The Day Hope Stopped Midbeat

Day of Heart Transplant

Following my heart transplant, I endured twelve intense and crucial days in the intensive care unit (ICU), a time that felt simultaneously overwhelming and miraculous. Throughout this period, a dedicated team of doctors and nurses closely observed me, attentively monitoring every heartbeat, breath, and subtle shift in my condition. The steady beeping of machines, frequent medical assessments, and the sterile, quiet atmosphere of the ICU sharply contrasted with the hope and promise embodied by my new heart. This phase was marked by recovery, adjustment, and cautious optimism as my body began to embrace this extraordinary gift. As I gradually regained strength, I was eventually transferred to the regular heart floor, where the pace of care slowed, and I embarked on the path of rehabilitation alongside fellow patients sharing similar experiences. This transition represented a key milestone in my healing journey – shifting from a critical state to an environment of renewal and repair, where I started to imagine a future with my new heart beating vigorously within me.

Moved to Clarkson Tower

During my time in Clarkson Tower, I observed considerable improvements in my strength and overall health, which filled me with hope and resolve. Tasks that once seemed impossible – such as eating solid food or walking to the corridor’s end – became achievable goals, symbolizing my consistent progress. The medical team’s supportive remarks, coupled with noticeable advancements in my physical abilities, assured me that my body was successfully accepting the new heart. I grew more confident that my return home was imminent. This sense of progress was not merely physical but profoundly emotional, as the prospect of reuniting with my family and regaining my independence made every demanding therapy session worthwhile. Feeling rejuvenated, I pictured the moment I would walk out of the hospital, filled with deep appreciation for the second chance at life my transplant had given me.

One day I was assembling Legos in my hospital room, when the door suddenly creaked open, revealing an unfamiliar doctor from my heart team. He entered quietly, his demeanor calm yet purposeful, and stood at my bedside with a detached professionalism. His dark eyes reflected the cold atmosphere of the room, triggering a wave of anxiety within me. I found myself wondering what updates or decisions were coming, and wished Ericka were there to support me during this vulnerable time. Watching him warily, he delivered the news dispassionately: "Your body is rejecting the new heart. Dr. Um will come this afternoon to explain the next steps. Do you have any questions?

Receiving this devastating news stands as one of the most overwhelming and perplexing moments I have ever faced. My mind raced rapidly, yet comprehension eluded me—how could the progress I had made come to such a violent halt? The doctor’s words reverberated endlessly, paralyzing me with fear and uncertainty as it dawned on me that my own body had fundamentally betrayed me. I recalled that when Dad had his transplant, those patients on his ward who experienced rejection quickly lost their battle, with little hope or effective treatment available, making it hard for me to fully grasp the complex medical reality behind my own situation. My thoughts spiraled as I grappled with sensations of vulnerability, unpredictability, and a desperate hope that this heart, which had already given me a new lease on life, might still be saved from failing. In that quiet, crushed moment, I turned to the doctor and softly murmured, “No."

Without speaking further, the doctor exited the room, leaving me alone with his terrifying words reverberating in my mind. The sudden quiet was overwhelming, as if time itself slowed down to trap me within a moment saturated with pure fear. My heart raced from an overwhelming wave of anxiety and uncertainty. My thoughts flooded with questions: What does this mean for my future? How much time remains? The once-hopeful, healing atmosphere of the sterile room now felt stark and isolated, deepening the vulnerable weight still settling inside me. It was a raw and wrenching ordeal – being confronted so abruptly and alone with the fragile nature of life.

As panic took hold, I was engulfed by a powerful surge of fear and confusion that clouded my thoughts. Anxiety pressed heavily on my heart and mind, almost crushingly so, while tears flowed freely down my swollen cheeks. With trembling hands, I instinctively reached for my phone and dialed my sister Pam, certain she would grasp the seriousness of my situation. Between shaky breaths, I conveyed what was happening – my body was rejecting my heart transplant, and I urgently needed her to pick up our parents and come to Omaha right away. Time seemed to stretch endlessly as I waited, each moment laden with a blend of fear and hope, holding tightly to the assurance that help was imminent and that I was not facing this terrifying challenge alone.

