Meeting my donor

Me and my donor, Denise Ledvina

How do you thank someone for saving your life?

I posed that question when I met Denise, my donor, while I was in Philadelphia.

"Thank you" seems insufficient. But that's what I said, repeatedly, and Denise thanked me too.

"How many times do you get to say that you saved someone's life?" she asked.

We met for coffee when I was in her neck of the woods for our big 10-mile race (my six-miler). My high school friend Tami came with me, because, as I wrote earlier, Denise happens to be in Tami's book group, and they live near each other in South Jersey, close to Philadelphia.

Denise and I have e-mailed since we first learned each others' identity a year after my transplant on Jan. 31, 2009. Some people travel far to meet their donors, but when you consider the world-wide reach of the National Marrow Donor Program (NMDP), we are practically in each others' back yard.

We're about five hours apart, but only about an hour and a half from New York, which I consider my second home. I had stopped in New York on my way to Philly, so Denise was just a short bus ride away.

She actually registered through The Gift of Life, an associate registry of the NMDP, in a donor drive for the late Michael Brecker, an internationally-known Philadelphia jazz musician who died of leukemia in 2007 after failing to find a donor. Once you register, your name and information stay on the list, which is how she ended up with me.

I learned of our connection when I first told my friends that I had learned my donor's name. That's when Tami exclaimed, "I know her!" (We are trained to almost always use the word "said," but in this case, she really did "exclaim.")

We have so many things in common that I felt like I already knew her. And of course now that her strong healthy cells have populated my bone marrow, in a way I am her. We hugged and smiled and teared up and then, along with Tami, just chatted away.

We're about the same age and share a similar background. We both also have a history of the crazy-making plantar fasciitis. Mine had been quiet for years until recently, and I joked with her that maybe she gave it back to me with her cells. Bad joke. Sorry.

I can see that she is a strong woman. And I am so grateful that I carry her strong cells within me.