By Donna Lamb

It was always such fun when my "little" brother Eric – all six foot five inches of him – came to visit me in New York City. We went to hundreds of art galleries and traipsed all over the five boroughs sampling different ethnic foods. His trips were a real feast for both our eyes and our bellies.

But Eric died suddenly last July of a massive stroke. Needless to say, I was devastated.

Yet, there was one shining light that penetrated my grief and comforted me. It was that in death, Eric brought life to three other people. They received each of his kidneys and his liver. He also gave new sight to someone through the donation his corneas, and his pancreas was used for research into how to spare diabetics pain and suffering.

As to how Eric died, he had been out walking his dog Friday when he collapsed near his home in Oklahoma City. Someone called an ambulance and he was taken to St. Anthony Hospital. While there, he had the stroke that ended his life. However, since the hospital had no instructions as to whether Eric wished to be resuscitated or not, as was their policy, they resuscitate him.

When we family members arrived from out of town, a doctor broke the terrible news. Eric’s brain had sustained too much damage for him to ever recover from the vegetative state he was in.

We all knew that Eric – so vibrant, energetic, and independent – would never have wanted to remain in that condition. When we were asked if we would like to speak with a representative from LifeShare Transplant Donor Services of Oklahoma to discuss organ donation, we said yes.

Logan Wilke, an organ recovery coordinator with LifeShare, met with us in a private area near Eric’s room. He asked if Eric had ever expressed a wish to be a donor. None of us could remember him mentioning it, but without a moment’s hesitation, each of us was absolutely certain Eric would have wanted to do it. We thought he probably never spoke of it because he just assumed that, due to his genetic disorder the Marfan Syndrome, organ donation was out of the question. But, as Logan explained, because of great advances in transplantation techniques, serious medical conditions no longer automatically rule one out.

Logan went on to explain several other important things, including that if we gave permission for Eric to be a donor and someone changed their mind, it could still be called off right up until they took Eric into the operating room.

Logan also explained that to keep Eric’s organs in optimal condition and to carry out all the necessary medical tests and evaluations, he would need to be maintained on artificial support a few additional hours. However, this would not cost any more than if we took him off support immediately because from the time of brain death, LifeShare assumes all financial responsibility.

We decided to move forward. With the entire family present, physicians administered the medical tests, which showed unquestionably that Eric was brain dead and would never breathe on his own again. A death certificate was issued, and, with breaking hearts but a feeling of gladness, our mother Betty did what we knew Eric would want her to do: sign the papers authorizing him to become an organ donor.

Logan then brought a laptop computer into the room and set it up on a small table. Through the wonders of modern technology, it was attached to the systems monitoring Eric, and word immediately went out to LifeShare’s partner organizations searching for organ matches. Through the Internet, they were able to monitor for themselves Eric’s condition moment-by-moment while they also looked for just the right match.

Since the other family members were utterly exhausted, I remained at the hospital while everyone else went back to the hotel.

As I stood at my brother’s bedside holding his hand or stroking his forehead, Logan made it clear I was welcome to stay near Eric. There was no sense whatsoever that he, Logan, had important work to do and I was in the way. He was calm and professional but also warm, reassuring, and kind. He warned me, for example, that there might be spinal cord reflexes that could cause Eric’s body to move, appearing as though he were responding purposefully when he actually wasn’t. Logan didn’t want me to worry about it or get false hope that Eric might still come back to himself. When Eric’s body did begin making these movements, I was grateful they had been explained to me in advance.

I was also very thankful that there wasn’t a single question too trivial or dumb for me to ask – or above my head and a waste of time for Logan to answer. For instance, at one point I was quite surprised when he filled up a pitcher with water and, using a large syringe, injected it into Eric’s stomach through what I learned was a nasogastric tube. I asked Logan about it and he told me it was extremely important to keep Eric’s sodium level down, and the easiest way to do that was by putting water into his stomach and letting it move through his system. This would help all his organs, especially his liver.

Logan also explained that during the final surgery in which Eric’s organs would be recovered, he would be treated just like any other person on the operating table who was expected to recuperate fully. He would even be given anesthesia. I found that especially comforting – knowing that my beloved brother would not be seen and treated like a mere cadaver but as a full human being to the very end.

As the hours progressed and all sorts of things continued to be done to prepare Eric, surprisingly, it didn’t feel at all morbid. At one point I asked Logan where he thought Eric was. He said no one knows for sure, but chances were he was still in the room and wouldn’t leave until I left. Even though Eric wasn’t "there" in the way I was accustomed to, I felt very close to him spiritually and emotionally as we experienced this procedure together.

As the evening wore on, over the Internet, first one organ found a recipient and then another. By about 10 pm, both kidneys and the liver had been matched, and an operating room was scheduled for midnight. The recipients would be coming to the hospital to be made ready to receive the organs as soon as they were recovered.

As midnight approached, several members of the medical crew who would be assisting in Eric’s surgery came in and introduced themselves to me. I thought this was especially kind and thoughtful – being able to meet some of the people who would be with Eric when I no longer could be, during his very last hours on earth.

I was also grateful that they asked me if I wanted to spend some time alone with my brother to say good-bye. They drew the curtains and shut the door and allowed me as much time as I needed.

As I stood there alone with Eric, not only did I say my own good byes, but I bid him a final farewell on behalf of every other person in his life I could think of, giving him one last kiss on the forehead from each of them.

When I reopened the door, the surgical team reentered and began detaching everything. They replaced the mechanical respirator with a temporary hand-operated one for the short trip to the operating room.

Watching all this affected me very much, and I was almost overcome. But I was also tremendously moved by the crew’s demeanor, which was anything but clinical or cold. In fact, there was a feeling of reverence in the room. I could sense their great respect for Eric in their every move. I felt very proud of him for what he was about to do.

Soon it was time to go. I asked to accompany Eric as far as possible. They said I could go with them to the special elevator that would take him to the operating room. So with the medical team stationed at the front and sides of the bed and me bringing up the rear, it felt like a funeral procession as they wheeled Eric out of the unit and down the hall to the elevator.

When we were almost there, they paused and asked me if I wished to say good-bye one last time. I gave Eric one final hug and a big kiss from all of us who loved him.

After that, I watched as they wheeled him into the elevator and turned the bed sideways. Then the doors closed, and Eric was gone from my sight forever. But he would, as I like to see it, go out in a blaze of glory, giving the ultimate gift of life to others.

Of course the months since have not been easy, but little by little, I am working through my grief. One of the most uplifted things was reading what Marilynn, the recipient of Eric’s liver, wrote to our family:

"Thank you giving me the gift of life. I had been waiting for 4 years for a liver. I can now go fishing or camping with my grandsons. I hope to even be able to see them graduate or get married or go to college. I can never say ‘Thank You’ enough for the gift of my new liver."

There are still over 98,000 people in this country waiting for transplants. I myself am a registered organ and tissue donor, and, in honor of the memory of Eric Charles Lamb, I ask others to consider registering as well. To find out more, please visit the New York Organ Donor Network at www.donatelifeny.org .