Wonderful Life

Anyone who knows me well – or has browsed my Facebook page or picked up a copy of my book or even sat next to me on a bus for five minutes – knows that when it comes to “It’s a Wonderful Life,” I have a freakish attachment to this movie. I named my baby after the guardian-angel character, Clarence. My book’s title, Zuzu’s Petals, is a direct nod to one of the movie’s defining scenes. And since my 20s, I’ve watched this holiday classic one to four times each year.

"Help me, Clarence. Please. I want to live again."

Without fail, I cry unabashedly every time I get to a particular scene, you know the one: George Bailey leaning over the bridge, head bowed, hands clasped, tears streaming down his face as he implores Clarence to help him, to let him live again. Irrational as it may be, I find myself worrying that maybe this time George’s angel won’t come through. I blubber like a big old baby and wonder what if Clarence doesn’t answer his plea for help?

But you know what? He always does. That angel always comes through.

At some point in our lives, there’s a good chance that we’ll each feel like George Bailey, like things are hopeless, so much so that the only way out of our predicament would be with the help of angels. For some, our George Bailey Moment comes in the form of needing blood transfusions – for ourselves or for someone we love – and wondering if that blood will be there.

Last month, an old friend forwarded me a plea for help from another friend of hers. This man’s daughter, Katherine, was fighting for her life in the intensive care unit and was in need of massive amounts of a less common type of plasma. Apparently, she was depleting the hospital’s supply at a much faster rate than they could replenish it. The tone of the original e-mail was one of frantic urgency, the kind reserved for situations that are equal parts hopeless and hopeful. Situations that could really use an angel.

Having interacted with blood centers across the US for 12 years now, my initial message to Katherine’s father was one of hope: have faith in the vast network of non-profit blood centers to do what they do best: collect and manage blood, and, if necessary, transport it across the country to the people who need it, people like his daughter. I remained positive because, from personal experience, I know how absolutely essential optimism is in a situation like this.

And yet.

What if those who could donate the type of plasma Katherine required didn’t respond to this kind and desperate father’s plea for help? What if the blood centers weren’t able to come through for her? I kept checking Katherine’s CaringBridge and Facebook pages for updates, eager for news about a young woman I’ve never met. 

In the end, countless people responded to the plea for help, and Katherine was treated with more than 340 units of plasma. And then she was sent home.

In my worldview, angels are not just ethereal beings reserved solely for the afterlife. There are plenty of angels on earth, as well as potential angels waiting to awaken to their desire to serve. Sometimes, we’re the ones in need of an angel. And other times, we are called upon to be an angel for someone else.

I know I’m not alone in my gratitude for all the earthly angels who come through time and again for us blood recipients. Whether they’re blood donors or blood services professionals, they truly make this a wonderful life.



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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!

The George Bailey Effect

While reading the paper one morning, Manuel, a thirty-something Mexican immigrant, learns that there’s a local blood shortage.  Having never donated blood before, Manuel decides to “help my fellow Americans.” Afterward, he describes the experience as “incredible,” and from that day forward, Manuel is a regular blood donor—every eight weeks.

A new mom goes into multiple organ failure and uncontrollable bleeding shortly after an emergency caesarian section is performed to save her baby’s life. Pints of blood are pumped into her body as fast as her veins can accept them.  One of those pints is Manuel’s. Several weeks later, Manuel’s next blood donation appointment comes up and—again—the new mom receives his blood. She leaves the hospital after six weeks with a new mission: help recruit more volunteer blood donors so that others can be given the same second chance at life she was given.

In 2004, the new mom returns to the same hospital that had treated her and walks into a room filled with news cameras and people. Seated in the first two rows are twenty-two of her actual blood donors from years earlier.  Among them is Manuel, who has a bouquet of flowers in his lap—a gift for the woman whose life he helped save. When he’s called to the podium to meet the recipient of his blood, he embraces her, then her husband, and then their daughter, now four years old.

Years pass and the recession hits, forcing many to foreclose on mortgages they can no longer afford. Among them is Manuel. The stress over losing his family’s home manifests itself as serious physical ailments, and he is hospitalized. His wife pleads with him to forget the home, that the health of their family is more important than any material possession, houses included. He remains despondent, but there is one

memory that pulls him through his darkest days: giving a hug to that little girl who has a mother—thanks to him. It takes months, but Manuel is able to overcome his health issues and move on with his life.

That Christmas, the new mom receives a card from Manuel announcing that he’ll soon be a grandfather. She sends baby gifts for him to pass along to his pregnant daughter, but when they arrive, Manuel sets them aside.  “I’m saving the gifts for the baby shower,” he writes to her.  “Before giving them to my daughter, I’d like to tell everyone how our two families are connected through blood donation.” The new mom reads this, and cries. Yes, she thinks, we are connected. Then she laughs as she pictures everyone at the baby shower all heading down to the local blood center together to give blood when the party ends.

Thinking back on this story, I am reminded of the scene from It’s a Wonderful Life—my all-time favorite movie—in which George Bailey begins to understand the depth of connection he had to so many people, and vice versa. “Strange, isn't it?” his guardian angel, Clarence, says to him. “Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn’t he?”

This is a lesson I know well—ever since receiving more than 200 pints of blood ten years ago during the birth of my daughter, Clare.  And I’ll forever be grateful that Manuel’s life touched mine.


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!