouraging. I did not know much about stem cell donation and the risks involved, as did my family. We know that no one has ever done it. I had heard of people who gave their bone marrow, from which stem cells were also taken, but I did not know much either.
Would it hurt? How would I feel after? Would there be lasting effects on health? What about bruises or scars from needles used to extract my blood?
This fear was also at stake in my family. My three paternal aunts had been tested first. One of them approached, but was relieved when the doctors decided to get even closer to my brothers or me because we were younger. We each had swab tests to take at home, which we certainly dragged back.
Clearly, however, the issues made the donations worthwhile. Only 30% of patients who need a stem cell donor can find a match in their family. The remaining 70% must search for one in a global database of unrelated donors.
And our timing was good. Previously, to maximize the chances of success, these lifesaving transplants were reserved for those who could find perfectly matched donors. But in the last decade or so, medical research has advanced haplo-identical, or "half-assorted" grafts, allowing parents, siblings, or children of a patient to become a larger donor. easy.
This breakthrough has been particularly revolutionary for color patients. The chances of finding a full match are even lower for African-American patients, whose racially mixed genes make it harder to find a match, I learned.
Other racial minorities also have worse chances than Caucasians, who have a 75% chance of finding the perfect match.
Adding to the challenge, a number of obstacles are reducing the pool of donors for African Americans. The pool is smaller because black donors are often reluctant to enroll. Part of this reluctance comes from general mistrust of the medical system. It's perhaps also the idea that giving bone marrow is a thing to do "of the middle class, a rich nation," says Dr. Jospeh Antin of the Dana Cancer Institute. -Farber.
"If you're worried about where your next meal comes from or about environmental safety, you're not registering," he says. Or the donation process may be overshadowed by other priorities, such as work or family, he adds, "You do not have time to take off and do that kind of thing."
According to Antin, a few years ago, it was estimated that to bring the number of African-American donors to the level of other races, it would take 30% of the black population to become a member of the donor registry, which he strongly doubts . But he says it's now clear that the key is not just to have more donors, but to be able to do transplants with less accurate donors.
& # 39; Would you do it? & # 39;
Nobody saw the diagnosis of my father arrive. Deddi – our nickname for him, influenced by the southern accents we had when we were kids – was coaching a volleyball game in high school when intense chest pains had alarmed him enough that he was going to l & # 39; hospital.
What was supposed to be a night became a diagnosis of acute myeloid leukemia. The news was a shock and an instantaneous change of life for all of us.
It took a month and a half of chemotherapy, but it was not enough. He needed a stem cell transplant because his bone marrow had become ill and he had a mutation in the FLT3 gene that could accelerate the progression of his leukemia. The transplant was to take place in a very tight time, while the cancer of my father was sufficiently controlled to support it.
In the days leading up to the donation, I started injecting myself a bone marrow stimulant twice a day. They triggered bone pain and fatigue, making me feel stiff and moody. Tylenol helped.
Instead of harvesting stem cells from my bone marrow, which is the case in some donors, I donated it through a process called apheresis. It meant that my blood was drawn with the help of a needle in one arm and filtered through a machine that was collecting my stem cells, which had finally been given to my father. The remaining blood was returned by a needle into the other arm.
It took me about seven hours, during which time I had my mother and a team of extremely kind nurses to keep me company. The worst was having two large intravenous needles stuck in my arm, which were then repositioned, but this was done quickly and carefully.
Shortly after, my anxiety was overcome by a feeling of serendipity. My father's transplant and treatment were done at the hospital of my alma mater, UNC-Chapel Hill, the place that had prepared me to face challenges such as my father's illness with optimism and courage. This gave me the extra layer of confidence I needed to complete the process.
After a few days, I felt 100% again.
While my father's recovery should take a lot longer, at least I encouraged him to do it. I have also learned more about stem cell donations and I am convinced that we should all learn more about them and do more to help patients in need.
Millions of people have a chance to help patients by registering on BetheMatch.org, and this is especially important for African Americans and other minorities. It is still necessary for people to register because donors reach the age of 60 and some become ill themselves.
Religion teacher and writer Alan Levinovitz recently tweeted:
He learned the same thing as me: The benefits of bone marrow donation are largely outweighed by the benefits – to the recipient, that is to say. Donors have the benefit of knowing that they have helped save a life.
Deddi and I joke that this has been the reversal of my conception. I have helped to bring back to life the man who helped me to live. But he is so much more than that.
In the days following my donation, I mowed the lawn of my childhood home for the first time. My brother taught me; we shared the work that had always been left to Deddi. While I was slipping into the traction – pulling mower and breathing in the smell of cut grass, I remembered countless days of spring and summer, when he was mowing the grass while my friends and I were playing in the neighborhood stalemate.
From time to time, he broke his rhythm by looking up and smiling as we ran while playing, reflecting the playful spirit behind his hard outside. Whether in his coaching and teaching work, or as a father, he has always found a balance between doing his job and finding joy in doing it.
These days, my dad is still undergoing treatment and his body is adapting to my cells. He is often tired, but he has the strength to talk to me whenever he can. When I told him in a recent conversation that I would write about stem cell transplant, he made a face.
"It's a good idea!" He exclaims, noting that it could also inspire others to make a donation. "The fact that you have extended my life … I will never be able to repay you."
Of course, I do not need any refund, except for it to recover.
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