Life as a medical student can be grueling — from early mornings rounding in the hospital to long hours spent studying, glued to a screen, or sacrificing time with friends and family to prepare for shelf and STEP exams. We do this knowing that the challenges will only intensify as we progress through training and into residency. Yet, we persevere because we want to heal, bring comfort, and be prepared when the moment comes to save a life. While I am far from completing my training, I was given an opportunity to do just that — to change, and possibly save, the life of a young woman.
It was a beautiful evening — soft pink and purple hues stretched across the sky, and a warm summer breeze kissed my skin as I walked to my car after a long day in the OR. I paused, taking in the colors, and thought of my mother. The sky looked just like this the day she died. I knew she would be proud that I was now in my final year of medical school, pursuing my passion for women’s health as an ob/gyn.
When I got home, I collapsed onto the couch, bracing myself for the daunting number of unread emails in my inbox. As I clicked it open, ready to unsubscribe from yet another flood of marketing emails, one subject line caught my eye: “YOU’RE A MATCH!”
“What? Is this spam?” I thought. Just as I was about to dismiss it, my phone rang. I picked up without hesitation.
It was the National Marrow Donor Program (NMDP). A middle-aged woman with acute myeloid leukemia (AML) needed a stem cell transplant, and I was her match.
My first thought was of my mother — there had been no cure for her cancer. But this woman had a chance. A chance to fight and win. Maybe she had a daughter of her own, desperately hoping that someone, somewhere, could save her mother.
After undergoing multiple lab draws and extensive testing, I was confirmed as the best possible match. The hours spent in doctors’ offices and on calls with coordinators at the NMDP were worth it for the chance to be a part of this patient’s journey to a cure.
In the week leading up to my donation, I received daily injections to stimulate stem cell production. My bones ached, my head pounded, and I found myself recalling the mechanism of action of the drug I was receiving and the pathophysiology of AML itself. It was surreal to realize that my own body was producing the very treatment this patient needed — that I, myself, was the medicine. After years of studying pharmacology, memorizing mechanisms of action, and preparing for life-or-death moments in a hospital, my first act of saving a life wouldn’t involve administering a drug or performing CPR. Instead, it would be this.
On the day of my donation, I lay connected to the apheresis machine, an IV in each arm, watching as the little bag beside me slowly filled with my cells — cells that would soon be urgently transported to my patient, wherever she might be. As I waited, a wave of nervous energy built inside me. What if I don’t produce enough stem cells? What if the transplant isn’t successful? I felt an unexpected intensity of emotion — joy, anxiety, excitement, and hope — all for someone I had never met, whose voice I had never heard, but whose life was now intertwined with mine.
My donation was more than successful. A few weeks later, I received an update from my NMDP coordinator — the patient’s transplant had gone well in the immediate post-donation period. Though I will likely never meet her, I think of her often. Somewhere in the world, a part of me, and my mom by extension, exists within her, giving her a second chance at life.
In medicine, we often talk about saving lives in dramatic, high-stakes moments — chest compressions, emergency surgeries, life-altering diagnoses. But this experience taught me that healing isn’t always loud or immediate. Sometimes, it is quiet. It is a phone call, a bag of stem cells, a leap of faith. It is the invisible thread that forever connects two lives.
Morgan is a fourth-year medical student at the Lewis Katz School of Medicine at Temple University’s St. Luke’s campus. She is matched into an obstetrics and gynecology residency program and yearns to make a difference in women’s health care through advocacy and quality patient care.
Image by J_art / Getty
