Grateful For Go-Go Juice and Mustard

When you meet a little girl like Caroline Carter, you can’t possibly imagine the words blood transfusion or chemotherapy or surgery being remotely used to describe the regular activities of her life. Instead you’d think: there must be some mistake because this kid is so alive, so bubbly!

I had the pleasure of being introduced to 6-year-old Caroline before a talk I gave years ago, and I personally asked her permission to share her photo and story with the audience that day. At first she seemed shy about the notion of being in the limelight, but then, grinning ear-to-ear, she consented. An hour or so later, as an image of her beaming in her princess tiara filled the large projection screen at the blood center recognition banquet, Caroline beamed as well, even stood on her chair so the entire audience could acknowledge her strength and beauty and, well, bubbliness.

I had learned the details of her medical challenges from her mother, Karen, a sharp and well-spoken business woman who was determined to give her little girl as much happiness, joy, and normalcy as she could for as long as possible. At 4½ years old, Caroline had been diagnosed with a rare form of cancer and given a 30 percent chance of survival. When the chemo, radiation, surgeries, stem cell transplant, and experimental antibody treatments took their toll on Caroline’s body, blood transfusions became a regular part of her regimen as well. In true childlike form, Caroline renamed the blood components to suit her youthful perspective. Red blood cells were “go-go juice,” for their ability to give her considerably more energy after being transfused. Platelets were “mustard,” and I believe their color pretty much explains that nickname.

Many of us often refer to blood transfusions as the “gift of life,” but to Caroline, go-go juice and mustard offered the gift of play: the chance to ride her bike, kick a soccer ball, or climb the rock wall. Go-go juice and mustard allowed Caroline to be normal – as normal as a kid could be between hospitalizations and invasive medical treatments. And allowing her daughter to lead a normal life, Karen would later tell me, was one of her greatest goals, no matter the ultimate outcome of Caroline’s struggle with cancer.

For three and a half years, go-go juice and mustard helped a bubbly little girl forget, at times, that she was a patient, and allowed her to simply focus on being a kid. A kid who loved to play.

This Thanksgiving, Nov. 22, would’ve been Caroline’s 13^th birthday. My own daughter, who is nearing the age of 13 herself, typically makes a “gratitude tree” each year for Thanksgiving, and then we each write down things we’re grateful for on its paper leaves. This year, I’m going to write “go-go juice and mustard” because, as a mom, I am grateful for the gift of play that these two blood components offered a beautiful and bubbly little girl who once touched my heart.

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Download a PDF of the first 4 chapters of Lauren's memoir, Zuzu's Petals: A True Story of Second Chances, free.  Click here and go to the link below the "Buy the Book" button.  Zuzu's Petals is also available on Kindle and Nook.  Hardcover signed and inscribed copies are available at  www.laurenwardlarsen.com. Happy reading!

Speaking of Death

Years ago during a particularly hectic speaking schedule, a woman followed me out of the conference hall where I’d just given a keynote address at a regional Red Cross meeting.  I was rushing off to catch my next flight, but she seemed determined to have a word with me. She looked as if she’d been crying, even a bit angry, and I wondered if I’d somehow offended her with some of my, shall we say, offbeat humor.

“That story,” she said, gripping my arm. “The one about Jenny Eller…”

Jenny’s story was – and still is – one I tell often, not because it’s got such a happy ending, but precisely because it doesn’t. 

Jenny was seventeen when she was diagnosed with leukemia. Decisions regarding college scholarships – Princeton or Berkeley? – were superseded by chemo, blood transfusions, and appointments with the oncologist. As Jenny’s need for blood grew, so too did her desire to give back. She volunteered with her local blood center, helping them recruit more donors, speaking at community events, and making thank-you calls to those who’d given an hour of their time to donate blood.

Years after her diagnosis, in a hospital room filled with friends and family, Jenny lost her battle with leukemia. She never did get that college degree, but she did get four more years that she wouldn’t have otherwise gotten had it not been for all those blood components - red blood cells, platelets, and plasma - that supported her body throughout the cancer treatments.

On the night she died, Jenny’s father, Dean, promised to carry on her work with the blood center. Within days of burying his daughter, he spoke in her place at a luncheon to recruit blood donors. Four years and many blood center talks later, Dean left his career as a mortgage banker and took over as CEO of the blood center. And two years ago, the new Jenny Eller Donation Center opened its doors to the public. More than fifteen years after her passing, Jenny continues to have an impact on others, not the least of which, me.

