My wife’s cousin had been after me for a while to write something. She was, and is, under the impression that this is something I can do. Even this tripe did not dissuade her.
So why post it? Better yet, why post it AGAIN?! Well, the not so short answer is that it serves two purposes:
1) It gives you (the reader) a little background on my history. And
2) It keeps me from trying something like this again.
This story was written during, and is the result of a sleepless night, while dying of end-stage liver disease. I pondered giving up the daily fight to stay alive while awaiting a liver transplant. Fighting insurance companies, labs, doctors, hospitals and more insurance companies was exhausting.
I frequently joke about drinking shitloads of bourbon, which I did, and that my failing liver was a self-inflicted injury. However, it was discovered post transplant that the damage was chiefly caused by prescription medication. I had been twice prescribed dangerous dosages of a drug that kills the liver (Diflucan).
I had a liver transplant at Johns Hopkins in May of 2004. So far so good. I still have bad days, and some of the side effects of my illness linger, but all in all I can not complain.
Oh, and my good friend Cyn advised me that there has been cases of people stealing other’s work and passing it off as their own, and for you good people let me just say don’t go there. I got more lawyers in my family than Bayer has asprin tablets. This is copyrighted
MY SHORT STORY
©2004
In retrospect I knew he was there although I did not actually see him. Our first encounter came as the Semi ran the stop sign in front of my motorcycle. As I was laying the bike down to my right, I saw that I was heading between the rig and the trailer, a certain death. I shattered my right knee as I kicked the ground as hard as I could, causing me to lean to the left, thus impacting the drivers door and being tossed through the air like a lifeless doll. Broken in several places, comatose but alive. He must have been wearing that sardonic smile; and with a slight nod of his head indicated that I owed him one. One that I would provide him several times over.
Our next encounter found me clad in olive drab camouflage, hauling ass in an Asian jungle. Having achieved our goal, my cohorts and I were on the run and outnumbered. Sending the rest ahead, I stayed behind to buy them precious time. I reflected then that I’d probably have yet another colorful ribbon attached to my chest for this, and how nice it would look on my corpse, if recovered.
It was then I first felt his presence in conscious thought. Waiting silently. Watching closely. Emanating both an air of amusement and curiosity. Then the epiphany struck me, as clear as the sky on a mid winters night. As I turned my liability into an asset, my reversal of fortune left me bleeding, but alive. Much more alive than my enemies. I left them as they lay, and I suspect my wraith was silently smirking as he wandered among my dead discarding the chaff as he harvested their souls. This time the nod of his head may have been an acknowledgement of payment rendered, respect for the dispatch or simply that there would be more encounters to follow.
Our next memorable meeting saw him much cleared. In an eerie counterpoint, the conflagration of dying foliage at the edge of the South African plains swayed to the mixture of ocean breezes from the Atlantic and Indian Oceans. I had won again, and lost. The superior number of my foes beaten and prone once again, but this time I had good friends who were horizontal as well. There he stood on the hilltop adjacent to me, not the commonly drawn cartoonish imposing figure with a scythe, but rather a small, druid like figure clad in non descript robes, arms folded and hidden beneath his cloak. I could but imagine his countenance in the shadows of that cloak, but I knew. The Mona Lisa had nothing on his unreadable visage. I glared at him, the memory of Charles and Shawn, and our going through hell and high water together burning in my mind. Our baptism by and under fire. Our long nights spent toasting in self-congratulatory glee over having cheated my current apparition. This time the nod had me completely perplexed. I thought then to quit giving him fodder, and come what may; but my comrades’ demise left me with a desire to add viciously to my tally.
I would see my phantom several times again as I added to his count. I never again gave him as bountiful a harvest as in the past, but I kept him busy all the same.
The last time I added to his total (my total, whatever), was a rather distasteful episode. It seems I had evolved into a sanctioned cleaner. An old soul wanted out of the eastern block of communism. I made the arrangements as I had frequently done in the past. Water everywhere. The raindrops massaged me as I stood over the placid waters of one of Amsterdam’s innumerable canals. The damp atmosphere gave the streetlights golden halos. It almost seemed like I should be hearing harps strummed as I surveyed my surroundings. The bridge, while pale in comparison to those in Rome, was fetching nevertheless, in it’s own cobble stoned way.
