Last month, I decided to save someone’s life—well, possibly. At the very least, I had decided I was willing to donate bone marrow if I was a match for Nina Polvanich Louie, a woman whose cause I became too invested in because of my bizarre thoughts about hypothetical life-or-death situations. You know, the ones where a killer would enter the room and it was up to you to save everyone by wrangling the gun out of his very hands, which you would do because when a problem arises, you want to be the solution. Don’t we all?
My desire to be a prevailing heroine was rooted in my fear of helplessness, which is exactly what I felt when I first stumbled upon Nina’s story. My friend Tim had changed his Facebook profile picture to an awareness poster for “Save Nina,” the campaign that had only two months to find a bone marrow match for her. I couldn’t fathom how the end of my summer could mean the end of her life.
Nina was diagnosed with diffuse large B-cell lymphoma in September 2012. She underwent intensive chemotherapy for seven months, which seemed to help until doctors found a small mass in her brain after only two months of remission. Because the body can only handle a certain amount of chemotherapy, Nina is relying on a bone marrow transplant to increase her chance of survival.
The Save Nina website shows two realities for Nina: one with her and her husband holding their toddler son between them, and the other with Nina looking into a hospital mirror, baring her hairless head and a weak smile for a selfie.
I later learned that Nina is an alumna of my sorority, alpha Kappa Delta Phi, from the Stanford University chapter (my sorority is nationally affiliated with my friend Tim’s fraternity, Lambda Phi Epsilon, so that explains his involvement with the cause). I began seeing more sisters from all over the East Coast change their Facebook profile pictures to the signature “Save Nina” poster— some sorority chapters even hosted bone marrow typing drives where people could enter the donor registry to be tested as a match for Nina. The quick outreach and expansive network of volunteers was impressive and served as a testament to the usefulness of Greek connections.
Though the “bonds of friendship” and “eternal sisterhood” dictate that Nina is technically my sister, I struggle to accept that label for her—Nina, above all else, is a person. As proud as I am of my sorority’s national efforts toward her cause, my compassion for her situation comes not from my Greek affiliation, but from my empathy as a fellow human being. I suppose it’s harder to analyze and classify relationships when someone expresses something as universal as the desire to live.
I don’t believe in fate, but I can appreciate a lucky coincidence: a “Save Nina” bone marrow typing drive was happening in Boston—one of many locations across the U.S., thanks to her powerful campaign—on one of the only days I had off from my internship. So that Friday afternoon, I made the 15-minute walk to the Tufts University School of Medicine. On the seventh floor, I followed the paper signs with arrows that read, “This way to Save Nina” and “Around this corner,” like an Alice in Wonderland chase to a something much greater than myself. I rounded the last corner to a large conference room with a handful of college students. Outside the conference doors, a bright-eyed boy with the enthusiasm of an underclassman tried to recruit me.
“Would you be interested in getting typed for a bone marrow donation today?” he said.
“That’s actually why I came, so….”
“Can I get credit for bringing you in?” he joked. College boys.
I learned that all of the girls present were members of my sorority from various chapters. Amy, a sister from Stony Brook University, walked me through the testing process to determine if I was a match for Nina, which consisted of paperwork and four cheek swabs, one in each quadrant of my mouth. The papers explained how bone marrow donation is voluntary at any point, even after someone is determined to be a match. After the initial swab, I would be contacted to do another round of testing if I was a match.
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The papers then outlined two potential types of donation I could undergo, depending on what Nina required: a bone marrow donation (a surgical process where liquid marrow is drawn from the back of the pelvic bone while the donor is under anesthesia) or a peripheral blood stem cell donation (a non-surgical process where blood is taken from the donor after five days of daily injections). The best option for a patient depends on a variety of factors, including overall health, age, and the availability of a donor. The average time commitment for donating is 30-40 hours over a span of four to six weeks, with recovery lasting anywhere from a few days to several weeks. Side effects can include back and hip pain, fatigue, muscle pain, bruising, and headaches.
Though donors feel no pain during surgery, the recovery is said to be painful, which is a big reason why many people shy away from donating. However, I did my research long before the drive and had already decided that I was willing—my signature just made it official.
As I signed the papers, I thought about Nina’s son, her husband, her friends, and her family. What if it was my mother, my spouse, my personal problem? What if it was me who felt the desperation for the world to care about its strangers, my loved ones?
I thought back to times I witnessed random acts of kindness—a helping hand here or some spare change there—and how I felt a flood of gratitude for the selfless strangers, the ones that did drive-by good deeds without staying to relish in their own benevolence. They helped others because they would want to be helped, too. It was as simple as that.
Four cheek swabs and 40 seconds later, I was done. A part of me felt good that I had taken action, but another asked, “so what?” Despite a successful Boston drive that typed approximately 100 people, the statistics told me I had a one in 20,000 chance of saving Nina. There was nothing else I could do.
A man walked by the open conference room doors and was caught by one of the drive recruiters. Struck by both moral obligation and surprise, he hesitated.
“It literally takes 40 seconds, and you will feel great about yourself,” I told him.
He sat down to fill out the paperwork. Another one in 20,000 chance.
The situation where you become a hero doesn’t burst through a door with a gun in hand, as I had previously imagined. We have the opportunity to save the world every day. It’s just a matter of figuring out whose world.
Amy told me I would be contacted if I was a match, but I have yet to hear back. It’s a muted dread in the back of my mind. What if I never hear back? What if I was no help at all? Though the odds are against me, I am still glad I joined the donor registry. I could be someone’s one in 20,000.
Nina now has less than one month to find a match. The campaign is fighting to increase the amount of donors in the registry by hosting typing drives across the U.S. Along with stationed efforts, people can also request a home typing kit, which will be expedited at no cost to the donor. The initial testing is never more than a few cheek swabs, and registered donors can opt out from donating at any point. You can learn more about typing drives in your area and how to order a home typing kit at savenina.com.