Birds Give Back

rachelspangler • February 28, 2019

I don’t do this often, because it’s kind of awkward for me to talk about money when I have so little of it, but I’m about do so now because the cause it just that important to me.

This is Birds Give Back day at my alma mater , Illinois State University, and I was asked to be an “ambassador” for the cause.  I’m told this is an honor, but I was joking with a friend that what it really boils down to is that instead of the university calling to ask me for money, they have asked me to ask you for money.  I see this honor clearly, folks. I am not getting duped by the fancy terms or videos, or the promise of a lunch box if I raise enough money to dwarf the actual retail cost of said lunch box.

And yet, even seeing those incentives for what they are, I am still jumping wholeheartedly into my ambassadorship role, because my time at ISU made me who I am today.

ISU is the first place I ever got to be fully out.  It was a bastion of love and acceptance amid a vast landscape of cornfields and soy bean fields where I had previously lived in fear.

I started dating, and married my wife during my time at ISU.

I became a women’s studies major and learned the history, philosophy, and argumentation skills that would help me articulate demand for a fairer, more inclusive society.

I learned the ins and outs of campaigning politics and human rights legislation at ISU.

I met Jackson’s Big Papi there, and this awesome family sprang to life.

I became the president of PRIDE and Speaker’s Bureau, where I learned to raise my voice for my community and tell our stories, even when my voice shook.

I wrote my first book while I was an undergraduate at ISU.

I wrote my second book during graduate school there.

I met and cultivated relationships with the most wonderfully inspiring people who continue to support and challenge me, as mentors, beta readers, editors, sounding boards, and unwavering supporters.

I tell you all of this in order to make it clear that I would not be the person, the author, or the community member that I am today if not for my time at Illinois State University.  That is why I feel such a compelling need to give back, and to pay it forward.

As part of this process, ISU sent me the promotional video below.  They asked that I share it so that you can see the things that current and future Redbirds might miss out on if donors like me, and hopefully you, don’t step up. As you watch it, though, I hope that in your mind you will also ask yourself what it would be like if you’d never read a Rachel Spangler novel (or heard of Sean Hayes or Jane Lynch, who are also Redbirds!), or be better yet, ask yourself what it would be like if the next lesbian romance novelists never get the chances I was afforded at Illinois State.

I hope that thought alone is enough for you to open up your wallet and give a few dollars.  However, in case it’s not, I’d like to sweeten the deal for ONE DAY ONLY!

Anyone who donates at least $10 while using this link on Feb 28 will automatically be entered into a drawing to win a free ebook copy of any one of my novels.

Anyone who donates at least $100 dollars will be guaranteed to receive any one of my audiobooks or ebooks. 

Anyone who donates $250 will receive a free, autographed, print copy of any one of my books, along with a handwritten thank-you note.

And finally, anyone who donates $500 or more to this cause that means so much to me will receive not only a free, autographed, print copy of any one of my books and a thank-you card from yours truly, but also the right to name a side character in one of my future books! 

Again, all you have to do is use this link:

I appreciate it, and I know for a fact that so many future Redbirds will as well!

ISU GO!

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Facebook memories reminded me that we are approaching the 1 year anniversary of my stem cell donation. On June 1st of 2021, after five days of injections, I underwent a medical procedure to donate stem cells via a line in my chest. Those cells were then transferred into a cancer patient somewhere in Ohio. In addition to feeling like a high tech medical miracle, it was also a huge, awe inspiring experience for me personally, and I’ve spent the time since then feeling so proud and honored to have been in a position to so something so powerful. Then about two weeks ago I received a phone call that my recipient had passed away. I’m gutted. The news has ripped at me in ways I could not have anticipated. This is, in effect, the death of a stranger, a young woman in a different place, whose name I have never known. And now I will never know it. In some ways I don’t feel entitled to this level of grief. In so many ways she’d only ever existed for me as an idea. But we were not nothing to each other. I have prayed for her every day for almost a year, and now I pray for her family. I have wondered and worried over her. I have woken up in the middle of long nights and on Christmas morning thinking about her. Every time I notice the little scar on my chest where the line went into my body, I have felt her with me. Still, I did not know her. And I never will. When the transplant coordinator called, she broke the news quickly, then she said that she needed one more thing from me. She wondered if I might release my remaining stem cells to researchers. I was still a bit rocked back from the start of the conversation, and this request confused me. She explained that there were some cells left over after the transfusion, and they still belonged to me. Legally and ethically, those cells, even after they left my body, are a part of me, and no one can do anything to those extensions of my body without my releasing them. I thought about asking her if anyone had mentioned that to the Supreme Court, but I was too sad in the moment. The anger would come later, but as I’ve pondered that fact, it has helped me at least contextualize the level of grief I am feeling: A woman died with a part of me inside of her. I have tried to temper the dramatic impulse to surrender to the idea that if she died with a part of me inside her, a part of me has died as well, but I’ll admit I have gone there a time or two. What I have leaned on more frequently, though, is that despite not knowing anything other than her rough age and gender, we shared something more fundamental than names or letters. We shared stem cells, the very building blocks of what makes us who we are on a cellular level. With those cells I sent my hopes, my best impulses, my health, my love, the pieces of my blood and bones that allow me to live such a wonderful life in the hopes I could sustain her with those things. Turns out I could not. It has been two weeks of wondering if I could have done more. Fearing that my body, which I have always had a problematic relationship with, has failed me again, and this time betrayed someone else in the process. Worrying someone else paid the price of my insufficiency. Remembering loved ones I have lost to cancer, feeling that pain anew. Imagining the anguish of those who loved her as deeply as I loved the people I lost, and almost crippling empathy for the pain they are living in right now, pain I couldn’t save them from even though I tried. It’s been dark in my brain. My emotions have overwhelmed me often. Sadness ruled the first week. I burst into tears several times at inopportune moments, and cried until my face hurt. This past week anger took over. I will admit, other than a general sense of the injustice of it all, I didn’t understand where the anger came from. Then in session this week, my therapist explained that anger is a common outlet for a sense of helplessness. Helplessness is tied to our fight or flight instincts, and I am a fighter. I suppose a part of me is still trying to fight a battle that has already been lost. I am also still fighting against this slew of emotions I had no way to anticipate. I told her I was afraid of the strength of them. Since she knows me, she told me I needed to take hold of this narrative and find the through lines of what will sustain me as this story’s conclusion becomes a part of the larger story of my life. Even for a writer it was hard task. I know so very little for sure. I will think of this woman for the rest of my life, and I will never have any more closure than I have today. Despite my best effort and intentions, I will only know that she is gone, and she took a part of me with her. What is to be made of all the emotions that come with that? My therapist then asked if regret factored into the mix. I quickly said it did not, and I was surprised she even asked that. She smiled like she knew that, then gently pushed. “If one year ago someone had told you, there’s a woman in need and you will never know her. She needs the very base of your body’s building blocks, it will be a grueling process over several days that will take more out of you physically and emotionally than you had imagined, and all it will give her is 11 more months. 11 months to say what she needs to say, to hug loved ones, to try to make peace. One more Christmas, one more birthday, one more fall, and winter, and spring, but that’s all. She will be gone, and you will live on with the questions, and a connection most people will never comprehend. Would you sign up for that? The answer was yes. It is yes. If I got the same call tomorrow, the answer would be yes that day and every day after. It will always be yes. I suppose that is the through line. That’s the story. It’s part of my story, and it will be, for as long I have cells in my body…or out of it. · If your answer would be “yes” too, and you are eligible to donate, please consider registering with Be The Match , and if you aren't eligible yourself please share this information with the people in your life who might be!
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