Donating my organs

Some years ago, I met two women who shared a liver. One had donated 60 percent of hers to the other, both had survived and when they showed their scars, they joked that they were in the shape of a Mercedes-Benz symbol.

But behind their laughter were stories of a desperate cry for help and incredible human generosity. I came away from meeting them knowing that though I was unlikely to become a living donor, I should at least sign up to volunteer my organs for use in the event of my untimely death. Yet, the furthest I got was the bone marrow register.

Why? Good question. The only explanations I have are concerns about post-death German bureaucracy coupled with an objection to its stuffy burial laws, and a very large dose of just not getting around to it. They’re not very good excuses really, and I really don’t excuse them. Read on or listen

Category: Writing

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