Of course, Ericka came to sit by my side while we waited for Dr. Um, whose eventual arrival brought a soothing and determined air that quickly eased my nervousness. He carefully explained that, unlike the heart transplant Dad received two decades ago, rejection today could be addressed through a specialized treatment called plasmapheresis. This procedure entails removing the plasma from my blood – the part carrying the harmful antibodies attacking my new heart – and replacing it with donor plasma or a plasma substitute. By filtering out these damaging antibodies, plasmapheresis works to suppress my immune system’s aggressive response, allowing my transplanted heart the opportunity to recover and flourish. His thorough explanation not only allayed my fears but also instilled a renewed confidence in the medical team’s capability to manage this difficult setback, reassuring me that I would be supported by competent hands throughout the ordeal

Apheresis Machine

By the time Pam arrived with our parents, my initial panic had subsided; the overwhelming anxiety that had seized me earlier had gradually given way to a firm resolve that allowed me to compose myself. Maintaining a steady breath, I explained the plasmapheresis procedure in detail, emphasizing the importance of starting treatment quickly. I reassured them that, while it might appear complex, Dr. Um had confirmed it is a well-established and reliable method used in hospitals worldwide to significantly improve patient recovery. Noticing their tense expressions soften, I concentrated on sharing the hopeful elements of the therapy, making sure my parents fully understood the complicated process.

The next day a technician named Tom arrived in my room for my first plasmapheresis treatment, and his warm and soothing demeanor instantly put me at ease amid the anxious flutter of anticipation. As he carefully prepared the equipment and explained each step with gentle clarity, the room seemed to transform into a calm sanctuary. The soft hum of the machines blended with his reassuring voice, creating an unexpectedly peaceful atmosphere. Wrapped in a cozy blanket and feeling comforted by Tom’s presence, I found myself drifting into a light, restful sleep during the procedure – a welcome respite that helped me face this new experience with renewed hope

The plasmapheresis treatment I underwent extended over a taxing period of ten days, during which my frustration grew as I remained confined within the hospital. Each procedure left me physically exhausted, making it difficult to engage fully in the daily physical therapy sessions. Once this intense phase concluded, I began a regimen of intravenous immunoglobulin (IVIG) therapy aimed at enhancing my immune response and supporting recovery. Since these treatments demanded careful supervision, I stayed a few additional days in the hospital under vigilant medical observation even after their completion. Although the process was arduous, this thorough treatment plan gradually led to improvement, strengthening both my physical condition and mental resilience throughout the challenging path to recovery

Plasmapheresis was a success!

Finally, after several weeks of uncertainty, Dr. Um confidently announced that the plasmapheresis treatment had been completely successful. For me, this outcome represented not only a triumph of contemporary medicine but also a manifestation of divine grace. When Dr. Um finally gave me his sincere approval to be discharged and return home, Ericka and I exchanged joyful, wide smiles. The idea of stepping beyond the sterile hospital environment into the familiar comfort of my own home filled me with profound gratitude and revitalized hope, preparing me to face the future with renewed strength and determination to heal.

As I packed away the last of my hospital belongings, the weight that had pressed on my chest for weeks finally began to lift. The journey hadn’t been easy – marked by fear, uncertainty, and physical hardship – but it had also revealed the depths of my own resilience and the unwavering support of those around me. Stepping out into the crisp air beyond the hospital doors, I felt an overwhelming sense of renewal, as if I had been granted not just a second chance at life, but a fresh opportunity to embrace each moment with gratitude and courage. With Ericka by my side and my family’s love behind me, I was ready to face whatever lay ahead, heart stronger than ever – not only healed by medicine but fortified by hope.

Posing with some of the wonderful nurses who helped me recover after my heart transplant!