Saving Someone Else

Allow me to share something rather extraordinary and deeply personal that happened to our family… a story that still gives me chills and reminds me that sometimes the most meaningful acts begin with the simplest gestures.

It was Ian’s first year at Babson College, and Marc and I were beyond excited for Family Weekend. You know that feeling – the anticipation of seeing your child in his new environment, meeting his friends, getting a glimpse into his college world. The weekend was everything we hoped it would be.

Saturday brought a beautiful picnic under an enormous tent, the kind of gathering that makes you grateful for those milestone moments when families come together. Flanking the festivities were informational booths – the usual college fair mix of merch for sale coupled with various campus programs and organizations hoping to engage young minds.

One booth caught Ian’s attention: NMDP – or the National Marrow Donor Program (previously, Be The Match), encouraging students to join the bone marrow registry. The process was refreshingly simple – just a quick cheek swab with what looked like a glorified toothpick. When Ian asked our opinion, I found myself saying words that would prove prophetic: “Daddy and I have been in the registry through Gift of Life for 30 years. It’s a really nice thing to do, though you’ll probably never be called.”

Famous last words, as they say.

So swab he did, and we thought little more about it. After all, we’d been registered for three decades without a single call. In our family though, three really is a magic number.

Just three months later, Ian’s phone rang. He was a match! All he knew was that somewhere out there, a 77-year-old man with leukemia needed him. Ian’s response was immediate and enthusiastic – he was delighted to serve.

But admittedly, with a fair amount of mama-anxiety bubbling up, I asked, “Are you actually going to do this?”

Without a moment’s hesitation, he replied, “Of course… after all, I’m saving someone else’s grandpa.”

Cue the tears. And the overwhelming pride in this young man we’d raised.

Life, however, had other plans. That first donation didn’t come to fruition, and Ian didn’t hear from NMDP… until two years later. Amazingly, incomprehensibly, he had matched again! This time, though, he was preparing to depart for a semester in Japan, and the timing simply wouldn’t work.

And so, he didn’t hear from NMDP… until two months before his undergraduate graduation. For the third time – third! – Ian had matched. This time with a 67-year-old woman. This time, after extensive additional blood testing, physical checkups, and countless discussions with his case manager, Rachel, he was definitively The Match.

What followed was a deliberative, arduous process that opened our eyes to the gravity of what bone marrow donation truly means. Ian was scheduled to donate just five days after graduation. Here’s how it works: on day minus-five, both donor and recipient begin parallel preparatory procedures. The donor starts receiving medication that – in my layman’s understanding – essentially “plumps the blood,” stimulating the body to produce white blood cells in the bones. Meanwhile, the recipient begins chemotherapy.

The case worker explained something that stopped us cold: because the process is so taxing on mind, body, and spirit, the donor can remove themselves at any point – however, if they choose to opt out after the preparatory process begins, their recipient will likely die. It’s a harsh reality, but an accurate one. According to Ian, this means the donor must be one hundred percent committed to saving a life.

Knowing that this life-saving process was part of his graduation festivities, Ian went into graduation weekend with extra enthusiasm. In fact, we were all in it! His name was called: “Ian Hammer, Summa Cum Laude.” He proudly walked across the stage, shook Babson President Stephen Spinelli’s hand, had his photo taken with his diploma and honor cords, received kisses and hugs from his proud family and friends… and then got the call. His recipient had taken ill; the donation was indefinitely postponed.

I must tell you, we were all devastated. As frightened as I was for my child to engage in the bone marrow donation process, I found myself grieving for the life of his anonymous recipient. It upended our psyches and our plans for the week. Sure, we went on about our business, but our collective mood was altered by this unanticipated development.

Four days went by. Ian received another call from his case manager: his recipient had turned the corner – for the better! If he was still game, they wanted to reschedule the donation for ten days later. Was Ian willing? You bet.

And so, his process began. Five days leading up to his donation, a home health nurse, Brittany, began paying us visits each morning to administer Ian’s injectable medications. The shots themselves were a breeze. However, oddly, because Ian is so young and healthy, and his body responded so favorably to the medications, he was in significant and increasing pain for the days leading up to his donation. On day four of the process, we boarded a plane to a collection site. On day five, we arrived at a blood center for the actual donation.

For five hours, Ian was hooked up to IVs, taking, spinning, cleaning, and returning his blood – they were after the platelets only as he participated in the “non-invasive” blood marrow type of donation. As lengthy as the process was, and as physically and emotionally drained as he was from the procedure, he felt almost immediately better physically. It was miraculous!

As I reflect on this extraordinary journey, three things stand out that I hope will resonate with you:

• First, if you are between the ages of 18 and 40 and in healthy condition, you can save a life. It is that simple. You aren’t just saving the life of the recipient – you are saving the lives of all of the recipient’s people.

• Second, NMDP is the largest bone marrow registry. Its case managers, like Rachel, work tirelessly to make the process run healthfully, seamlessly, and smoothly for the donor and their companion.

• Finally, an anonymous donation is the greatest gift one can give. Because of Ian’s heroism, all of our lives have been improved and inspired.

Ian didn’t just join a registry that day at Babson. He didn’t just swab his cheek and move on. He made a commitment to humanity, one that would be tested not once, not twice, but three times. And when it mattered most, when someone’s life hung in the balance, he showed up. That’s the thing about meaningful acts – they often begin small, with simple gestures and good intentions. But they have the power to become something extraordinary, something that changes not just other lives, but our own.

Thank you, Ian. You are my hero.  I love you beyond measure.

Oh… and Happy 22nd Birthday, Buddy! May this be your best year, yet. Keep soaring!