The Perfect UCSF Storm, Without the Sinking and Drowning and Stuff

WE DO THE CASTRO CANTER, NOT THE PARNASSUS POLKA

In a rare explosion of organizational correctness, we experienced one of the finest days ever, high above Kezar recently. We were shaking in our boots (figuratively, since we have no boots and don't care to...so there) as we approached our lofty destination. Why? Despite our endless affection for the many fine folks on staff, when we are summoned to the mount for multiple appointments things rarely go to plan. But this time, it was very similar to clockwork, as they say in Switzerland. And as an added bonus, we received good nooz at each stop along the way. These stops included appearances at both the kidney and heart clinics, and an ultrasound along with a visit with eminent vascular surgeon Dr. Charles E.

I got passing grades from everyone, a surprise to anybody who might have been unfortunate enough to have attended any institution of learning with me. The only equivocating report came from Dr. E. after I described my chronic leg/back/foot/gezingus pain. From his astute viewpoint, I am just at the very top of the slippery slope of serious vascular deterioration. Great for me, but my joy was tempered by what looms at the bottom of the slippery slope, which unfortunately is not a warm Irish coffee at the ski lodge down there. Simply stated, the horrible finale of this condition entails amputation, a concept that has terrified me ever since my VERY unpleasant stay at John Muir four years ago. I was there to have a catheter installed on my upper chest, and to begin dialysis. My "enjoyment" was severely hampered by being assigned to accommodations with two "roomies". One guy coded at 2:00 am, and all Hell did comprehensively break loose in that crowded little room. The other gentleman was a very unhappy double amputee, suffering from diabetes, kidney failure, and cardiovascular disease. Sound like someone we all know? Literally scared the s**t outta me, which, by the way, I was asked to describe in detail to the nurse while visiting with Cheryl and Sandy C., our beloved in-law. We are talking about serious hospital inquiries here, and if you get squeamish talking about poopie, you don't belong in a hospital.

OK, sorry for the rant....anyway we finished up at UCSF exactly on time and were able to boogie outta Dodge before the upturned meat cleavers affected our crossing of the Bay Bridge. Everything health-wise seems to be operating effectively. My next expedition will include a heart biopsy and the mysterious Allomap lab test, a future non-invasive replacement for catheterization to determine the level of rejection of the heart.

NOW THAT YOU ARE COMPLETELY BUMMED OUT.....

On to the happy crap. We were able to fly to Florida, do our thing(s), and return without any medical or psychological crises. Well, maybe a litle psychological crisis when I engaged in an hour-long conversation with a nice lady sitting next to us. We covered a myriad of subjects, mainly the educational and child-bearing accomplishments of her many offspring. And their offspring. Showing me endless pictures on her laptop, I lost count of the members of the family, only recalling that she has 13 grandchildren and that her daughters and daughters-in-law are still young and ready to push out lots more. Cherie opened her book and let me take one for the team, so to speak. You're certainly welcome, Dear.

Florida was, well, uh, it was Florida, after all. Our hosts, Don and Diana L., were very hospitable when they were not answering calls, sending texts, reading emails, or generally running their burgeoning golf empire. We did tag along to Club Med Sandpiper, just a hop, skip, and jump from Boca in Port St. Lucie up the ol' FL Turnpike. Don and Diana run the whole golf department there, and believe me this is no pitch 'n' putt operation. Young persons from all over the world come to Club Med to be taught serious golf by Mr. L., the Face of Golf for the Entire South Florida Kingdom. Seriously.

While all this golf and texting was taking place, Cheryl made tracks directly to the "Family" pool. That's the "clothing not optional" pool, as differentiated from both the adult pool and the kiddie pool. Which both require bathing attire, but the adult pool allows "b**t floss" while at the kiddie pool, only the dental variety is welcome. Meanwhile, my nephew David and I just hung out. We made effective use of the fitness center while enjoying some brisk exercise, then staggered around the grounds hoping to find Diana or Cheryl for further instructions on how to correctly behave. We were unsuccessful in that regard, and behaved badly.


