Read an Excerpt
PARTNERS 4 LIFE
Importance of Partners in Surviving an Organ Transplant
By Jim Uhrig iUniverse LLC
Copyright © 2014 Jim Uhrig
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4917-2853-6
CHAPTER 1
Great Partners
Facing the challenge of a possible lung transplant will immediately grab your attention, as breathing is essential to life itself. There is an incredible emptiness and fear when you cannot get air and you gasp for the next breath.
Perhaps someone can deal with this problem alone, but it would be like trying to play golf or tennis alone in a partners or doubles event, never having an extra set of eyes to help find the ball. Paddling a canoe in dangerous waters, or living in the wilderness with no help for survival are other examples; it would help to have a partner to help gather wood, secure food, or just be there for companionship.
There have been many great partners in my life, other than medical ones who came along when they were needed most. The obvious ones during my time of need after my transplant surgery would be my wife, Donna, and my family members. A parent could be a great partner as well. When that partner is a parent and is suddenly lost, as was the case of my donor, the partner for her children and husband is suddenly gone. That person ends up being essential, however, for the person needing a lung or other organ to survive.
Writing this chapter and much of this book, I am at the water's edge of a great western Pennsylvania waterway, French Creek.
The pictures throughout the book, highlighting some of the visualizations, are an attempt to describe the scene better. French Creek is one of the most biologically pure streams in North America, supposedly due to the unique aquatic life present in this river. It flows south from western New York State through the towns of Meadville and Franklin, Pennsylvania. In Franklin, the waters from French Creek flow into the Allegheny River toward Pittsburgh. The Allegheny River is much larger than French Creek; French Creek is normally as wide as a four-lane highway and several feet deep, except for the deep fishing holes along the way.
This chapter is written from the banks of French Creek in a rustic cabin near the little town of Utica, Pennsylvania. Besides the biological uniqueness of this waterway, it has great recreational options for canoeists and kayakers. Canoeing is how I got to learn more about French Creek, through a great partner by the name of Don King.
Don worked for forty years in the same company I did, but he was a generation older. His unique background was that he worked in virtually every department of our company, Harbison Walker Refractories. Refractories are high temperature resistant materials, used to contain hostile environments in industry, like molten metals or intense chemical attack—both of which would destroy a steel shell of a furnace intended to contain those environments. Refractories are the barrier, or—in keeping with the theme of this book—the partner needed to keep the heat away from the people operating the industrial furnaces.
Don was quite the authority not only on refractory materials, but also on how to get things done in any part of the company. So, for a less experienced person, he was a great ally.
He went to Allegheny College, on the banks of French Creek in Meadville, PA, as a premed student before serving in the US military in World War II. His college training made him the perfect candidate for being a medic. He served in the European theater, specifically as a medic in the Battle of the Bulge. Don confided in me that the battle provided enough doctoring to last him a lifetime, and instead of going on to med school as his father had, he started his career with Harbison Walker when he returned from the military. With his military medical experience, he would have been fascinated with the technology of organ transplants.
Don had a fifteen-foot, Grumman aluminum canoe that he used regularly on French Creek and other waterways. His son and daughter often accompanied him, but as the years went by, he would often go by himself, paddling his canoe and camping alongside the river.
While enjoying an adult beverage one night after work, Don invited me to join him for an overnight trip on French Creek from the Saegertown access way, about ten miles north of Meadville. Don was about double my thirtysomething age at the time, but he had a zest for life, the outdoors, and nature, and he was a natural tutor and mentor for many.
At that time in his career at Harbis on Walker, he was also the advertising manager. I worked closely with him on many publications, technical meetings, and presentations. Don was a great writer with great communication skills; he even taught classes at a local community college in Pittsburgh.
His demeanor was inquisitive; he was always asking questions about how things work, or why do you have that opinion—ever mindful of broadening his knowledge rather than challenging your position. I quickly began to look forward to our canoeing adventures and enlisted other Harbison Walker employees, both young and old, to join us. We often would have two or three canoes for our trips and spend two nights on the river camping in our unorganized "Outward Bound" type program.
Normally, I took responsibility for food and beverages, perhaps because of my sales and marketing background. It more likely resulted from the first overnight trip I made with Don. We ended up sharing a small can of Vienna sausages and one six-pack of beer. Since that trip, Don agreed—perhaps cunningly—to relinquish that duty.
