DAVE'S TRANSPLANT SAGA

	
My need for a liver transplant became a reality in AUG 94 after finding that
I had asymptomatic Hep-C combined with chronic alcoholic liver disease and 
had burst varices in my liver. I was sick and bled out and nearly dead but 
rebounded enough in two months to enter a recovery center and get on with 
trying to save my hide from the Hep Dragon and the Grim Reaper.

At six months sober, I was evaluated by the UWMC transplant team.
Evaluation and testing took 2 months and then I was placed on the
type B liver transplant list as number two. Then the waiting began
as I watched myself wasting away and getting sicker and more
forgetful every day for the next 11 months.

I was called at home and told to get right down to the hospital on
16FEB96 0900hrs. I was flustered and scared to death and didn't really want
to go. When I got to the UWMC, University of Washington Medical Center,
I was immediately so busy with preperation that I honestly did not have
another chance to think about being scared. Drugs, showers, enemas,
shaving, answering myrid questions, trying to memorize everyone's
name. No pain, though. No painful procedures were done until I was
knocked out at about 1500hrs.

I woke up in the ICU the next morning. My wife and my mother were
there waiting for me to regain consiousness. Yes, there was some
pain but not anything unbearable. The only thing I found unbearable
was the resperator and my incredable thirst. I tried to take the
resperator out but my mother and the nurse stopped me. Later, I wrote a
message to my mom and told her to go home and get some rest. While
everyone had their back turned I pulled that damnable thing out.
Then I demanded some ice chips or threatened to go get my own and
I was in deadly earnest. What a relief those cool, wet chips gave
me!

I noticed the first sign of recovery the minute I awakened in ICU.
The bursitis pain in my shoulders was completely gone! I don't know
if it is the prednesone or my new liver functioning but it was a great
relief! Also, I was completely helpless and dependant on everyone
for the slightest thing. With no stomach muscles, I couldn't even
shift in bed by myself.

My kidneys shut down for a while and the inevitable swelling was
difficult for a few days. I guess swelling of the privates is very
common for men and women and damned uncomfortable, too.

Sleeping on my back was never an option for me. I just can't do it!
The minute I close my eyes, my soft palette falls back and I begin
to choke. On top of that, the drugs were making me see the most
terrible visions you could imagine. The second I closed my eyes all
I could see was white tile floors, blood, slaughter, inhumanity,
torture, sadism of every possible description done to all kinds of
people. I truely thought I was going insane. These horrific images
couldn't possibly come from a sane mind! I was given powerful drugs
to try to relieve these images but nothing helped. I spent the first
two weeks without sleep on my aching back. I was talking to people
who weren't there, begging for some relief and some rest. Without
the support of my wife and my mother I think I would have given up
hope of recovery.

My emotional state was pathetic. I was laughing and crying at the same
time and had no control over anything. I couldn't watch TV or talk
about anything upsetting. The first morning, I looked out the window
with hazy eyes at a leafless tree dripping with cold Seattle rain.
I immediately thought of a funeral under those gray, lifeless clouds
with people mourning and grieveing and I just plain lost it for
about two hours. I was sobbing non-stop and no consolation could
make me feel any better.

Fear becomes a tangible thing. There is just no way to explain this
and I don't know if I will ever come to grips with it. It isn't
fear of rejection or of change or of pain but instead a raw physical
thing that makes my hair stand on end. I'm presently seeking
professional psychiactric aid in dealing with this. Being the
eternal optimist, I also expect to overcome my fear with time.

After saying all this, I am assured that I am very fortunate. I was
released from the hospital after only 12 days and am now taking care
of myself quite well. Physically, I am stronger and better every day.
I really do not know if I would face this operation twice but pain and
suffering quickly fade from experience. I'm glad I had the transplant
and I'm not about to waste valuable time worring about the what if's
of rejection and the possibility of acute Hep-C attack. I just keep a
weather eye on my labs and that's good enough.

Yes, neurologigal damage is a possibility but that can mostly be
reversed with therapy or ignored with practice. I don't know if my
taste buds or the feeling in my left arm will ever come back but
neither one is essential to my living life to the fullest even on a
tight meds schedule. The five P's (Proper Planning Prevents Poor
Performance) might be here forever as I now have to plan like Napolean
to go anywhere or do anything but it doesn't have to be an end
to life as I know it.

Cards, letters and E-mail piled up daily while I was in the hospital
and Alice and I had some good cathartic cries while reading them.
Small things make me happy every day. Getting up in the morning, taking
a shower by myself, going through the rituals of daily life. Next week
I can drive again and the week after I'll be going back to work. I am
easily tired out but daily mild exercise helps. So does seeing and
talking to friends and relatives and knowing how much everyone has
been concerened with my progress.

I required constant care at home for two weeks while I recovered.
My wife took a week off from work and my mother came to stay with
us for another week after that. I would almost certainly be back
in the hospital without their help in maintaining my schedule,
going to the drug store for my first $3000 in drugs, making my
meals, holding my hand and doing gererally distasteful step-n-fetchit
tasks for me. Now I believe in Angels.

Prednesone heebie-jeebies are nothing to sneeze at. Forwarned is
forarmed, though. Nothing that can't be gotten through with. I
practiced relaxation techniques and some of them actually worked
along with certain medications. I'm still not fit to talk to until
after noon.

My advice for anyone awaiting a transplant? Do it! Nothing is so
rewarding as a second chance at life. Hope is always better than
dispair. ;-) Make your world a better place, and join me in that
hopeful future if you have that chance. Your friends and loved ones
will thank you. Feel free to add any other cliches as you see fit.
YMMMV. Very best regards and a big {{{{{{{HUG}}}}}}}}. ODAAT


Shinin' thru in Seattle,
Uncle Dave