One of the hard realities about being a former organ donor and beign rejected as I was, is that I think about it quite a bit.
I use to think what it would be like to be in a tragic situation and being a survivor. I always thought that I would think somewhere along the lines of "well, I made it out alive, I should be happy." I don't htink I would be one of those "I wish it would have been me" people unless it was one of my children.
Harsh? Perhaps. But that's part of what makes me, ME!
As a former potential liver donor, I thought about the possiblility of death whil undergoing the donation. Or after the fact from a sickness/infection. It didn't scare me for dying. It scared me for those left behind left living without my infectuous smile, incredible sense of humor and great comedic timing.
I write great fiction too. :)
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