Dead child's kidneys save mom's life

CHICAGO -- Before the child transformed her life, Michele Garibay felt doomed in love and cursed by bad health.

Her sisters were pretty and petite. She was chunky and tall.

Her sisters had boyfriends and jobs. She was sick, always struggling with another collapse, another fever, another round of delirious nights in hospital.

There were times when she didn't care if she lived or died.

And then along came an angel, a child who taught her love and strength and laughter, who wrapped her in happiness, who assured her with every hug and every smile and every cry of "Mommy! Mommy!" that she was the most special person in the world.

Michele knew it was a miracle -- and she knew it was too precious to last.

And so, when the doctor broke the news, she accepted his words with a strength that seemed unimaginable.

She didn't cry when her 3-year-old daughter was declared brain dead.

She didn't hesitate when asked about donating her daughter's organs. For years, Michele had been on a waiting list for a kidney transplant; she understood her child could save other lives.

But what the doctor suggested next seemed so unbearable, she almost fainted in horror.

Your child's kidneys could save your life.

"NO!" Michele gasped. "I'd rather die and be with her."

Lupus diagnosis

At 17, Michele had been diagnosed with lupus, an autoimmune disease that would eventually destroy her kidneys. She would need dialysis four times a day. She would get progressively worse. There was no cure.

But the worst blow of all was when doctors warned her against having a baby. To get pregnant would be to risk her own life and that of the child.

Neither Michele nor her doctors counted on her falling in love, on a whirlwind romance between two college students working in the Wrigley Gum factory for the summer.

When they broke up on Valentine's Day in 1998, Michele was six months pregnant. She was 23 and terrified.

Bedridden for much of her pregnancy, Michele read everything she could about motherhood. She played Vivaldi for the baby kicking in her womb. She read aloud stories from Dr. Seuss.

On May 13, Michele gave birth to a healthy 6-pound, 7-ounce girl. She called the baby Elise, a name she thought graceful and rare.

Elise inherited her mother's dark hair and mischievous smile. But she possessed something more: a sunny self-confidence, a kind of innate wisdom about her place in the world that made her seem older than her years.

As Elise grew lanky and strong, her mother grew sickly and weak.

Michele couldn't lift her daughter or pick up her toys, couldn't take her to the beach. Often they stayed at Elise's grandparents' house because Michele was too sick to walk. Michele's mother would creep into the bedroom and weep at the sight of her daughter and granddaughter curled in each others arms.

And she would wonder: what will happen to Elise when Michele is gone?

Not a chance

The little girl never stood a chance. An October storm, a gust of wind, a enormous branch cracking and falling at precisely the moment Elise was skipping beneath it. Though doctors performed emergency surgery, they knew there was little hope.

Michele refused to cry in her daughter's presence. Instead, she would lean over the hospital bed and whisper, over and over: Mommy will be here when you wake up.

Emergency room pediatrician Dr. Chris Clardy had rarely seen such strength. And he had rarely been so moved.

Clardy, a kidney specialist, too, noticed Michele's limp, her yellowish skin, her gaunt face. He spotted the dialysis catheter dangling beneath her shirt.

Without telling Michele, he called her doctors. He learned that Michele had been waiting for a kidney transplant for years, that cousins and sisters and parents had been tested, but no family member was a match.

Moments after declaring Elise brain dead, Clardy sat down with Michele. There was no time to be gentle. The clock was ticking and she had to make a decision fast.

You have perhaps a year to live, Clardy told her. Your daughter is your only chance.

Cruel decision

A kidney can last between 48 and 72 hours once the brain is dead, but the longer the delay the less likely the transplant will be successful.

For years Michele had known she might one day face a decision about transplant surgery. Now she had to make the cruelest decision of her life.

How could she live with her child's organs growing inside her?

How could she not?

Michele's mother told her the choice was clear.

Elise was an angel, Irene Garibay said. She was an angel sent by God on a mission. And that mission was to save Michele's life. How else could they explain the child's death? How else could they accept it?

For the first time since the accident, Michele sobbed uncontrollably.

Thank you, Elise

They buried Elise in her princess dress with a tiara on her head and a teddy bear in her arms. Her eulogy was a letter from her mother.

Thank you, Elise, Michele wrote. Thank you for the most wonderful three and a half years. Thank you for teaching me to be strong. Thank you for giving me life.

Michele couldn't go to the funeral. She was lying in a hospital bed, recovering from five hours of surgery.

A few hours after Elise's coffin had been lowered into the ground, Michele noticed a pinkness in her hands when she pressed her palms. She gazed at them in wonder. They hadn't been pink in years.

And then she realized. Her blood wasn't contaminated anymore. Her daughter's kidneys were already working. Over and over she squeezed her hands.

Thank you, Elise, she said.

Six months after surgery, Michele is healthier than she has been in years.