Our relationship grew. After he retired, his wife died suddenly; he sold his house and moved into the apartment in the lower level of our house, south of Pittsburgh. He lived there a couple of years and became part of our family before he moved north to be closer to the water he loved.
When you are in a canoe, you need a good partner. The person in the front helps supply the power, but the person in the back adds additional power and —most importantly—steers. Don almost always sat in the back of a canoe. As he was now into his early seventies, it became more important for my younger eyes to "read" the current and avoid the rocks and submerged objects that Don affectionately called widow makers.
There certainly are dangers in the streams and rivers, and many a widow has been made as a result of carelessness or bad luck. One time, on another stream that flows into the Allegheny near Warren, PA we both came close to meeting our fate on a stream called the Brokenstraw. One Saturday afternoon in the spring, we started near Corry, paddled awhile, and then camped near a small island in a steady rain.
At daybreak, that small island was totally submerged and we opted to ride the raging river down to the Allegheny. We made it, but not before dodging many widow makers. More than once, I questioned my judgment, as Donna was pregnant with our son Brad at the time. This was in May of 1982 and Brad was born in August.
A few years later, when our canoe club had six members, we all capsized in the Owassi Rapids on Pine Creek, which flows through the Grand Canyon of Pennsylvania near Wellsboro. As usual, Don and I were riding together. After capsizing, we were able to pull ourselves ashore in a very strong current at the house where Teddy Roosevelt used to fish for trout. As we entered those rapids, there was another canoeing group of Mennonite Boy Scouts from Lancaster, Pennsylvania that were not so fortunate. One of the young leaders died before his twentieth birthday in the near freezing spring waters that day.
Our entire party was visibly shaken by the events and the 38° water. My boss at the time was a gentleman by the name of Dale, and the only thing that saved his life after being in the water for thirty minutes was a raft full of doctors and nurses from Michigan. I alerted them of the incident while they were floating down river and I was running down a railroad right of way—hollering my concern for missing people from both canoeing parties.
They just happened to be coming down river when I yelled brief details to them. They proceeded downstream in earnest and came across Dale, shivering in the water with evident hypothermia. After they picked up Dale in their raft, they brought him to a riverbank where some campers happened to be located. The nurses stripped Dale's clothing from him and then jumped into two sleeping bags with him, to help raise his body temperature.
We laughed nervously about it later, but we all knew it could have been a multiple fatality day on Pine Creek. Dale was an Ohio State grad and big football fan; the nurses were from Michigan, so we told him it was a good thing we hadn't told them he was from OSU, as they would likely not have been so friendly—or such accommodating "partners."
Dale was a great partner for me. He taught me a lot about managing people by working with them, rather than acting as the boss.
In my forty-five years in the refractory industry, there were many successes as well as plenty of learning experiences that were not successes. But I always tried to take the attitude of a very successful football coach, to blame myself for the losses and give credit to the team for successes. Partners 4 Life often can be a team effort, such as with medical teams, family caregiver teams, support groups, each helping others face the challenges of a transplant.
Dale was such a good and knowledgeable boss. He encouraged me to have plenty of outside activities, such as golf, football officiating, and—ironically—canoeing. I was a football official for nearly three decades, working football games in and near the Western Pennsylvania area in both high school and college and later great classic Ivy League college games in the Northeast.
Having had so many great partners from officiating, I could not possibly acknowledge them all, but as I sit on the banks of French Creek, I remember after one game at Allegheny College, my football officiating crew dropped me off at Saegertown access way to meet my friend Don King. What a great memory that is for me, and the officiating crew never forgot it.
For a football officiating crew, the members have to be great partners to be successful, and with my regular crew we had that. Those friendships last a lifetime, and guys like Tic, Woody, Kelly, Linkster, Howdy, Dink, and Charlie were a big part of my success, leading me to work in the Ivy League and many Eastern college games. Often when watching a major college or NFL game, I recognize one or two of the officials, and many I officiated with could have done so.
There are many personal friends who became great partners and really gave me encouragement and support. Many helped give me the courage to face the challenges and hurdles of a double lung transplant. We will review a few in chapter 4, "Angels."
I had many customers who were great partners. The first one who comes to mind is a gentleman called Big Jim who lived in upstate New York. When I was a young sales trainee, one of the first customers who called on the phone was Big Jim. He called asking for some information about one of our products and treated me with the courtesy and respect of a seasoned veteran, rather than a trainee.
