On my phone, I have a picture of Annika's old heart. (I'd post it, but that seems a little much, even for me.) Last week Jason ran into Annika's cardiothoracic surgeon while Annie was getting labs drawn. Dr. Hobbs remembered that Annika had requested to see pictures. So he pulled them up and shared them, right then and there.
It is the strangest thing to see Annika's heart laid out neatly on a blue surgery towel. It's deep red with lots of orange streaks running through. The shape resembles a red pepper more than the iconic heart symbol. Annika thought it looked gross, but my first impression was simply how small it appeared next to the surgeon's fingers. That little heart took her many beautiful places, but it was struggling. Today she can run and jump and skip and dance, all because of her donor's gift.
A gift--is that the right word? A gift feels like something you might purchase from the store. Gifts convey appreciation and love, but they are typically external. Donating an organ is more than a special gift--it feels sacred. It is giving of oneself in the most intimate way possible. It is a gift that a person or their loved one never wishes to give, yet it is still given willingly. Hope and life spring from sorrow and death.
Life--these days Annika is overflowing with life. It wasn't until she received her new heart that we fully understood how much she was struggling. We notice it in so many little ways. Confronting a big set of stairs, she darts right up instead of begging to take the elevator. Walking through the neighborhood is joyful instead of miserable. Hiking is fun and she can run up the hills. The difference is astounding. When I asked her to rate how her heart feels now versus how it felt before on a scale of 1 to 10, she said it changed from a 3 to an 8. Without having something "normal" to compare to, I don't think she understood how bad she felt.
In my opinion, hearts are extra special organ donations. Hearts are attributed with the essence of a person--the core of their beliefs, longings, memories and desires. Hearts are embedded in our language: a broken heart, a heart of gold, your heart skips to beat, have a heart to heart. We simply don't talk about our kidneys and livers in the same way. Hearts are equivalent with love.
In contemplating Annika's transplant, I often think of it in a spiritual, religious context. I have no way of knowing if her donor was religious, so I hope this is respectful, but I simply can't think about Annika's heart without thinking of our Lord, Jesus Christ. Hope and life spring from sorrow and death. What was broken is made whole through willing sacrifice. Annika has physically experienced what we are all striving to achieve in a metaphysical sense. Recently I was brought to tears as we sang the fourth verse of the sacrament hymn, "With Humble Heart."
As I walk daily here on earth,
Give me thy Spirit as I seek
A change of heart, another birth,
And grow, dear Lord, to be like thee.
At some point I would like to do an in-depth study of heart references to hearts in our scriptural canon. In the meantime, here are a few beautiful verses that I discovered while studying Alma 5 this morning.
7 Behold, he changed their hearts; yea, he awakened them out of a deep sleep, and they awoke unto God.
12 And according to his faith there was a mighty change wrought in his heart.
14 And now behold, I ask of you, my brethren of the church, have ye spiritually been born of God? Have ye received his image in your countenances? Have ye experienced this mighty change in your hearts?
26 And now behold, I say unto you, my brethren, if ye have experienced a change of heart, and if ye have felt to sing the song of redeeming love, I would ask, can ye feel so now?
Annika has experienced a change of heart in every beautiful sense. She has remarkable faith. Her faith is unique because she expresses it so simply and matter of factly with no pretense. On our way to Primary Children's today (she's currently in the cath lab), she told me that she really hopes Jesus comes again before she gets married so that she won't have to worry about giving her heart condition to her kids. Her question is not whether Jesus will come again--she is certain He will--she only wonders when. She fully believes that her imperfect body will be made healthy and whole. What has been lost will be restored, and the dead will live again.
My faith may not be as complete as my daughter's, but I believe. Mine is a working faith that evolves each day as I struggle. Help Thou mine unbelief.
While Annika was in the ICU this Christmas, I listened to "Glory to the Light of the World" by Lauren Daigle over and over again. Here are a few of my favorite lyrics.
The world waits for a miracle
The heart longs for a little bit of hope
Oh come, oh come, Emmanuel
The drought breaks with the tears of a mother
A baby's cry is the sound of love
Come down, come down, Emmanuel
For all who wait
For all who hunger
For all who've prayed
For all who wonder
Behold your King
Behold Messiah
Emmanuel, Emmanuel
"The world waits for a miracle. The heart longs for little bit of hope. Oh come, oh come, Emmanuel." I can't say it any better. Despite learning about the Second Coming for my whole life, never have I longed for it as I have in recent months. Our world is deeply troubled. Never have I felt so concerned about our nation. My daughter's heart, while healed, won't last forever. I can't solve these problems, but the Prince of Peace can. Oh come, Emmanuel.
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