It was only as a woman that she ever felt vulnerable.
She was the second of three speakers at the gala dinner for National Organ Donor Awareness Week. Representatives from two families were speaking. A donor family had preceded her and a recipient family was to follow. Her speech was from a medical perspective and she was intent on keeping any personal twist out of it. She had different speeches depending on the basis on which she’d been invited. Tonight she was here as a doctor, not as someone with a personal story.
She was here to deliver the facts and her speech was being videotaped and snippets would be shown on TV news programmes for the rest of the week. A less than perfect delivery was not an option.
With the MC’s introduction over, Sarah stepped up to the microphone, checking the autocue was showing her speech and not somebody else’s. She knew her speech by heart but wanted the autocue to hand, just in case.
She scanned the room, picking out a few spots in the crowd where she could focus her attention. The au dience was attentive, watching her with anticipation. It was a group of the converted faithful after all, here because they were interested. There were some high-profile sports stars and media personalities in the audience who’d given their time and presence to promote awareness of the need for organ donations. Silently clearing her throat, she took a deep breath, found a few friendly faces and began, finding her natural rhythm as she progressed through her speech.
‘This year alone there are over 1700 people waiting for donated organs. Without transplants, these people will continue to live restricted lives, lives ruled by medical appointments, medications and machines. That’s assuming they are able to stay alive, because the harsh reality is, without organ donation, a number of these people won’t make it at all. Every day is critical.
‘There are over five million registered donors in Australia, almost a quarter of our population, but our current donor rate is point-zero-zero-one per cent.’ She paused to let the figures register. ‘So only one out of every one hundred thousand Australians actually becomes an organ donor. We have one of the lowest donor rates in the Western world.
‘I know you are here tonight either because organ donation has affected you personally or because it is a cause you believe in. But our message this year is, please, do more than believe, make sure you register as a donor. And, please, encourage your family members to register too, talk about it together. If you can’t bring yourself to register, discuss your feelings with your family so they are aware of your wishes.’
She went on to talk about a few specific, anonymous cases and saw plenty of people, men and women, with tears in their eyes. She’d managed to move them with her words and now hopefully, if they weren’t donors already, they’d seriously consider registering.
‘Confronting your own mortality is not easy and most of us do anything to avoid it. But we never know what is waiting for us around the corner. Take a moment now to look at the people around you.’ Again, she waited while the room buzzed briefly, wondering where she was going.
‘In a moment, in the not-too-distant future, one of you could find yourself depending for your very life on the incredible and brave gift of a perfect stranger. Or it might be your child’s life that hangs in the balance as you watch the clock ticking inexorably on, praying and hoping against time for a miracle. The reverse side of that is that every one of you also has the power, through registering yourself as an organ donor, to be the maker of miracles.
‘In this room tonight I know there are a number of people who wouldn’t be alive if not for a successful transplant. You might well be sitting next to someone whose life has been saved in this way.’ The room was perfectly still and quiet, but people were flicking glances about them, wondering if they were, in fact, sitting next to a transplant recipient. She knew she was bordering on being sensationalist, but getting the audience to commit emotionally to her topic was the very best guarantee they would change their behaviour once they left here tonight. She leant towards the microphone a touch. ‘Those people are most likely only with us now because of the gift of a perfect stranger. Because of that gift, they have a whole life to live. And each time this happens, that gift gives entire families their lives back to them whole, too.’
Wrapping up her speech with an entreaty to take the information that had been placed on their tables and take action to register, Sarah left the stage to resounding applause, wishing her sister Tori was with her tonight. Sometimes they came together, sometimes Tori spoke instead of Sarah, sometimes they both did, but Tori was better at delivering the personal story and Sarah the medical perspective. Either way, it was always nice to have a familiar face to share the adrenalin rush of public speaking with afterwards.
Hovering out of sight at the side of the stage, Sarah stood in the shadows to watch the next speaker, not yet ready to slip back to her seat.
As her heart rate settled she became aware she was under scrutiny. Shrugging off the idea as nothing more than some guy ogling her because of her skin-tight red dress, she stayed focused on the speaker, choosing to ignore the sensation and hoping they’d grow tired of the view. But when the speaker had finished Sarah could still feel someone’s eyes on her.
She turned. The ‘gentleman’ in question was seated at a nearby table and, judging by the stains on his teeth, it looked as though he had a few too many glasses of red wine under his belt. Sarah watched, horrified, as their gazes met and the man lurched from his chair and began to weave a path towards her.
Once he reached her she’d be trapped between the stage stairs and the back wall and, while she was well able to get rid of unwanted attention, she’d really rather not have to deal with it. He was intruding on her high, the high she got from delivering a good speech, the high she got when she was reminded that, thanks to organ donation, her family was intact.
Could she dash up the steps and across the stage? It only took a glance to see that wasn’t an option—the band was returning to their instruments and she’d be in their way.
She swept her gaze back across the tables.
And then she saw him.
Leaning against the bar at the side of the room, impeccable in a perfectly tailored dark suit, was Ned.
Correction. Leaning against the bar, looking immaculate and watching her with an appreciative look in his green eyes. Was that a sparkle of amusement as well as he watched her predicament?
She sent a half-smile his way before checking on the lecherous diner’s progress—how much time did she have left to escape? Her chances of avoiding him were increasing as more people were moving about, heading for the dance floor. Perhaps she’d be able to melt into the crowd. Perhaps she’d be able to reappear by Ned’s side.
Mr Lecherous had been waylaid but he was still looking her way.
She glanced back at Ned.
He was gone.
Enough was enough.
He’d watched her being targeted by the old drunk guy. OK, not that old, and maybe not even that drunk, but definitely undesirable. Initially he’d found it interesting, curious to see how Sarah would handle it. She wasn’t in any danger and he didn’t imagine she’d lack the confidence to tell the bloke to take a hike. In fact, he was looking forward to witnessing that. He’d derive great satisfaction from watching another guy crash and burn before he tested his own style of charm on her.
But now she’d seen him.
She’d seen him and smiled.
Now he didn’t want to sit back and wait. He wanted to get what he’d come for, and that was her.
