And no matter how hard it was, if necessary, I would do it all again, as many times as needed. Even exhausted, even broken, even destroyed, even without knowing who I would be when it was all over.

The day of the transplant arrived without ceremony, as if it were just another ordinary day. There was no dramatic music, no guitar solos, no drones, no countdown. It came the way everything came in that hospital: silent, technical, terrifying precisely because of that. It was normal. But not for me. ...