Does anyone know of a case where someone has received an organ donation, and upon their death re-donated the same organ? It seems like an organ would eventually wear out, but could it possibly make it through several
people (and I’m sure it would vary by organ)?
I would be disappointed to be given a new lease on life with a new organ and then end up dying in a car crash or something of that nature.
I doubt that organs get “recycled” more than once. I would think that incompatibility would be a big problem, if not quality.
I think it is highly unlikely. Most organ recipients die sooner or later as a result of their transplanted organ being rejected. Drugs used to inhibit rejection generally only delay the process, as I understand it. The rejection process ain’t pretty, as the organ is essentially attacked.
That having been said, I can’t wait to be proven wrong. It’s gonna have to be one weird story.
I asked a doctor once out of curiosity. He said, basically, no. You can’t donate the same organ twice.
They did it with a heart a few weeks ago on ER. The girl died shortly after the transplant, and they gave it to another patient.
Won’t have to for long. Soon they’ll be cloning organs. At least I hope so. Mine are wearing out faster than I planned. 
Peace,
mangeorge
Far out! This sounds like potential fodder for a Paul Harvey “Rest of the Stourery” or material for the Snopes site.
I can just hear it now…
J. Fred Knobpolisher was leaving Our Lady of Perpetual Irresponsibilty Hospital in downtown Ashtabula, Ohio after receiving a donated appendix. Fred had received the useless organ from an upstanding young citizen of Belgium who was struck down in the prime of life at the age of 74 after a home experiement with a chicken, a quart of maalox, two paperclips and a tuba went horribly, horribly awry.
The operation had gone well and young Fred was recovering quickly. After spending seven months in a body cast, he was looking forward to returning to his career as a cheese straightener at Ashtabula’s world renowned Institute of Smelly Foods and Sticky Things.
Fred’s lovely wife, Gargathon-8, wheeled him through the front door of the hospital toward their waiting 1973 Ford Ranchero. As they approached the vehicle, a roving gang of Guatemalan thugs rushed up, attracted by the headlights which Gargathon-8 had left on. Little did Fred’s wife (who sported an extra nipple) know that burning headlights were an invitation to danger.
The vicious Guatemalan gangs victimizing Ashtabula had adopted a pervese initiation ritual. New members must locate car/truck hybrid vehicle owners and whack them in the solar plexus with a duck to become full fledged gangsters. Fred had stumbled into the middle of a hornet’s nest of vicious terror.
Sure enough, the new gang members rushed Fred and Gargathon-8. And, fight as they might, they couldn’t protect themselves from the caffeine crazed Guatemalan criminals. Both were pummeled repeately with a variety of waterfowl. Gargathon-8 was struck about the head and neck with a couple of mallards and fell unconscious quickly.
Poor Fred had it much worse. He was pounded with wave after wave of merganser wielding Central Americans, each swinging their feathered weapon into his vulnerable midsection. The pain was unbearable, but Fred was too weak to fight back or escape.
Finally, after being struck a coup de foie graswith a goose, Fred’s attackers left him, stunned, bleeding and confused in the gutter beside his Ranchero. A passing fry cook noticed Fred and Gargathon-8 and dragged them back into the friendly confines of Our Lady of Perpetual Irresponsibility. Unfortunately, all the nurses were on break at the time.
When Fred finally received medical attention, it was too late. The donated appendix, which had so painstakingly been attached to Fred’s guts, had been rejected, and Fred was already in the process of passing it through his nasal sinuses.
Of course, the police performed a thorough investigation of the entire matter. It was only then that Fred learned how lucky he had been. The vicious attack by the Guatemalan thugs had been a blessing in disguise. For the police investigation, led by Detective Second Class Ernest “Wu Tang” Peevish revealed a shocking fact about the origin of Fred’s replacement appendix. When Fred learned the horrible truth about the origin of his intestinal replacement part, he breathed a sigh of relief and sent Morris the Goon, Ashtabula’s Guatamalan Godfather, a nice Hallmark Card to thank him for the service his criminal underlings had inadvertantly rendered him.
For you see, Detective Second Class Peevish had learned that the Belgian CPA who had sacrificed her life to provide Fred an appendix, which subesequently was to go to waste was… a liberal.
And now you know…The Rest of the Stoooorey.
Sure, my wife is a case in point. I donate an organ of mine to her repeatedly.
…must…not…hit…sumbit…must…fight…urge…do…not…click… aw,damn.
All I wanna do is to thank you, even though I don’t know who you are…
I was wondering how long it would take for a response like this.
Does her body reject the donated organ?
Crystalguy
Frank: obviously not as quickly as the obvious retort.
All I wanna do is to thank you, even though I don’t know who you are…