Kathryn Payne-Olson--No Cows Or Pumpkins

No Cows Or Pumpkins

Kathryn Payne-Olson

Photo courtesy of the author.

Six years ago, we were told our thirteen year old son needed a bone marrow transplant. He was diagnosed with leukemia at twelve years old and we had tried every chemo, radiation and even a million dollar car-T cell therapy that had over a 90% success rate. Nothing worked. A bone marrow transplant was the absolute last result and came with very dangerous complications. We weren’t the least bit afraid of the procedure because we were already down right terrified; he was dying. A year before, we were told by a doctor not to even mention a bone marrow transplant. She said we would never find ourselves there because there were so many other options that were less invasive. Well, there we were, desperately needing a bone marrow transplant. There was only one problem: we didn't have a match. Our entire family and all of our friends registered; no match. There is a world-wide registry that was searched; no match. “How could that be?” I looked at our child, pale, weak and emaciated and to be honest, I think I might have hated God just a little bit. We were sitting there watching him die and numbly waiting for a donor to fall out of the sky. And-then-he-did.

One of our doctors burst into our room with a big grin on his face and blurted out, “We found your match! The bone marrow is on a plane from Germany as we speak.” A young man from Germany was a nine out of ten match which is considered very good. My heart skipped a beat and I was terrified and elated at the very same time. What sent shivers up my spine was that our son was born in Germany of all places. I hated God just a little less that day.

I will skip the horrific details of the transplant. In and of itself, it was pretty uneventful. It was the aftermath that was a nightmare. Any time you have a procedure they give you a long list of possible side effects, most of which never happen. Well in his case, they all happened; Epstein Barre virus, pneumonia, Graft versus host disease, lung damage, heart damage, high blood pressure, cognitive brain damage and more.

He left that hospital in a wheel chair, emaciated, bald, pale and weak but he rang that bell and we went home for the first time in months. He literally had about thirty pills he had to take every day at different times. It was overwhelming. He refused to use his wheelchair and forced himself to walk and it was no time before he was walking on his own with no problem.

We became obsessed with his donor. We asked NMDP for his contact information and they literally would not respond. They made it so difficult. I felt as if I was nagging and begging but I got one excuse after another. I started to wonder if the donor didn’t want to be contacted. I asked for years and was given the run around and handed off from contact to contact until our son finally turned eighteen and the excuse became that he was an adult and they had to correspond with him directly. He was a freshman in college and just trying to get by. I started to wonder if he wasn’t interested or was too bewildered by all of my failed attempts. Knowing him and how appreciative and thoughtful he is, I knew in my heart he wanted to meet the donor. My husband decided that in the summer of 2025, we were going to Germany to meet his donor. I don’t remember exactly how it happened but we found him and he was elated to meet our son and had been looking for us all of these years too.

Coincidentally our son was studying abroad in Switzerland so my husband, our son’s girlfriend, his older brother and I went to Switzerland for a week or so and then flew to a tiny village in Germany to meet our donor. Murat is his name and he was the most beautiful person I’ve ever seen in my life. He didn’t speak English, nor did his two little girls, ages six and four but his wife and a cousin spoke enough to translate. The first night, our son and his girlfriend went to their house for dinner alone. Murat and his family gave them gifts and rolled out the red carpet. The next morning, Murat and his wife picked us up at our hotel and the emotions running through me were indescribable. We strolled through the town and ended up at their quaint and immaculate home where we met his two precious girls. His lovely wife casually asked us if we wanted to have lunch at a restaurant or else we could go to her mother’s house for lunch. Murat and I had already connected in a parental way I can’t explain but he looked at me and I knew he wanted us to go to her mother’s house. I immediately said, “We would love to meet your mother!” I saw the joy in Murat’s face and I knew there was something there.

We arrived at their beautiful yet modest home. It had a massive back yard with chickens running around, a trampoline, all kinds of fruit trees and vegetables growing everywhere and there were tiny bikes, backpacks, toys, a wonderland for children. It turns out, the mother, wife and sister ran a day care from the house. I asked, ‘Where are all the children?” They casually responded that they had closed for the day. The mom brought out tray after tray of cooked food, salads, desserts, a complete feast. She was all smiles and her husband was overjoyed to have us there. I couldn’t help but think, “What if I had chosen a restaurant instead of her house? I thought maybe if there is a God, he/she might not be so bad afterall. It didn’t matter that we spoke different languages, I felt as if we were with a long lost family. There was so much laughter, joy, and respect. It may have been the best day of my life. When Murat looked at me, there was a connection I can’t describe. He knew he had saved my son’s life and what it meant to me now that he had two little girls of his own.

It turns out his wife was pregnant with their first daughter when he registered for NMDP. He had registered for a friend who had leukemia and didn’t make it. If he hadn’t registered for his friend, our son wouldn’t be alive and well and on the dean’s list at George Mason University and I wouldn’t be sitting here with tears of gratitude rolling down my face as I share our story with you.

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