Celebrating Organ Transplant Longevity

I was the 3rd of four children born in Lincoln County South Dakota in the 1940s, to a couple farming a quarter section (very small by today's standards) half-way between Canton and Beresford. I attended a one-room country school through eighth grade, then finished high school and college in Sioux Falls, I took graduate courses in epidemiology at the University of Minnesota and business computer administration at the University of South Dakota, eventually earning a master of science degree.

I met Bonnie, my Valentine sweetheart, at a dance in Dell Rapids South Dakota on February 14th. We were married in 1965 in Sioux Falls. We lived in Minneapolis for a year where I worked at an industrial Research and Development laboratory and Bonnie worked with special needs children at a private school. During that year a war broke out in Viet Nam and I was informed that I would soon be ushered into the Military. I served in the Army for three years as a Medical Lab specialist. After I was discharged, Bonnie and I returned to South Dakota.

I took a job the doing housing inspections with Sioux Falls Health Department; not expecting to stay very long; Bonnie worked with special needs children in the Sioux Falls public schools. Before long I was able to move into a position in the Sioux Falls Health Department laboratory. This turned out to be a very rewarding and fulfilling profession, and I stayed on for 37 years. In 1973 we built the house where we still live. Then a couple months after we moved in I developed a sinusitis that made me miserable and just wouldn't go away.

In mid March of '74 just as the sinus pain subsided a little I developed a rash, my eyes got red and I had blood and protein in my urine. I was hospitalized in Sioux Falls for a little more than a week when my kidneys completely shut down and my potassium level went sky high. Since they didn't have acute dialysis in Sioux Falls at that time, I was sent to Hennepin General Hospital, now the Hennepin County Medical Center, in Minneapolis. The trip to Minneapolis was a piston-propeller low altitude flight in stormy weather, the kind of flight that makes you fear for your life. I remember not being afraid that the plane would crash, because I was pretty sure I was going to die anyway. Somehow I survived potassium levels that should have stopped my heart. After several days of peritoneal dialysis, angiograms and kidney biopsies I was told my diagnosis was rapidly progressive glomerulernephritis secondary to vasculitis and that my kidneys would not recover. I had surgery to establish an access for hemodialysis and it was clear that I my future would be dialysis or transplant. I felt like crap, I had no appetite and threw up the food I was able to eat and I was very depressed about the 'losing my health' and the prospect of being on dialysis long term. The idea of a transplant didn't seem realistic to me; like it was something only rich or connected people could obtain. When the doctors and nurses explained that between Hennepin General,  Mayo Clinics, and the University of Minnesota Hospital, hundreds of kidney transplants had been done in Minnesota, that insurance and Medicare would pay most of the expenses, and that I was probably a good candidate. I began to accept the idea. I didn't know it at the time, but each of my three sisters had volunteered, to give me a kidney, also a close friend of mine since high school, Denny Dodge, was the first non-relative to volunteer. Later several others did. I was amazed at these selfless acts of love. Actually I still am amazed.

But the low point came about ten days later while I was on dialysis when my right kidney hemorrhaged. The pain was excruciating. I went into shock from the pain and blood loss. They couldn't give me pain meds because the effective pain meds lower the blood pressure and mine was already too low. I overheard a nurse telling a doctor she could barely detect a blood pressure. A hospital chaplain came in and asked me if I wanted to receive the last rites. I said that I wasn't Catholic but to go ahead anyway. He said he would get the protestant chaplain. Later I heard a voice and when I opened my eyes there was the chaplain reading the 23rd Psalm. After what seemed like several hours of severe pain they put a 'gravity suit' around me. This device is like a giant blood pressure cuff that goes around your whole body and squeezes you until your blood pressure goes up. I was then able to get some pain medication. When demerol didn't relieve the pain they injected morphine. That shot of morphine sulphate was like going from hell to heaven. The next morning they took out that necrotic kidney and about a liter of blood it contained between the kidney and its capsule.

