Deep Gratitude for The Greatest Gift

It’s November 14, a red-letter day in the life of my family and a day on which I feel profound gratitude for the myriad gifts that adversity has granted me.

 

Actually, each day, every day, all day, I feel profound gratitude for those amazing gifts.

 

In February 2010 following a series of tests, I was diagnosed with a rare autoimmune liver disease called primary sclerosing cholangitis. My doctor told me that PSC, which affects the bile ducts, could move slowly and I could outlive it. He also told me that it could intensify into a game-on situation where my only option, since there was no cure, was a liver transplant.

 

While this news wasn’t what I’d hoped, I was determined that the disease wouldn’t define me and considered the diagnosis a God-given gift that would challenge me to be the person I'd always wanted to be.

 

As an athlete, albeit of modest talent, and a cross country and track coach for many years, I felt that I understood the concepts of competitive spirit and teamwork quite well. Little could I have imagined that all the planning and training to prime athletes to peak at just the right moment was actually preparation for the most intense, game-changing competition of my life.

 

One thing led to another, and over the next couple of years, my health gradually deteriorated, symptoms, none pleasant, reared their ugly heads, and the medications my doctors prescribed to treat them created side effects that ran neck-and-neck with the nastiness of the symptoms.

 

Then, “gradually” became “precipitously,” and in the fall of 2012, my health hit rock bottom. On November 6, I found myself in the Surgical and Trauma Intensive Care Unit at the VCU Medical Center in a must-win situation that made anything I’d experienced as an athlete or coach seem like child’s play. Then there came the moment that my surgeon told Emily and me that without a donor liver, I had a week at most to live. To say that news was sobering is an understatement.

 

I won’t die in this hospital, I told him. Then, as the week progressed, my tune changed to If liver disease beats me across the finish line, no way will it beat me and, since I’d given plenty of advice about dealing with challenges, If I’m going out, I won’t go out as a hypocrite or sissy.

“The Call” came at the 11th hour and 59th minute, and when I emerged from the haze of anesthesia four days later, I was well aware that I’d been blessed with a miracle and vowed that each day for the rest of my life, I’d pay forward the gift and honor the memory of my 84-year-old donor, a resident of Eastern North Carolina who had suffered a stroke in church and passed away at the New Hanover Medical Center in Wilmington.

 

My gratitude extends well beyond the tangible, life-saving organ so selflessly bestowed by one who lived an exemplary life of dignity and grace and entrusted me with The Greatest Gift.

 

I’m eternally grateful to my medical team, which provided professional and compassionate care, treated me like family (and still does), and never, ever gave up on me, even when the odds suggested that the outcome would be much different than it ultimately became.

 

I’m grateful to four generations of my family, who watched what no family should ever have to watch, brought positive energy despite their anguish, and gave me strength to carry on, even as the clock ticked down.

 

I’m grateful to so many friends – importantly, my large and caring Collegiate Family – who reached out so kindly, supported, encouraged, prayed, and, whether they were literally by my side or afar, never let me feel alone despite the challenges.

 

I’m grateful for the peace that passes all understanding, underpinned by my faith that allowed me to know that if I survived, I’d be all right, and if I didn’t, I’d be all right as well.  While one might venture into dark places, I found that there’s always a candle glowing in the distance. Never did I lose sight of that candle.

 

I’m grateful for the enlightenment, empathy, and understanding that this lyrical passage has granted me, the life lessons that it’s provided and continues to provide, and the opportunity to assist fellow travelers and their families at the VCU Medical Center and elsewhere as they navigate their own sometimes frightening transplant odysseys.

 

I’m grateful for the empowerment that comes from the knowledge that if liver disease, transplant surgery, and the slow, often arduous, ongoing recovery process didn’t break my spirit, though they tried mightily, nothing will.

 

I’m grateful for the humility that’s come from this transformative experience – before, during, and in the years since – that tested my resolve and resilience.

 

Today marks 10 years.

Ten years filled with amazing and humbling gifts.

Ten years filled with wonderment.

Ten years filled with abiding gratitude.

 ~Weldon Bradshaw