I mused over the information passed to me right before I was to meet this grayed, disenfranchised defector. A double entry, a rat’s rat; poison to the state department. After snapping his brittle neck with a gentle twist, I searched his body for proof of Soviet duplicity. Instead I found that Washington’s doubt was erroneous. Kids. He had children that were not mentioned in his dossier; this was the Soviet leverage. He was less Moscow’s puppet than I was my government’s.
Then my Ghoul approached, sarcastic grim grin firmly in place on the mug of my harvester. It was then I threw down my fiery sword, gave him the finger and told him I would no longer be his angel of death. This time there was no nod to fathom; instead he just winked as he collected the aged spirit I had provided him and vanished into ether.
That was a while ago, measurable in decades rather than years. I had all but forgotten my grim reaper.
Tonight I felt him, as I must have when first we met. He stood in my room, measuring me with his judgment. I considered letting go; just take the journey with my specter. I have led a life fuller than a lot of people. Lived on the edge, cheated death, and enjoyed life in the fast lane. Maybe it’s time to get my ticket punched. Then I looked over at my wife, smiling secretly in her sleep. I listened to the breathing of my daughter as she lightly snored in tempo with the dog. The symphony of sound, sight and emotion soothed me and yet…
…It also fortified me. I looked deep into the recess of shadow that was his face and thought piercingly, “Fuck it, you want me? Then let’s battleâ€. I know that when it is my turn, it will be my turn. No pleading or trickery can change that. However, damn if I just lay down and wait for it.
His smile was gone, as was the wink and nod as he slipped out of the bedroom. Fully aware that I will see him again, he can take me when I can no longer fight it.
And that is not today.
So last month was my 2 year anniversary. For me & my new liver. I haven’t really shared the whole transplant experience. And I’m not sure I’m equipped to do it justice but here I go, anyway.
I had been trying to get on the transplant list at Johns Hopkins for two years. To get there I had to be stuck with countless needles, go through a “substance abuse” program (designed for DUI offenders, even though I don’t drive, and had not drank in over a year), countless tests, probes and exams. I mean to tell you all, I got poked in places I did not even know I had! And at one point my empathy for the Muppets was at a record high (colonoscopies, OK?!). Then of course, meetings with the shrinks (to see if my head was screwed on tight enough…I KNOW you’re laughing!), social workers to determine if I had a capable and willing support group, and of course the financial rep to make sure the insurance would pony up.
I had gotten very close to the ladies in the transplant team during those two years. They kept telling me how others needing transplants would hem & haw and basically put off the needed tests. Man, when they told me I needed something done or tested, I made an appointment right then, called them back and told them when I was scheduled for the exam. Get a copy of the results for my records, call the team back and ask if they had gotten one yet and faxed them a copy if not!
In late November of 2003, I FINALLY get on the transplant list. I set a record it seems, for debuting higher on the list than anyone had before. Somewhere near the top ten. This was one of those good news/bad news things. The good was that I would not have too long to wait. The bad, obviously, was that I probably did not have too long!
I tried to stay focused on the good news. It was tough when people on the list ahead of me died. The ladies I had gotten close to in the transplant office would also tell me when those BEHIND me on the list died. I’ll assure you right now, that was a hard thing to hear & handle. It was truly a humbling experience.
So fast forward 6 months to May, 2004. (Maybe V or I will tell you all about the dental nightmare another time)
Virginia & I went to Fredericksburg to see the movie “Van Helsing,” as a combo Mothers Day/Birthday present. I ended up missing the last 10 minutes or so of the film. Although we had turned the ringers off on our cell phones, I was notified of a new voice mail waiting. After seeing that Virginia’s phone had a message as well, I left the theater to check.
The call was from the transplant coordinator at Johns Hopkins… I was asked about my health (colds, infections, etc.) and told not to eat or drink anything else pending another call from them. It seemed that there was a liver coming available, and I was on top of the list.
So we headed back to Tappahannock in case they did call back…and they did!
