· Peterborough, Ontario. A Tuesday in October. ·
There is a mother who cannot produce enough breastmilk for her infant. She has tried everything. The pediatrician has been kind. The formula is fine. But the baby is not thriving on it, and the mother is in a kind of despair she will not recognise for what it is until much later.
She posts in a community forum, late on a Tuesday night, not really asking for help. Just saying it out loud.
A woman three neighbourhoods over, reading the forum while her own infant sleeps, has a freezer full of milk she has been pumping beyond need. She has been meaning to donate it but the formal milk-bank process is slow and requires the baby to be hospitalised. This mother's baby is not hospitalised. This mother just needs milk.
The second woman messages the first. They do not know each other. They live ten minutes apart.
Between them — through a favour network that one of them has used before and the other has just joined — a transporter is found: a man who drives past both houses on his way home from work, has an insulated cooler in the back of his car from a camping trip the previous weekend, and does not mind adding twelve minutes to his commute.
A coordinator — a woman who knows both mothers from a prenatal group she helped run years ago — volunteers to verify the handoff, because the donor mother wants to know the milk is getting to a real baby and the receiving mother wants to know the milk is actually what was offered.
There is a brief call. Consent forms are exchanged — this is a bodily fluid, and the donor discloses her medication history, her health, her recent diet. The receiving mother confirms she has read and understood, and accepts the milk on its terms. A small sample is dropped at a local clinic for a next-day screen, a safety precaution the receiving mother requests and the donor appreciates.
The transporter arrives at the donor's house at 5:47 PM. The cooler goes from freezer to cooler to car in under three minutes. He drives. He arrives at the receiving mother's house at 6:11 PM. The receiving mother is crying when she opens the door. The transporter hands her the cooler. He does not stay. He does not need to.
There is a note inside, written by the donor, in handwriting. It says: from one mother to another. I am glad you asked.
The baby feeds that night. The mother sleeps, briefly, for the first time in three days.
This favour cost, in total, about ninety minutes of four people's time, one slightly-longer commute, one insulated cooler, and the willingness of four strangers to trust each other over the course of a single afternoon. It is not a transaction that any amount of money could have produced, because the thing being transferred is not just milk.
It is also exactly the kind of thing Favour Bucks exists to make possible at scale.