Two days after the procedure, I learned that my liver was not really intended for my spouse, who I had volunteered to donate his organs.
It was love at first sight when I met Gary in university. As soon as our studies were over, we were married. I was willing to do everything for him because we were really in love.
He was told by the physicians that he had cirrhosis and that he would not be able to live without a liver transplant. I readily consented to become a donor as we were compatible.
After the lengthy and challenging procedure, Gary was in a good mood and thanked me for saving his life with a serene smile.
After we got home, the doctor called me two days later to let me know that he needed to talk to me privately about something significant. Thinking it had to do with Gary’s health, I went to the hospital.
“The liver you donated was actually not for your husband,” the doctor stated after giving me a doubtful look. He explained the truth to me.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, so I was frozen.
An administrative switch had occurred: my transplant had been redirected to a priority patient who required a compatible liver.
A liver from a deceased donor was given to Gary.
I went up to him.
He made up the story that I had actually donated a portion of my liver.
However, after reviewing his communications, I found that he had orchestrated my trick.
In return for my transplant, he had secured cash for his startup.
He attempted to persuade me that it was for our future when I confronted him about it.
“You sold my body, my trust, and my love,” I retorted.
I went out.
My desire for justice was greater than any physical discomfort.
