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There’s nothing like a second chance at life

Death — or the distinct possibility that you may be facing it — is a sobering experience.

And I get that we’re all going to get there sooner or later. I have no illusions about that. By the time you reach your 50s, you’ve seen and likely dealt with a lot of it. The carefree thought of an infinite future that we all have as kids or young adults has long evaporated.

No one can predict the when or why. But as my former boss Dave Burcham liked to say, “None of us are getting out of here alive.”

I’m no exception. When you stare death in the face and have no other choice but to put your life in the hands of doctors, something changes.

I was there three years ago. After negotiating a series of tests, medical paperwork and orientation, I was officially on the waiting list for a kidney at the Cleveland Clinic.

My wait to be approved didn’t take long. The process began in March 2021 and by July — if memory serves — I was notified that I was officially a kidney transplant candidate. That’s when the real waiting begins. For my particular set of circumstances, including blood type, the doctors said I could expect to wait 5-7 years before a compatible organ became available.

Some time had passed between when I became aware that there was a problem and the moment I learned that my situation had reached a critical stage. It was time to become familiar with the D-word — dialysis.

To that point, I felt OK. I’d had double pneumonia in 2020, which to this day I believe was an early case of COVID-19. Other than that, I worked, played golf and did all the stuff I always do with no issues. So when my doctor said I had to start dialysis, I didn’t want to hear it.

I asked Stephanie, who was my dialysis coordinator, what would happen if I just maintained the status quo, even though I already knew the answer. “You’ll end up in the hospital with a dialysis port in your neck and you might die.”

Like I said, I knew what she was going to say. I didn’t want to be back in a hospital and I didn’t think I was ready to check out of this life, so my wife and I learned how to use a home dialysis machine over the course of several weeks in Boardman and then a machine was delivered to my home.

Let’s fast forward a bit. After some complications, including an infection — likely from a procedure to replace a dialysis port in my chest — I had to visit a center in Canfield for dialysis with an antibiotic three times a week.

Let’s just say I was not alone. One of the most eye-opening parts of this entire experience was seeing how many people were going through it, too. The first day I was there, a woman a few chairs away from me “crashed,” which can happen if your blood pressure gets too low during the process. I experienced it a couple of times myself. An ambulance arrived and sped her to a hospital.

One plus for me was that I was young enough — and apparently still healthy enough — to be a transplant candidate. I’d learned during my initial consultation in Cleveland that not everyone gets on the list. There is a complicated list of factors to be considered. Every time I went to that clinic in Canfield, I realized there were many people who were going to be tethered to dialysis machines off and on for the rest of their lives.

Very soon, I began to wonder if I could make it through five to seven years of that. I didn’t think so. But as it turned out, I became one of the lucky ones.

On Dec. 11, 2021, I got the call. Someone from the Cleveland Clinic called and said a kidney had become available and the particulars — blood type, size, etc., made me a match. I was third or fourth on the list if I wanted to be considered.

Everything fell into place after that. I confirmed that I was interested and the woman on the other end of the call said I should be prepared for a phone call within a matter of hours and if it came. I’d need to be in Cleveland by midnight. The operation would be early Sunday morning. So I sped to Boardman, where Stephanie met me for a dialysis session so that I wouldn’t need one the next morning, which would have delayed the surgery. I was still on the way there when the second call came.

“Yes,” I said. “I’ll be there ASAP!”

Once the final treatment was complete, I hurried home, where my wife had packed some bags. My daughter and her boyfriend picked us up and by midnight, I was alone in a room at the Cleveland Clinic trying to fall asleep. I’m not sure that I slept at all. My wife, daughter and her boyfriend checked into a nearby hotel.

Unless something unforeseen happened, I’d be in surgery by 8 a.m. But there were no complications and I was prepped and taken to an operating room. Thankfully, the medical team waited until I was out to put in the catheter. It sounds so silly now, but that was the part that bothered me the most.

A catheter? I’d never had to have one and I had hoped to get through my entire life without needing one. Looking back, I still didn’t realize how lucky I was.

You better believe I do now.

I woke up to the Browns losing on Sunday afternoon, so some things hadn’t changed at all.

But one thing did: I suddenly had a new lease on life and I was grateful. Three years later, I remain thankful for all of the people who made it possible for me to continue to live, love and work, play a little golf and fill this space with a few hundred words of what I won’t even attempt to call wisdom.

Today, it’s an appreciation for just being here and looking forward to what comes next. I still have a daughter to marry off, some more columns to write, readers to annoy and cajole, a sub-100 round of golf to play and a Browns Super Bowl to watch.

Well, maybe not those last two. I’ve already had one miracle. How many can one guy expect?

Ed Puskas is editor of the Tribune Chronicle and The Vindicator. He can be reached at 330-841-1786 or epuskas@tribtoday.com.

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