Greg Freeman: A Sister's Gift Of Love, Hope & Survival. 4/21/2002

Headline: A SISTER'S GIFT OF LOVE, HOPE & SURVIVAL
Reporter: By Greg Freeman\Of The Post-Dispatch

Publication: ST. LOUIS POST-DISPATCH
Last Printed: Sun., Apr. 21, 2002
Section: NEWS, Page: A1, Edition: FIVE STAR LIFT

* Post-Dispatch columnist Greg Freeman was lucky. When he needed a kidney, his sister answered the call.

It's been two years now since I got the devastating news: My kidneys were failing and I should prepare for dialysis. Dialysis meant I would have to spend four hours a day, three times a week, at a center where a machine would do the work my kidneys were increasingly incapable of performing -- filter the toxins from my blood. Without dialysis, my doctor told me, I would die.
With dialysis, my prospects would be merely grim. Forty percent of dialysis patients die in the first two years, and complications frequently arise, not the least of which is fatigue. My career as a columnist and radio talk-show host is time-consuming and fulfilling. The prospect of spending so much time on dialysis seemed unbearable.

But then I was given some hope. If I could get a kidney transplant, I could avoid dialysis.
   I went through all of the required screenings and work-ups and was found eligible to be put on the waiting list. I was given a pager, and told that when it went off, it would mean that a kidney was available.
   At first, I was excited, listening intently to the pager, expecting it to go off at any minute. But the minutes turned to hours, the hours to days, the days to months. I never got a page.
   Meanwhile, my kidney function declined. When I got home each evening, I was exhausted, falling asleep almost anywhere. With the help of my kidney specialist, Dr. David Windus, I was able to take weekly injections of Procrit, a drug that stimulates red blood cells, to keep me going.

Desperate, I began inquiring among a few relatives and friends, asking them, in effect: Brother, can you spare a kidney?
As it turned out, it was my sister, Cheryl McKinney, who came to my rescue by donating her kidney. Cheryl and I underwent surgery last November, and we're both doing fine. I am among 550 fortunate people in the St. Louis area who got organ transplants last year.

Sadly, though, everyone isn't so fortunate.
America faces a critical shortage of donated organs. As of this month, more than 79,000 Americans are on waiting lists for such organs as kidneys, liver, hearts and lungs, according to the United Network for Organ Sharing. That compares to only about 18,000 people in 1989. Between 1988 and last year, more than 21,500 Americans on waiting lists died, hoping for organ donations that never came.

The irony of the donor situation is that while doctors have become more proficient at transplants, the nation is suffering from a shortage of donated organs. As I learned during my own quest, many people are squeamish about the idea of donating organs -- when they are living or after they've died.
   Some would-be organ donors refuse to participate because they wonder if doctors will be too eager to harvest their organs if they ever end up on a hospital's critical list.
   Family members are often reluctant to donate the organs of loved ones because they are already distraught.
   But the role of loved ones is vital. Many people are under the misconception that if they sign the back of their drivers license, their organs will be donated. In fact, those signatures have no legal effect. Under the law, only a donor's survivors can agree to donate a person's organs. For that reason, it's important for potential donors to make their loved ones aware of their wishes.

Even potential live donors often have reservations. My sister had plenty.
"I was nervous and somewhat afraid, and I wondered if I would be OK afterward, " she said. "After all, I have a husband and three children, and I worried about what would happen to them if something happened to me."
And, of course, there is some risk. Cheryl underwent major surgery, and now she will spend the rest of her life without a backup in case her kidney fails.

Cheryl was one of several people I approached to see if they would be tested as a match for me.
Knowing the request was awkward, I sent out several letters to relatives and friends asking them if they would consider it. I didn't get responses from everyone. I expected that. That's why I wrote the letters. If they weren't interested in the idea, they wouldn't have to feel uncomfortable telling me no; they simply could choose not to respond.
But Cheryl responded.

Cheryl is four years younger than I, and as kids, we fought like cats and dogs. I was more introverted and studious; she was more outgoing and fun-loving. She had a quick temper; I was more likely to keep things inside.
But as we've grown older, we've grown closer. We sometimes talk on the phone for hours.
In that sense, then, perhaps it was no surprise that Cheryl agreed to be tested. She thought she wouldn't be a match. She thought that she had remembered from years earlier that we had two different blood types. As it turns out, though, her memory was faulty. The introvert and the extrovert matched.

Cheryl still then had to make the decision. "I knew I had to do what I had to do, " she said. "But I had so many questions. Would it change my life? Could I continue the way I was?"
After getting assurances -- from doctors and from others who had gone th rough the procedure -- Cheryl decided to do it.

We checked into the hospital the day before the surgery. The morning of the surgery, Cheryl came to my room, and we held hands and said a little prayer.
   In no time, we were transported to a pre-operation room, where we were lined up in order, much like airplanes on a runway. Lying on beds next to each other, we exchanged small talk.
   Are you nervous?" she asked.
   "Yeah, I am, " I told her. "Are you cold?"
  "Yes, it is a little cold in here. I wonder if we can get some warm blankets."
   Cheryl was rolled into surgery first. As she looked at me one last time, she gave me a thumbs-up sign. I gave one back to her.

It would be nearly 36 hours before we would see each other again. After my surgery, I was placed in an observation room for 24 hours, and Cheryl was unable to visit me. But after I was taken to a regular patient room, she came to visit. I was amazed. She looked great. She said she felt fine. And she had walked from her room to mine, something I didn't think she would be able to do right away.

Last week, I asked her if she felt any differently now than before the surgery.
"You know what? I feel exactly the same as I did before I donated the kidney, " she said. "I don't feel any different. I'm able to do the same things that I could do before. In fact, sometimes I think that I could close my eyes and it would be as if it were all a dream. I haven't changed a bit. The only difference is that I now have a scar from the surgery."

Dr. Jeffrey Lowell believes there would be more organ donations if the medical industry and others would be more effective in educating the public. Lowell is a liver and kidney transplant surgeon at Barnes-Jewish Hospital and St. Louis Children's Hospital. He was also my surgeon.
"I'm afraid we've done a poor job of marketing, " Lowell said. "In our society, we can sell all sorts of things for cash money but can't seem to come up with a way to effectively sell the idea of donating organs -- which costs nothing."
Lowell compares that to recycling. "God forbid I should throw an aluminum can in the trash these days, " he said. "I feel guilty. We've taught our society a lot about recycling and caring about the environment since the time that I was a kid. . . . Somehow, we've got to convince people that recycling organs is just as important. I mean, transplants work, and they help real people all the time. But I'm not so sure the general public knows that."

I'm one who knows that transplants work. I also know that had I not received an organ donation, I could have died. Dialysis works for only so long. And while a donated organ doesn't mean that a person never has to worry again -- after all, I have to take a variety of pills each day to suppress my immune system so that my body doesn't reject my new kidney -- it can improve a person's quality of life tremendously.

I can say one thing with certainty: Whenever I die, I plan to donate my organs to those who can use them.
Let my loved ones take notice.

Daniel Schesch - Webweaver

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