I don’t see “miracles” as often as some people do. Don’t recall anything in my or my family’s life ever rising to that level. Mom living through heart bypass surgery was good. Dad making it through a massive heart attack was, too. But those things happen day in and day out. Middle sister Missy escaped a bad wreck, one that killed the guy who hit her, but that’s not other-worldly.
It’s not that our family has lacked in the blessings department. We’ve been fortunate in many ways. Chalk that up however you want to, I guess. If I had to ascribe some sort of higher power to it, I’d say that Mom’s and Dad’s prayers probably don’t go to voicemail. If living a good life gets you to the switchboard upstairs, Mom and Dad surely have the direct number. Still, I can’t say that we’ve ever had a miracle plopped down upon us. Maybe we hadn’t needed one.
Until now.
Dad called on Sept. 4.
“You need to come home. Kim’s in bad shape.”
Huh? Kim’s the youngest of our brood, 38. In bad shape?
“Her liver and kidneys are shutting down. She doesn’t have much time left.”
All the way to Jonesboro, I tried to make sense out of what he had said. I just couldn’t believe the situation was that serious.
I was wrong. After seeing her, I wouldn’t have bet on her living another day.
The doctors wouldn’t have, either. They said she’d most likely not leave the hospital alive. That was Sept. 5.
The next day, her kidneys were functioning somewhat, and her condition had improved a little. The doctors offered the least little bit of hope — 50-50 chance of one year. If she lived six months and followed their orders top to bottom, they’d consider evaluating her for a liver transplant, but she had to live that long first. Six months seemed like a bridge too far — truth be told, a week did.
But something happened between Sept. 5 and Sept. 8.
On that Tuesday night, the lead doctor swooped in, said he had discharge papers in hand and Kim was going to Memphis for a liver transplant. If the tests checked out, she would be No. 1 on the regional list.
Being No. 1 on the transplant list is a touch-and-go sorta thing. It means you’re first up. It also means you’re in the worst shape of all the folks just this side of the morgue.
There are roughly 16,000 people waiting for a liver in the United States at any given time. Ten percent of those (up to 25 percent in some areas) will die each year before they can receive a donor organ. The system takes a number of factors into account when deciding who gets a liver first. It’s not a first-come, first-served deal. Level of sickness, liklihood of recovery and age are among the things the organ system officials look at.
After two days of intense testing, the staff at Methodist University Hospital declared her ready and likely to be able to survive the surgery. The waiting began.
Saturday night, the call came. When the sun wasn’t yet a promise on the horizon Sunday morning, the surgeons flew to East Tennessee to retrieve the liver, and shortly after 6 that morning, they wheeled Kim into the operating room. By 2 p.m., they were done with an “unremarkable” surgery. Unremarkable is good in surgery terms.
The nurse assigned to Kim — Grace, in case we needed any more proof — told us the first 24 hours after a transplant surgery tell the tale. If the recipient’s body begins to reject the organ, several vital signs will reveal that struggle. Blood pressure will go up. Temperature will rise. Breathing will become more labored. And so it was as Sunday afternoon turned into evening and evening turned in night that we watched those monitors.
And watched.
And watched.
The numbers stayed the same.
The trees seemed to be thinning, but the edge of the woods was — is — still a ways off. The ventilator went away Monday. She had some food for the first time in a week. Mom and Dad went home to sleep in their bed, and that tells you all you need to know about Kim’s condition.
I don’t know what kept my sister alive those first couple days in the hospital. I don’t know what caused the doctors to push for her to get the transplant evaluation. I don’t know the circumstances that resulted in a matching liver being available within 48 hours of her being ready for it. What I do know is that the life-saving surgery was the most routine part of the whole deal.
Ten days. From death’s door to a new life.
There’s only one word for it.