It Takes The Donations Of Millions To Move Us Forwards.
I have had plenty of chances to voluntarily sign up for donation, and have avoided all of them for no rational reason. I simply omitted to give it any thought, beyond the fleeting ones that occurred naturally, and those providing me with images with which I did not wish to contend. It was preferable to completely skip the issue, with its grisly reminder of mortality, and focus on something relatively cheerful instead.
It is five years since I first registered with a GP in Glasgow, and I have moved flat twice since then. One of my friends has just moved into my neighbourhood and, as she needed to find a practice to join, I took the opportunity to accompany her and sign myself up with a nearer surgery. The form had a section enquiring about one’s desire to participate in organ donation after death, and I bypassed it as I always have before. It is my understanding that Scotland, if not the entire UK, operates an opt-in scheme rather than an opt-out one; that is, you ask to be added to the scheme, you are not automatically added and then required to ask for your name to be withdrawn. The proposed mandatory inclusion is frequently subject to debate, but – as yet – consent is not presumed. That said, Wales has recently voted to introduce it.
Two letters in identical envelopes arrived in the post yesterday, one addressed to me and one to my friend, who provided this as a care-of address during a recent transitional period. My letter thanks me “for joining the NHS Organ Donor Register through the GP service,” which I absolutely did not do. I jotted a note asking whether she had agreed to this, attached it to her mail, and popped it through her door when I was passing. The answer was no, or more specifically “what the fuck?! I haven’t signed anything like that.”
Either we both managed to misread the forms, agreeing to something that neither of us had a desire to volunteer for, or the receptionist or other unknown staff member ticked those boxes for us once they were out of our possession. It is nice to feel wanted, but disconcerting to think that only specific bits of us are wanted, and then only after the necessary precursor of death.
It has been pointed out to me that I can have my name removed if I wish. I am unable to think of sufficient justification for that, though. “Sorry, I have decided to keep all my organs once I have no further use for them. Tell those suffering that I’d like to help, but I’m not going to.” Better, I feel, to just concur. Among other vital parts, they want to take my heart, lungs, and liver – so I might save a few lives, and if not then they can cook up a sizeable haggis for the wake.
Above: My only previous encounter with Organ Donors.
My friend was equally pragmatic and shared my gallows humour, taking to Facebook to complain about the surgery’s apparent amendment to our completed registration documents. She added, referring to her party lifestyle, that “when I die, I won’t care what will happen to my body, so actually they can take whatever they want. Apart from the liver, cos I don’t have it any more.”
My sole objection, taking a very broad overview, is that I firmly believe the world is drastically over-populated; that there are already more people than the earth’s resources can sustain and it does us no favours to prolong life. However, reducing it to individual cases, I can only begin to imagine the difference that it must make to those who receive transplants, and the improvement to the lives of those who love and care about them. Condensed to that level, and being largely compassionate despite my inherent cynicism, I have no complaints. My name will remain on the list of potential donors.
If you want to register, or find out more, you can do so: