Every Day Is Thanksgiving

    Eight days earlier on November 14, Dr. Robert A. Fisher had transplanted the liver of an 84-year-old stroke victim from Wilmington, NC, into my rapidly deteriorating middle-aged body.
    The liver, I’ve been told, was the oldest ever transplanted anywhere in the world into a recipient whose Model for End-Stage Liver Disease (MELD) score was as high as mine.
    When he was awakened in the middle of the night and informed that the donor organ was available, Dr. Fisher could have said, My patient is too old and too sick. There’s no way this will work.
    Instead, he responded, This has never been done, but bring it on. I can save this guy’s life.
    I will forever be grateful.
    To my donor and her family.
    To Bob Fisher, who had the courage and confidence to venture into uncharted territory and trusted that I would honor the miracle.
    To Dr. Todd Stravitz and the staff at the Hume-Lee Transplant Center, whose compassionate care, wise counsel, and abiding friendships have been so vital to my recovery.
    To my family, the Collegiate family, and many other friends, who have shared this long and occasionally unsettling journey with me.
    For the opportunity to face the challenge of a lifetime, hold fast even as the sand slipped quickly through the hourglass, and find meaning in my dance with grace.
    Simply put, in my world, every day is Thanksgiving.
    I’m acutely aware, you see, that each moment, each relationship, and each experience is one that I would have missed had it not been for the generosity of that family in Eastern North Carolina, expert medical care, and many, many prayers.
    I’m acutely aware also that no obstacle in life is without its benefits, and through this spiritual and physical odyssey, I’ve learned, and continue to learn, plenty.
    Among those many lessons is that, regardless of the trials we encounter, the situation can always be worse.  Each time I report for labs or treatment, I see pain and suffering.  Thankfully, I had incredible support and many role models who set sterling examples, encouraged me always to stand steady, and inspired me to finish the race.
    Other lessons?
    •    Stay in the moment.  Plan ahead, certainly, but don’t get too far ahead of yourself.  Last November 8, Dr. Fisher stood beside my bed in the intensive care unit and told my wife Emily and me that if he couldn’t transplant in a week, I wouldn’t survive.  Though I was relieved to know that I actually had seven days, the news was stunning, but walking the path one step at a time allowed me to maintain my equilibrium.
    •    You might travel to dark places, but there’s always a candle glowing in the distance.  Never once during that memorable interlude did I lose sight of that glimmer of light.
    •    The odds are only numbers.  There’s always hope.  On November 12 when it appeared that the donor liver might not arrive, I asked one of my physicians my odds of reaching the discharge exit on East Marshall Street without IV’s and monitors if I chose to spend my remaining days at home with my family.
    “None,” she replied. 
    •    Respect your opponent, the weather, and the terrain, but never fear them.  That’s advice I’ve given cross country runners for years.  That mentality worked well when life became very real.
    •    Your opponent might beat you across the finish line, but never, ever let it beat you. That’s also advice I’ve given runners. That’s the way I viewed primary sclerosing cholangitis, the autoimmune liver disease that tried so hard to take me out.
    •    You can’t go it alone.  Rely always on faith, family, and friends. That’s the truth.  No further explanation needed.
    There were many more lessons I learned, of course, during that lyrical passage of my life, but they can wait for another day, another column.
    In the meantime, friends, count your blessings, savor your family time, and enjoy Thanksgiving.
    And each minute of every day.
                             -- Weldon Bradshaw