I keep trying to donate blood. But the generosity stops there. I have never explored giving plasma, or marrow. I did check the organ box on my driver's license but that can hardly be called altruism as I won't be needing my lungs and corneas when I am dead. 

Part of me wants to believe that if my child was in need of one of my kidneys I would offer it. But hypothetical sacrifice is kind of lame. Would I step in front of a bullet for him or her? I guess I will never know. 

I watched a medical show, you know, those ones where gunshot victims and cancer patients arrive eight times in one episode. I have no idea if that is representative of a real ER. Anyway, there was a child who needed a partial liver transplant, because apparently a living donor can save a life without losing their own. Kudos to that resilient organ, for its capacity to regenerate. But the girl's parents were not a match. There was another patient in another city who needed a slice of  healthy liver, and her brother was willing but was also a mismatch. Six willing givers and as many lethargic recipients were spread across three states, and amazingly the chain fit like a puzzle. People could step up to replenish a stranger's failing body, knowing that another brave soul was saving their child or sibling. In a circle of heroism, everyone would live.

I notice that when circumstances ask me to be generous for my own family, I can rise to the challenge. But what happens when the person in need is an acquaintance, or even an unknown? Does my magnanimous spirit take a dive? 

Maybe if I graft a small piece of benevolence onto my mostly self absorbed tendencies it will regenerate.