Duke Lung Transplant Center

Fifty two years ago today, August 4, 2011, I received the white Dominican habit and died to the world as Rosemary Keefe to be reborn as Sister Mary Geralda.  Happiest day of my life! After a year as a postulant at the Motherhouse, I entered the Dominican Sisters at Sinsinawa, Wisconsin.

Three weeks of no blog means I’ve been busy.  Doris and I spent sixteen wonderful days together in Florida and traveling.  Doris arrived in time to help move me out of Indian Harbor Beach condo.  Even though I’d only been there a month, I had not only books, files, clothes, laptop, printer, oxygen tanks, etc., but also bags and coolers of food that Lisa had brought that I hadn’t eaten—enough to sustain us on our trip to Durham, NC, without having to eat out.  My Jeep sagged as we struggled to exit Florida after too many errands.  On I-95 blinding rain battered us all the way to Jacksonville.  We arrived in Savannah with no time to explore that historic town.  From coolers, we enjoyed shrimp, salmon, crusty bread, libations, sweet treats as rains continued. 

Next day we pushed north but hit a standing still traffic jam on I-95 in SC.  It felt as if our resolve was already being tested.  Could we face the rigors ahead?   We followed gutsy fellow travelers making a U-turn back to the previous exit, where I navigated us on two-lane US highways slowly through rural SC toward Charlotte, NC.  We enjoyed seeing small town America.  An old friend of Doris’s from Springfield, now living in Charlotte, brought pizza, stories, and laughter to our motel room. 

When we arrived in Durham on Sunday, we got serious about preparing for Duke Lung Transplant Center evaluation.  Along with my medical history, Doris and I had to fill out separate puzzling psychological evaluations as patient and primary caregiver.  Would we pass? 

Orientation by Transplant Coordinator emphasized pre and post-transplant rigor.  We must live in Durham at least two months before transplant as I’m moving toward being “listed.” During that time I must participate in the rehab program four hours a day five days a week plus constant re-testing.  A transplant might be available in the first month, or it could take many months.  Every day you wait for the call that will change your life.  They advise planning to stay in Durham for a year following transplant for more rigorous rehab.  I must take anti-rejection drugs for the rest of my life, drugs which trigger diabetes, hypertension, high cholesterol in 50% of transplants even though I never had these pre-transplant.

We believe we passed our hour-long consultation with the psychologist.  We also passed our interview with the social worker and financial consultant.  Medical costs alone total $157,000 in 2010, not including cost of re-location.  Medicare pays 80%.  My secondary from Wisconsin pays zilch for transplants, so I must now shop for an additional plan to tack on to Medicare.

The nurse warned us that our assigned transplant surgeon Dr. Steele was blunt.  “The best transplant is no transplant,” he said, after he outlined the difficulty of the process and the need for total commitment on our part.  Transplant world must become our total lives for more than a year.  Duke has good survival rates after a year and five years but not so good in my age category.  After chest x-ray and blood (28 vials?), I pushed my way through pulmonary function tests that I loathe: I end up coughing and being re-tested until I’m about to pass out.  My respiratory therapist was kind.

A week later, the lung transplant coordinator announced that we’re accepted.  I must do pulmonary rehab at least three days a week and return to Duke for re-testing in four months.  I’ve begun a program at Winter Park Hospital which combines cardio and pulmonary.  At first I was told next opening for orientation was Aug 22.  I said, “Oh no, I want to start today.”  The head nurse said she’d fit me in on Wed and then called back to say, “Come today.”

My over-medication problem has been alleviated some by changing cardiologists.  When I studied the report by the doc who saved my life, I was impressed with his details.  I remembered his enthusiasm, immediately wanting me to see what he’d done on a video screen without raising my head, which I was told I must not do while the tube was still inserted in my groin.  Why isn’t he my cardiologist?  I found him online while we were in Durham and called his office on our return drive.  Miraculously he was able to see me that Friday.  He’s young (39) from Pakistan and full of energy.  I’m one of his success stories.  He’s changed my meds, and I’m feeling better.  He’s ordered a comprehensive blood profile with a genetic component to determine how my body responds to different drugs.  It takes three weeks to run.  Barriers are dissolving in the flow.