69
forted by the fact that part of his older brother
would be “still here and on this earth, [so] he
lives on.” He had no idea that his brother’s
would be the first African- American face ever
to be transplanted.
To Chelsea, the face he would receive was
anonymous. But the loss another family had
to suffer to give him a new beginning was the
only subject that made him grow somber in the
chaotic hours before surgery.
“Losing a loved one and being asked some-
thing like this... I can’t imagine,” he said. “I do
feel hopeful that I can pick up some of the
pieces that the family may have lost.”those 24 hours began a well- rehearsed dance
of more than 45 surgeons, anesthesiologists,
nurses, pharmacists, research fellows, social
workers and a chaplain. Pomahac, who with
his team had performed eight previous face
transplants, boarded a plane with three
other doctors to get Adrian’s face, which
they carefully removed and placed on ice.
In Boston, the Brigham and Women’s staff
prepped Chelsea for surgery, exposing the
nerves and vessels that would soon be attached
to the donor’s tissues using hair-thin sutures
so tiny that Pomahac had to sew them under
a microscope.
When Chelsea emerged from the 16-hour
surgery, his godson, Everick Brown, could focus
on only one thing. “I was like, ‘Look at those
juicy lips,’ ” Brown laughed. “ ‘He’s going to beIn the weeks after
surgery, Chelsea’s
doctors at Brigham
and Women’s said
his recovery was
unusually smoothhappy.’ ” Even in the early hours of Chelsea’s
recovery, before the swelling had gone down,
Brown could tell Pomahac and his team had
done a good job. Aside from his lips, Brown
said, his godfather looked shockingly similar to
the way he did before. “It was a joy,” Brown said.
“It’s the first time I’ve used the word miracle.”
By the second day post-op, Chelsea’s heavi-
est pain medication was Tylenol. Within
10 days, he was eating, talking and breathing on
his own—and though Pomahac says the nerve-
rich lips never regain full function after a trans-
plant, Chelsea’s dream of kissing his daughter
on the cheek is within reach.
It’s not only Chelsea’s life that will change.
Tweedy says stories like his can help rebuild
trust with the medical system. “Sharing,” he
says, “can go a long way to healing.” Research
bears that out: a 2013 study on encourag-
ing organ donation found that successful ap-
proaches typically “comprise a strong interper-
sonal element that focused on the particular
population’s concerns, delivered by members
of the local community.” A number of aware-
ness days and weeks—including National
Minority Donor Awareness Week in August—
are meant to boost donation rates, as are ini-
tiatives like the United Network for Organ
Sharing’s ambassador program, which en-
courages donors, recipients and those on the
waiting list to speak publicly about their ex-
periences. James recently decided to take on
the role informally, after learning of the his-
torical significance of his brother’s donation.
“I think it’d be a dis service to stay anonymous,”
he says.“Hopefully this story can put that in
a light for others to donate.” Changes meant
to bring medical equality are also taking root
more broadly. A growing number of medical
schools, for example, are waiving tuition to at-
tract a more diverse pool of doctors in training,
among other goals.
Before his surgery, Chelsea began establish-
ing Donor’s Dream, a nonprofit meant to en-
courage and provide information about organ
donation. Even in the grueling weeks after sur-
gery, as the swelling came down, his speech
and vision improved and his new skin started
to glow and sprout hair, he felt that the expe-
rience was bigger than him—one that would
evolve into a future he couldn’t yet imagine.
“I was concerned about humanity way be-
fore this surgery,” he said about 10 weeks after
the operation, after moving into a temporary
apartment in Boston, where he would complete
weeks of follow-up care. “We must help one
another. That’s the way I felt, and this experi-
JOHN FRANCIS PETERS FOR TIME ence has only validated that even more.” □