I wanted my note to sound grateful, but the words couldn’t mask my sorrow over my alienation from any familiar or valuable path. I had lived through transplantation of a stranger’s stem cells into me. The mandatory one year of donor anonymity had passed. Surely I must send thanks to the donor whose cells were keeping me alive. But three years swept me back and forth from the hospital, trying to survive infections and graft-vs-host attacks. I saw my husband’s head shake “no” to each next draft I attempted.

From the first jolt of the gurney that deposited me on the leukemia ward, I prayed, read God’s word, and journaled. Months passed before I felt awe over a flower. A book from a friend prompted me to notice and list three blessings each day. Here’s one, the kind nursing assistant who skillfully buzzed my residual hair. A few poems spilled out. Bit by bit I unearthed myself from under the debris of battle.

Finally, I asked the transplant coordinator to invite my donor’s consent for me to write to him, until then, simply “a healthy 28-year-old male.” Our subsequent regular correspondence proved astonishingly full of mutual delight, with uncanny coincidences, too many to be random.

A few years later we agreed he should visit me when traveling to a conference nearby. “Meeting My Stem Cell Donor,” which appeared in the Fall 2024 issue of Intima: A Journal of Narrative Medicine, is a poem I wrote to capture the moment we first greeted one another—the rush of mutual awe, affection, gratitude, and joy. Each of us feels like the beneficiary of a priceless gift from the other.

I found another example of this wonder of mutual blessing in Joan Roger’s poem, “Dear Rescue Worker,” in this same issue of the journal. During her training as an emergency physician, Dr. Rogers worked in a New York City hospital near Ground Zero after the bombing. She describes a wall-posted sheet of Zaner Bloser lined paper, with a child’s drawing and penciled message to the rescuers: “thank you,” “good job,” and “you are very nice to do what you are doing.” In this small sincere way, the boy offered what he could. It became life-giving to those serving.

I learned that devastation and despair can become prisons, but realizing and expressing gratitude can unlock peace and joy, in both the grantor and the recipient of the affirmation and appreciation.