Probably ten years or longer went by before I visited Big Jim and also met his three sons, Max, Billy, and Ken. I was sure that Big Jim could not have remembered that telephone inquiry from years ago, but I told him it taught me a lot about dealing with people—that regardless of their experience or background, it was important to treat them with respect.
As I gained experience, I eventually became the regional manager responsible for their business. Through the efforts of a great salesman, Phil, we developed a partnership that grew into the biggest contractor account our company had. It was because they were not just a contractor buying our product; they also allowed Phil to develop a partnership with them selling our products to their customers.
A few years later, my boss, Dale, asked me to run the program for our entire company focused on sales to contractors. It was a tough job and very time consuming, but Dale also allowed me to work with the brightest and best people anyone could hope to have. Stush, DJ, Jerry, Cario, the Petes, and so many others made me look good and we all made it fun and very successful!
I loved that job because of the customers, and I nurtured so many relationships based on partnerships, starting with the signature handshake of the entire program. I could talk about so many of the great relationships of these individual companies. Many of the individuals in those companies were the first to call or write when they heard of my transplant. Many called and talked to my wife, Donna, and gave her such great support that she will never forget it.
One called me a year or so ago. His name was Ted, and he was the son-in-law of the owner of a contractor company. Ted was special. We learned a lot together and played a lot of golf, but also worked all kinds of hours servicing our mutual customers. I told him the remarkable story in this book, and he was amazed how our lives had changed, but that we both had managed to keep the passion of our youthful years.
So many more contractors could add to these stories from coast to coast and especially in the heartland of America, Kansas. This is where my donor came from; ironically, one of the sons of a heartland refractory contractor is involved in transplants there. He works for the Midwestern Transplant Center based in Kansas City, the organ procurement organization that started the process of finding a recipient for my donor's organs.
It is hard to put a value on the partners in our lives, or tell you how great it is to have such partners—whether they were from business, football officiating, personal friends, or, of course, family.
My message to you is that as a patient, you can be uplifted by the people who try to help you get better. If you are a caregiver, a friend of a caregiver, or a friend of the patient, the value of a card, a phone call, a text message, an e-mail, or a personal visit (when allowed) cannot be understated. I had so many supporters, as did my caregivers. I had very little time to think about anything except how blessed I was, bringing me to tears many times, especially when I was starting to take the new powerful drugs needed for my survival after the transplant.
Sully had his caregiver wife, Claudia and our special mutual friend, and his boss, Tom. I never understood why Tom went to see Sully so much, but now I do. He was a busy executive in our company, and he just put such a value on supporting Sully with visits and updates for others to pray for Sully. Thanks to Tom for getting Sully through his ordeals, for I likely would not be here without Sully.
I saved the most important partner for life for last, of course, and that is my benevolent donor. My gratitude for donors is never far from my mind.
Without the gift of her lungs, I would not be looking at this peaceful stream as daylight comes to a close. Her son tells me of her family, who will always miss her dearly, and that she was an advocate of organ donation. Having been an RN, she was familiar with transplant issues. I had corresponded with the family, and they had chosen to be anonymous—which I respected and honored—but in the summer of 2013, four years after my transplant, through the initiative of the oldest son, Travis, a new partner for life was realized. The chapter he wrote about his mother may be one you wish to jump ahead to and read, for while I was adjusting to learning about my new disease, Judy Murphy was helping others as a nurse and training nurses to be aware of organ donorship and transplant issues. Her passion for this helped comfort the family with the delays of the recovery of her organs.
Some day, when my work is done and I can no longer watch the peaceful rivers flow, perhaps I will have the honor of embracing my donor and thanking her for the breath of life she has given me, that I have hopefully shared with you.
If you are a patient, this may give you hope.
If you are a caregiver, this may give you humility.
The caregiver role is the toughest part of this whole process. Despite all the good fortune of a timely donor and the marvels of medical expertise, the tears and the stress on the caregiver and donor family are challenging—and perhaps never ending.
I encourage all involved to keep the faith, as God will be with you every step of the way.
Here is part of the eulogy delivered by Travis Murphy, the oldest son, in honor of his mother Judy, my donor, on Thursday, April 23, 2009, two days after her lungs were transplanted to me.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from PARTNERS 4 LIFE by Jim Uhrig. Copyright © 2014 Jim Uhrig. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse LLC.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
