I was three months pregnant with twins when my husband Ross and I went to my

second sonogram.
I was 35 years old at the time, and I knew that that meant we had a higher risk of
having a child with a birth defect. So, Ross and I researched the standard birth
defects, and we felt reasonably prepared.
Well, nothing would have prepared us for the bizarre diagnosis that we were about
to face. The doctor explained that one of our twins, Thomas, had a fatal birth defect
called anencephaly. This means that his brain was not formed correctly because
part of his skull was missing. Babies with this diagnosis typically die in utero or
within a few minutes, hours or days of being born. But the other twin,
Callum, appeared to be healthy, as far as the doctor could tell, and these twins were
identical, genetically identical.
So after a lot of questions about how this could have possibly happened, a selective
reduction was mentioned, and while this procedure was not impossible, it posed
some unique risks for the healthy twin and for me, so we decided to carry the
pregnancy to term. So there I was, three months pregnant, with two trimesters
ahead of me, and I had to find a way to manage my blood pressure and my
stress. And it felt like having a roommate point a loaded gun at you for six
months. But I stared down the barrel of that gun for so long that I saw a light at the
end of the tunnel. While there was nothing we could do to prevent the tragedy, I
wanted to find a way for Thomas's brief life to have some kind of positive impact.
So I asked my nurse about organ, eye and tissue donation. She connected with our
local organ-procurement organization, the Washington Regional Transplant
Community. WRTC explained to me that Thomas would probably be too small at
birth to donate for transplant, and I was shocked: I didn't even know you could be
rejected for that. But they said that he would be a good candidate to donate for
research. This helped me see Thomas in a new light. As opposed to just a victim of a
disease, I started to see him as a possible key to unlock a medical mystery.
On March 23, 2010, the twins were born, and they were both born alive. And just
like the doctor said,Thomas was missing the top part of his skull, but he could
nurse, drink from a bottle, cuddle and grab our fingers like a normal baby, and he
slept in our arms. After six days, Thomas died in Ross's armssurrounded by our
family.
We called WRTC, who sent a van to our home and brought him to Children's National
Medical Center. A few hours later, we got a call to say that the recovery was a
success, and Thomas's donations would be going to four different places. His cord
blood would go to Duke University. His liver would go to a cell-therapy company
called Cytonet in Durham. His corneas would go to Schepens Eye Research
Institute,which is part of Harvard Medical School, and his retinas would go to the
University of Pennsylvania.

A few days later, we had a funeral with our immediate family, including baby
Callum, and we basically closed this chapter in our lives. But I did find myself
wondering, what's happening now? What are the researchers learning? And was it
even worthwhile to donate?
WRTC invited Ross and I to a grief retreat, and we met about 15 other grieving
families who had donated their loved one's organs for transplant. Some of them had
even received letters from the people who received their loved one's organs, saying
thank you. I learned that they could even meet each other if they'd both sign a
waiver, almost like an open adoption. And I was so excited, I thought maybe I could
write a letter or I could get a letter and learn about what happened. But I was
disappointed to learn that this process only exists for people who donate for
transplant. So I was jealous. I had transplant envy, I guess.
(Laughter)
But over the years that followed, I learned a lot more about donation, and I even got
a job in the field.
And I came up with an idea. I wrote a letter that started out, "Dear Researcher." I
explained who I was,and I asked if they could tell me why they requested infant
retinas in March of 2010, and I asked if my family could visit their lab. I emailed it to
the eye bank that arranged the donation, the Old Dominion Eye Foundation, and
asked if they could send it to the right person. They said that they had never done
this before, and they couldn't guarantee a response, but they wouldn't be an
obstacle, and they would deliver it.
Two days later, I got a response from Dr. Arupa Ganguly of the University of
Pennsylvania. She thanked me for the donation, and she explained that she is
studying retinoblastoma, which is a deadly cancer of the retina that affects children
under the age of five, and she said that yes, we were invited to visit her lab.
So next we talked on the phone, and one of the first things she said to me was that
she couldn't possibly imagine how we felt, and that Thomas had given the ultimate
sacrifice, and that she seemed to feel indebted to us. So I said, "Nothing against
your study, but we didn't actually pick it. We donated to the system, and the system
chose your study. I said, "And second of all, bad things happen to children every
day, and if you didn't want these retinas, they would probably be buried in the
ground right now. So to be able to participate in your study gives Thomas's life a
new layer of meaning. So, never feel guilty about using this tissue."
Next, she explained to me how rare it was. She had placed a request for this tissue
six years earlier with the National Disease Research Interchange. She got only one
sample of tissue that fit her criteria, and it was Thomas's.

Next, we arranged a date for me to come visit the lab, and we chose March 23,
2015, which was the twins' fifth birthday. After we hung up, I emailed her some
pictures of Thomas and Callum, and a few weeks later, we received this T-shirt in
the mail.
A few months later, Ross, Callum and I piled in the car and we went for a road
trip. We met Arupa and her staff, and Arupa said that when I told her not to feel
guilty, that it was a relief, and that she hadn't seen it from our perspective. She also
explained that Thomas had a secret code name. The same way Henrietta Lacks is
called HeLa, Thomas was called RES 360. RES means research, and 360 means he
was the 360th specimen over the course of about 10 years.
She also shared with us a unique document, and it was the shipping label that sent
his retinas from DC to Philadelphia. This shipping label is like an heirloom to us
now. It's the same way that a military medal or a wedding certificate might be.
Arupa also explained that she is using Thomas's retina and his RNA to try to
inactivate the gene that causes tumor formation, and she even showed us some
results that were based on RES 360. Then she took us to the freezer and she
showed us the two samples that she still has that are still labeled RES 360.There's
two little ones left. She said she saved it because she doesn't know when she might
get more.After this, we went to the conference room and we relaxed and we had
lunch together, and the lab staff presented Callum with a birthday gift. It was a
child's lab kit. And they also offered him an internship.
(Laughter)
So in closing, I have two simple messages today. One is that most of us probably
don't think about donating to research. I know I didn't. I think I'm a normal
person. But I did it. It was a good experience, and I recommend it, and it brought my
family a lot of peace. And second is if you work with human tissueand you wonder
about the donor and about the family, write them a letter. Tell them you received it,
tell them what you're working on, and invite them to visit your lab, because that
visit may be even more gratifying for you than it is for them. And I'd also like to ask
you a favor. If you're ever successful in arranging one of these visits, please tell me
about it.
The other part of my family's story is that we ended up visiting all four facilities that
received Thomas's donations. And we met amazing people doing inspiring work. The
way I see it now is that Thomas got into Harvard, Duke and Penn -(Laughter)
And he has a job at Cytonet, and he has colleagues and he has coworkers who are
in the top of their fields. And they need him in order to do their job. And a life that

once seemed brief and insignificantrevealed itself to be vital, everlasting and

relevant. And I only hope that my life can be as relevant.
Thank you.
(Applause)