After stopping by and making arrangements for my brother to watch Angela, and some hurried packing at home, we were back on the road headed to Baltimore. Of course we got to Baltimore at the peak of rush hour, so it took damn near an hour more to get to the hospital once we got to the city.
I was subjected to chest x-rays, blood work, EKGs and an IV in preparation for the surgery (AND being told that I was “due” in the OR in less than 30 minutes) the doctor came in & told me that the liver was not viable. I made a joke about finding a frying pan and some onions. The assistant and the nurse blanched but the surgeon laughed and said he was glad to see I was keeping my humor (Oh, and Darling V did not think it was funny, either!). So I was released and we got home at about 2 in the morning.
The rest of that day was kind of a blur, as we were emotionally and physically drained. On top of the obvious nerve-wracking aspects, knowing the sadness that an 18 year old died, thus supplying me with the possibility of a transplant; that the people who were ahead of me and behind me died while awaiting a transplant… it was just an overwhelming day.
Less than 2 weeks later another call, another liver. This time I am told that the liver has to go through serology for tests first, so they will call back in 6 hours or so. Then I am told that the donor, a 30 year old male, led an “alternate lifestyle.” Because of this, I have the “option” to pass on this one without impacting my place on the list! Can you believe it?! I was aghast that someone could turn down an opportunity like this and be allowed to REMAIN on the list, much less keep his place and not be bounced to the back of the bus.
We get called back and told to head up to B-more, again. The liver passed serology, and I got it!
This is not the post I started to write. I was just going to mention the 2 year anniversary, and that the other week in church, I had our Episcopal Priest say a special prayer of thanks for my healing, for the Doctors, and a special prayer for my donor, and his family. And that as I was asking her to do this tears just started flowing and I could barely get the words out, sort of like now, typing this. And I was going to write that every day is a bonus for me, and having strep throat sucks and hurts, but it sure beats the shit out of not being able to have it.
There is a little more of the transplant story, maybe one day I’ll get sidetracked again & finish it up 
Dear Family, Friends, Friends of Family and Families of Friends,As most of you know, I received a liver transplant on May 27th. Since then my recovery has gone remarkably well and I continue to feel better on a daily basis.
I just wanted to take this opportunity to thank all of you for your support, prayers and well wishes. It was a tremendous comfort knowing that so many people were hoping and praying for my family and me.
The speed of my recovery and ever-increasing good health is a testament to God’s Will, Faith, the Power of Prayer and the Lord working through the fine medical staff of Johns Hopkins University.
To date I am doing well, my blood work looks excellent and the constant euphoria of having this behind me now fills my days!
I would like to share with you all a recipient’s prayer of thanks. Although it is in my heart and feelings, it was written by James McLaren, a heart recipient:
MAY GOD bless all donor families and the precious and loving memory of all donors, for they who give the Gift of Life in so doing demonstrate a deep and very profound understanding of another of God’s most perfect gifts to mankind: the Gift of Love. Without the Gift of Love, the Gift of Life through organ donation could not and would not be possible. May all recipients receive the Gift of Life in the same manner and spirit in which it was given: with love and compassion.
May all recipients continue to realize and understand that the Gift of Life comes through a decision fuelled by love, and that all donated organs are a product of that love.
May all recipients continue to privately and publicly display their gratitude for this precious gift, now and forever .
May all recipients share the Life and the Love of this gift, and use it to make meaningful and lasting contributions to society and humanity.
May all recipients live life to the fullest each and every day, and in so doing pay loving tribute to their donors and donor families.
May all recipients do more than merely say thanks, may they be given the strength, courage, wisdom and direction to do thanks through their actions, their deeds and their accomplishments, and by their everyday deportment, at all times showing honor and respect for donors and donor families, who so lovingly and selflessly gave the Gift of Life.
May all recipients seek, find, understand and fulfill the purpose for which they have been so graciously chosen to receive this special gift.
To all donor families and the memory of all donors, God bless you. Thank you, we love you. Thank you for the Gift of Life.
Johnny Travis
- I would ask those of you to whom I sent this to please forward it to your friends, prayer groups etc that you had remembered me to. I have, since surgery, met several people that had been praying for me without having met me; and I’d like to get thanks to as many as possible.