While some wonderful, in fact inspiring, things have come about as a result of Jenny’s death, I’ll bet her parents would trade them all for more time with her here on earth. But death is a part of the “business” I'm in.  Not everyone gets the second chance that I – and many others – did.  Not everyone gets to shrug off their need for blood transfusions as "that time I was sick.” Not everyone gets a happily-ever-after.

I wondered if the woman who’d followed me into the hallway and was still gripping my arm was going to scold me for highlighting this harsh reality in what was billed as a “motivational” talk. I braced myself for whatever she had to say. 

“I was sitting in there listening to your story and the other stories you were sharing, and I found myself getting upset – even angry – at the unfairness of it all.”  Then she started crying. “I lost my daughter to leukemia a few months ago,” she continued.  “They tried everything, including regular transfusions, but in the end she still died.  I guess hearing all those blood recipient stories with happy endings really started to make me feel like I’d been ripped off. But then you shared Jenny’s story and I realized I’m not alone. So thank you for doing that.  I really needed to hear her story – and how her parents responded to that loss.”

Death is the one experience in life that we all have in common.  Ultimately, there’s no escaping it.  In my line of work (heading up the Foundation for America's Blood Centers), we certainly hope to help patients defer death – to give families more time together to build more memories and share more joy. So I'll continue to fight the good fight, but I'll never shy away from sharing the heartbreaks that are inevitable.  I owe it to all those who’ve lost a “Jenny.”

Jennifer Eller
1974 - 1995

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Download a PDF of the first 4 chapters of Lauren's memoir, Zuzu's Petals: A True Story of Second Chances, free.  Click here and go to the link below the "Buy the Book" button.  Zuzu's Petals is also available on Kindle and Nook.  Hardcover copies are available at amazon.com, or signed copies can be ordered at www.laurenwardlarsen.com. Happy reading!

Happy Birthday, Kid!

Every year, Harold Mintz sends a birthday card to his own kidney. Sure, that’s kind of weird in itself, but wouldn’t you think he could simply put his hand on his gut and whisper, “Happy birthday, kid”? Instead, Harold signs and seals a card and then sends it to the address of a woman who was once a complete stranger. You might even say they were from different worlds.

Gennet Belay grew up in Ethiopia. When she was twelve, she developed a kidney infection that landed her in the hospital. Her father insisted that she wasn’t ill (after all, he reasoned, children don’t get sick) and discharged her from the hospital against medical orders. Left untreated, Gennet’s kidney infection worsened and, years later, nearly cost her her life.

In 1987, Gennet and her husband and baby immigrated to the US, and eight months later, both of Gennet’s kidneys went into failure. She began receiving dialysis treatments upwards of three times a week and was added to the kidney transplant list. Eleven years passed, and still no kidney. 

The whole time, Gennet prayed for a miracle. While praying on New Year’s Eve of 2000, Gennet distinctly heard a voice tell her: “This year is the end of your suffering.”

Enter Harold. As a life-long blood and platelet donor (and a member of the national bone marrow registry), Harold already knew how good it felt to help people. His wife and 10-year-old daughter already had plenty of reasons to be proud of the impact he was having on the lives of others. But after reading about a teacher who donated a kidney to one of her students, Harold felt compelled to take his giving up a notch. He picked up the phone and began the process of becoming a “live donor.”

Months later, Harold went under anesthesia, and one of his kidneys was removed and transported across town where Gennet was waiting to undergo her 45^th surgery in two decades. That evening, while recovering from his own surgical procedure, Harold received a phone call. His kidney recipient was doing great, he was told. And his kidney? “Peeing up a storm,” according to the doctor who phoned to share the good news.

Harold and Gennet were later introduced and have since shared many family meals and celebrations together. Harold has given countless talks at high schools, and when he speaks of blood and organ donation, his eyes light up. I’m not kidding – this guy is on fire about the subject!

Harold believes there are no coincidences. Gennet believes in miracles. And I believe in the synchronicity of life that brought these two strangers together to form a lifelong bond of friendship. They come from different worlds, but they now share a remarkable experience – one that underscores the depth of humanity that dwells within us all.

Harold once told me his guiding principal in life has always been: follow the fun. Apparently, Harold’s idea of a good time is to help others. With thousands of people dying every year while awaiting organ transplants, we can only hope that more people follow in his footsteps and discover the “fun” in helping others. And next April, Harold’s kidney just might be getting a birthday card from me, too.




Download a PDF of the first 4 chapters of Lauren's memoir, Zuzu's Petals: A True Story of Second Chances, FREE here.  Click on the link below the green "Buy the Book" button.  Happy reading!