When an organ donation co-ordinator’s phone rings, they know death is on the other line.
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It’s a job that requires a strong silver-lining mentality — the knowledge that when one donor’s life ends, seven other lives can be saved.
It requires speed — organs deteriorate quickly after 12 hours of a person being pronounced dead.
And most importantly, it requires sensitivity — they are the people responsible for approaching a potential donor’s grief-stricken family and making the delicate plea.
So when the organ donation co-ordinator at The Royal Children’s Hospital in Melbourne received the phone call on December 2, 2004, that a little girl had passed away and her parents had already voluntarily requested that her organs be donated, she was taken aback, to say the least.
This would be the only child in Victoria to be an organ and tissue donor that year.
The clock was ticking.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
Zaidee Turner was a sprightly seven-year-old from Shepparton.
She was unapologetically loud, with a clean bill of health and a heart of gold.
At six years old, Zaidee had come home from school and told her parents, Allan and Kim, that if something were to happen to her, she wanted to donate her organs to other kids.
Seven months later, she had an unforeseen cerebral aneurysm, slipped into unconsciousness and was declared brain-dead. But her life did not end there.
When the unthinkable happened, Zaidee’s family had the benefit of knowing they were honouring her wishes.
In this way, it made the decision an easier pill to swallow.
The process, however, was one thing they wished they’d known about sooner.
To qualify as an organ donor, a patient must pass away in a hospital, typically while on a ventilator in the intensive care unit, as the organs must be functioning properly for transplantation.
Zaidee ticked all the boxes.
The donor co-ordinators arrived within the next two hours and joined Allan and Kim in a small waiting room.
Tussling with four or five bits of paper, the co-ordinators asked all the questions — medical history, sexuality, what they’d like to donate.
“We said everything ... her kidneys, heart, eyes, liver,” Allan said.
“One thing we hadn’t thought of was when they asked if we’d like to donate Z’s hair; she had really long hair, and they could turn that into wigs for cancer patients.
“We went through all the documentation, both signed off on it ... you can imagine the state we’re in by then.”
Allan called the donation co-ordinators “gifts from angels”.
“They’ve got the hardest task to tap you on the shoulder and broker that conversation ... it’s the last thing someone who lost a loved one wants to think about when they’re distressed,” he said.
“But you’ve got to make that decision, and that’s the system; you’re on the clock.”
Once everything was checked off, the process could start.
Another three hours had passed.
The organs were still healthy.
Tick, tick, tick.
Allan and Kim were glued to Zaidee’s bedside for hours as the medical team floated around the room.
They checked her vitals twice, monitored her body and administered the necessary drugs.
The test results revealed no underlying health issues or transmissible diseases, and Zaidee was judged medically suitable to donate.
Minds clouded by grief, Allan and Kim tried to absorb every last second they could by their daughter’s side.
Staff offered to take photos of their final moments with Zaidee and immortalise her handprint in a clay mould for them to keep.
Somehow, they said their farewells.
“We didn’t want to leave her side, we didn’t want to move,” Allan said.
As Zaidee was being wheeled to the operating room for her final surgery, a small crowd lined the hallway to honour her.
She passed doctors in white coats, surgeons in crumpled blue scrubs and the priest Allan and Kim recognised from earlier, who had scavenged the hospital to find food for them (sushi rolls and a bottle of straight whiskey).
The beeps and blinks of monitors snaked around Zaidee pierced the silence.
They softened to a hum as she disappeared behind double doors.
Tick, tick, tick.
Organ and tissue donation is like any other operation.
The bodies are treated with respect and care.
Afterwards, the surgical incision is not visible and is covered by a dressing, allowing the family to have an open casket viewing if desired.
So when Zaidee returned from surgery, with the exception of a crocheted rainbow now covering her eyes, she looked like, well, Zaidee.
“We held her. For 45 minutes, Kim and I held her, talked to her, and said our goodbyes until they came back in and said it’s time,” Allan said.
Time’s up.
Thirty-six hours ago, Allan and Kim had tornadoed through the hospital entrance.
Now, they walked slowly and unsteadily to the exit, with nothing but each other and a plastic bag of Zaidee’s belongings to cling to for support.
“I know this is a pretty scary thought, but if somebody is dealt similar circumstances like we were, it helps to know what to expect,” Allan said.
It’s said the oldest and strongest kind of fear is fear of the unknown.
DonateLife and Zaidee’s Rainbow Foundation work to alleviate the fear around organ and tissue donation by encouraging conversations and making the once-taboo subject a societal norm.
DonateLife’s call to action is for all Australians to be registered as organ and tissue donors and be the reason someone else gets a second chance at life.
However, regardless of the online registry, the donor’s family must give consent, and organ donation will not proceed if they object.
“Each year, opportunities for transplants are missed because families aren’t sure what to do,” a DonateLife spokesperson said.
For this reason, Zaidee’s Rainbow Foundation aims to inspire discussion.
“It’s hard to keep the message going all the time, but you only need that one conversation in the family to know what their wishes are,” Allan said.
In terms of decision-making, Allan encouraged people to consider it from the reverse: what if it were me or my loved one in need of a transplant?
“Z was going to die, but imagine if there were six other kids down that corridor that need a transplant, imagine if you were in their family,” he said.
It is unclear how many Australians require organ donations, as the process is incredibly fickle.
People are often added and removed from the waitlist for various reasons, most commonly due to medical issues.
Currently, there are about 1800 Australians on the organ waitlist, with an additional 14,000 on dialysis for kidney failure who could benefit from a kidney transplant, according to DonateLife.
Increasing organ donation requires a fundamental shift in perspective, which involves demystifying the donation process.
“It’s the saddest time in one’s life, but for the opposite side, it’s the best time in someone else’s life because they’re going to get the phone call saying, ‘Hey, you’ve got a second chance’,” Allan said.
Zaidee Turner donated both her corneas to two four-year-old children, her liver to an eight-year-old girl, parts of her heart to two newborns and an infant, and her kidneys to a middle-aged mum who had two young children.
She, like all organ donors, saved the lives of up to seven people.
“There’s something good that comes from everything,” Allan said.
Signing up for the organ and tissue donation registry takes one minute online at donatelife.gov.au or with three taps in the Express Plus Medicare app.
To learn more about Zaidee’s Rainbow Foundation and organ and tissue donation in Australia, visit www.zaidee.org/
Journalist