Shortly after writing this diary entry on 3rd December 1988, 21-year-old Jennifer Bonner was wheeled into the operating theatre at the University of Minnesota Hospital where her battle-scarred heart, heavy with hope and history, was to be replaced with that of a donor—the long-awaited resolution to the relentless heart problems that began in childhood. Sadly, despite the tireless efforts of the medical team, Bonner didn’t regain consciousness, and on 16th December she died, leaving her loving family to cherish her memory. During her brief but impactful life, Bonner was a beacon of creativity and resilience. An artist by passion, she poured her experiences and emotions into her artwork, creating a legacy that spoke volumes of her inner strength and perspective. She also kept a diary, and to read its final twelve months is to walk alongside her on a journey marked by extraordinary grace and courage, a testament to the enduring power of the human spirit.

The Diary Entry

12/3/88 

I’m back in the hospital for more dobutamine. I feel great already. This morning and afternoon, though, I felt as though my energy had been reduced to a thin shell. I would sit and feel fine, get bored, get up to do something, and then tire out just trying to get there. I had absolutely no reserves. There was no bath I could take, no tea I could drink, to give me strength. 

Now I’m feeling fortified. I feel electric and tingly all over. But still I can’t wait for night to quiet this place down so I can get some sleep. 

On the way up, in the car, I started thinking that I’ve had a full life. I feel like I’ve begun to comprehend my life. I’m beginning to make peace with the way I fit into the world. People die all the time for senseless reasons. There is no justice in the sense that we learned in school. If we are reincarnated, perhaps there is in some grand overview sense. But there’s no reason I should or shouldn’t die. People get so vehement about life and death: capital punishment, abortion, euthanasia. But still we die all the time. People accept the inevitability of death in statistics, yet fight to preserve this sense of power over it.

I no longer see it as important. I would like to go on living. I would like to do a lot of things. But if I die, it will not be “unjust.” I do not “deserve” to live to a certain age. I am lucky to have lived at all. 

A man who was a cuter, younger version of Fred just came in and in Fred’s quiet, hesitant way, told us that they might have a heart for me. 

They won’t know for a few more hours whether the person is a donor or not. Right now, we are waiting for someone to die. I’m not thinking about that, anymore than I am thinking about the possibility of really and truly getting the transplant tonight. I came into the hospital, which increased my chances of getting the transplant. Someone’s accident has increased my chances even more. But nothing is for certain and I won’t think about it. I won’t get my hopes up. 

And I won’t think about the other family somewhere in the hospital, hoping and praying even more fervently than I that this person won’t die, and that I don’t get my transplant tonight. 

Dr. Shumway came in from her Yo-Yo Ma concert to don her scrubs. It is a definite go. 

Now is the time—still can’t think about it, don’t want to worry—to offer up my prayer of thanks to the universe for letting me get this far. Now I’ll lie back on that stretcher and let the River carry me on to the future.

Further Reading

Jennifer Bonner kept a diary from the age of ten, but it’s the entries from her final year that have been made public. They can be found in the book, The Wait: Love, Fear, and Happiness on the Heart Transplant List, which was published in 2018 by Wise Ink and co-authored by writer and retired doctor Susan Cushman, who supplies some very useful context—biographical and medical. It’s a profoundly moving and humbling book and I recommend it strongly.

The above entry is reprinted by kind permission of Jennifer’s parents, Bob and Barbara Bonner, and Susan Cushman. Huge thanks to all.