I recovered from the surgery, but still had problems with appetite and keeping food down, low blood pressure (especially when standing), and anemia. My weight dropped to 140 pounds and my color was like library paste. Things improved some in the following months of dialysis. As I regained some strength and some of the lost weight, I was able to return to work; although I wasn't the most productive employee. I had frequent absences for medical problems; the fluid and food restrictions were quite miserable and I still felt  tired and sick all the time. I had the feeling that the life I was experiencing was artificial, like an imitation of real life. Every day I questioned whether it all was worth it. The thing that sustained me was the hope that a transplant might give me back 'my health' and that I might lead a 'normal life'.

My younger sister Kris was selected to be the kidney donor. I don't know who made that decision or how or when it was made, I always assumed that it was because she was the closest match. But I'm sure there was an angel present guiding their thoughts and hands when they decided Kris would make a good donor. I was finally ready to believe that a kidney transplant might be a reality. There was still one problem however, actually several thousand little problems per deciliter of my blood. The measurement of antibodies is called a titer and I had a high titer of antibodies in my system; anti-glomeruler basement membrane antibodies, (the same ones that caused my original kidney failure). I needed to have the other kidney removed and then we would have to wait and see if the antibodies would subside. They told me that this would take months.

Transplant recipients who had been on the list for a deceased donor organ often talk about the day they got the phone call. one day at work I got a phone call from Carolyn at the transplant clinic. She told me the test results were back, the antibodies were gone and they were ready to schedule the transplant surgery. On October 23, 1975 my sister Kris went into the operating room with two kidneys. Shortly after that I went into a different operating room with no kidneys. A couple hours later we each came out of the operating rooms with one kidney. They told me later that the transplanted kidney was working, and actually had been producing urine in the operating room. I could feel the difference as I was coming out of anesthesia. Even with the incision pain and bladder spasms, I felt wonderful and somehow I just knew I was going to be OK.

A few days after the transplant I woke up feeling feverish and not well at all. I knew something terrible was wrong. The doctor came in, looked at my temperature and blood pressure, and ordered some blood tests. A little while later they told me I was rejecting, a transplant recipients worst fear. But the doctors said this was expected and could be managed. With a radiation treatment and a large dose of corticosteroids, the rejection went away and I was back to feeling wonderful. So far that has been my only rejection episode.

My life after the transplant has been fantastic. Its not just that I have a great family, a wonderful spouse, a wonderful daughter, a wonderful son in-law, and now a wonderful grandson; a roof over my head and food in the fridge, or that I had a great job and now greatly enjoy retirement. The fantastic thing is that the transplant made it possible for me to be there. I got to be there for those important life events like the arrival of our daughter: I was there as she grew up, I got to see her graduate from high school, college and graduate school; that I was there to help and support when she was seriously ill and I was there for her wedding and I was around when her child was born. I was there when Bonnie was ill and needed surgery and I was there to help celebrate her retirement 25 years later. I was there to visit my mother at the nursing home and I was there holding her hand when she passed away. After almost not making it to age 33, I was 66 on my birthday in August 2008. I now have gray-white hair and beard, osteoarthritis in my hands, age spots and actinic keratosis (little benign skin things), tinnitus and diverticulitis. These are conditions usually experienced by senior citizens; I feel so fortunate to be able to be one.

My feelings about this are hard to explain, but I'll try. I believe that life is precious. Some of this belief is expressed by the phrase 'carpe diem'; my hope to live every day, every hour, every moment to the fullest. The kidney transplant gave me not only extra years of life, but the health and feeling of wellbeing that makes it possible for me to fully experience and appreciate this extra time. So, maybe I'll make it to 77 or even 99 or maybe I will only have a few more days. For whatever time I am given, I am grateful.

Most of all, I am thankful for my sister Kris who donated her kidney and for my sisters Anne and Nancy and many friends who offered to.

Finally, a few words for any living organ donors or family of deceased organ donors, who may read these words:

You are the best people in the world.

Updated September 2008

09/07/2008 web design by J. Nelson Consulting