My Friend Morgan

We’re friends, me and Morgan.

She’s from the tiny town of Locust Fork, Alabama. A town with approximately 1,100 people in it. A town where the phonebook is a one-page flier.

Currently, Morgan is a freshman at UAB. A model student. Made the president’s list. She’s funny. Perpetually happy. Everyone likes her. And just when you didn’t think she could possibly be more impressive, she’s a redhead.

Morgan lives in a UAB dorm, in Birmingham. Before she graduated high school, there was uncertainty about living independently. Especially in a city so far away from Locust Fork.

She has paralysis on the left side of her body; her left hand doesn’t work. She has frequent seizures, she is sensitive to light. She has diabetes. She has low vision, and is nearly blind in one eye. Her intestines are paralyzed, too, so digestion is an issue.

Her problems stem from a previous bout with encephalitis (brain swelling). These complications should have killed her. But they didn’t. These traumas should have sapped all traces of her optimism. But they haven’t.

Morgan isn’t a glass-half-full kind of person. She’s a my-glass-runneth-over kind of person.

Like I said. We’re friends.

A few days ago, my friend’s life got complicated. It happened when she was in the UAB dormitory. Her blood sugar tanked, so she ordered Chick-Fil-A delivery. The delivery driver texted that he had arrived.

So she left her room. She also left her service dog, Clarabelle, behind. After all, she was only going to be gone for a few seconds. Morgan took no ID.

When she reached the lobby of the dormitory, she saw the delivery driver with her order. And that’s when she started feeling funny.

The seizure hit like a runaway boxcar.

Morgan fell to the pavement. And it wasn’t pretty. The delivery driver saw it all. Amazingly, he didn’t panic. Instead, the driver muscled Morgan’s limp body into the backseat of his car and sped to the emergency room.

Medical staffers checked her for identification. But there was none. So they admitted Morgan as a Jane Doe.

This is where things get weird. Good-weird.

There happened to a specific respiratory therapist on duty. The woman had been hearing everyone talk about the redheaded Jane Doe in the ICU.

The therapist decided on a whim to go check it out. She was shocked to discover that she knew Jane Doe.

“How do you know this girl?” her coworkers asked.

“I’m from Locust Fork,” said the therapist.

Cue “Twilight Zone” theme.

But that’s not why I’m writing this. The reason I am writing is because right now, as you read these words, Morgan has serious pneumonia, a bacterial infection, and has spent the last few days on a ventilator.

She has been in pain, she’s had a hard time sleeping, and she has been subjected to dangerous amounts of crappy hospital food.

The doctors still can’t figure out why her blood sugar is so low. They still don’t know whether they will let her leave the ICU. They don’t know what’s going on. And it’s serious.

So I know your life is busy, whoever you are, reading this. I know you have your own problems. But if you have a second, and if you feel like it, please say a prayer for Morgan Love.

Don’t do it because science has consistently proven that prayer actually works. Don't do it because Morgan Love is an exceptional human being.

Do it because, right now, a beautiful young woman is lying in a hospital bed, reading your comments.