The day was saved when we found the Slice Bar. Since we were there on a day pass, we were able to avail ourselves of food and adult beverages to our heart's content, completely gratis. This was the first occasion ever that Dave and I spent extended exclusive face time in each other's company, and it was grand. The only thing sadly lacking was a trip to the adult pool for some gentle flossing, but we vowed to return and right this horrendous wrong at a future date.

Oh, um, sorry, Cherie is up from her little afternoon "toes up" and is mighty hungry. I will be whipping up one of my famous omelets (yes, even though it is almost 7:00 pm) so I will be right back....alright then, here I am again. Thanks for waiting.

IT'S A LOVELY LIVERMORE KINDA DAY

We were delighted to be paid a visit from Young Andrew (as opposed to Andrew Young who was the Mayor of Atlanta and a member of Congress) all the way from the desolate wasteland of Sacramento. I say wasteland because in my earlier days, I was occasionally wasted in Sacramento, hence the reference. In any case, we planned a deliriously pleasant day of a bit of dining followed by a trip to the Livermore Intergalactic Airport. Again I hear you all asking "Why?" in beautiful harmony, so I am inspired to tell you. Every Memorial Day, our fine aerodrome features a display of WW II aircraft, including two huge bombers, a B-24 and a B-17. We have never attended this event, so I put my foot down (sorry, Lucy. Are you hurt?) and insisted we go this year.


Few of you know that before I became one of the nation's most respected motoring experts, my interest was in planes from the WW II era. This was handed down from my Dad, who served in the Air Force during that conflict. He and the rest of the GI Joes (no GI Janes, but lots of local ladies, especially in Italy) in the 41st Air Service Group completed many dangerous missions back in the day. Er, actually he and the Joes didn't exactly fly airplanes, they flew desks. See, he was in charge of payroll and lemme tell you, if you f**k up some seargent's paycheck, you are totally up s**t's creek, and no paddle either. Luckily, he came home, safe and sound, at least until my Mom heard about the Italian ladies. If the poop hit the proverbial fan, it musta been before Gary and I were born, but she hadda be pissed.

OK, back to the Lovely Livermore Kinda Day. Before journeying to the airport, we chose to lunch at a perennial favorite, the First St. Alehouse. We have enjoyed sitting at a sidewalk table and enjoying a beer and some pub grub for many years when the Alehouse resided in a very small friendly space on, well, on First St, actually. When the flooring outfit next door went bust, the Alehouse took over and thereby created a new, gargantuan location. We loved the enlarged sidewalk dining area, but today we were seated inside. The very notion that we were seated after "registering" with the hostess and being given one of those flashing pagers is in itself a new concept. In the "old days" you just took an empty table and were immediately greeted by a very nice server. The more disappointing aspect, however, was the truly overwhelming number of young offspring cavorting about. These fine little tots, known in these parts as rug rats, were everywhere, most of them unfortunately in the rather claustrophobic room in which we were placed. Hey, wait a New York minute here...this is a BEER place, and it looks just like friggin' DisneyWorld in here. Worse yet, it SOUNDS like EPCOT too. The former atmosphere of Livermore beer enthusiasts and the occasional drunk has been lost, probably forever. Not a good thing.


So the aircraft were fascinating. We were amazed that guys would fly in these crude buckets of bolts, enduring noise, vibration and enemy fire on the way to drop bombs on folks. Worse yet, NO PEANUTS and one old guy said the aisle to the cans was OUTSIDE! At least they didn't charge for luggage or pillows, and there were no overhead storage bins in which your baggage may have shifted during flight and therefore would come leaping out and hit you upside your thick skull.

"I COULD HAVE BLOGGED ALL NIGHT, I COULD HAVE BLOGGED ALL NIGHT, AND STILL HAVE BLOGGED SOME MORE"

Sorry, Julie Andrews. I could, but Cheryl beckons from yonder boudoir and I must obey without question. So I will close with the eagerly-expected results from my official once-yearly predictions on yesterday's National Motorsports Day (soon to be a true world-wide holiday) events. If you Facebook (Hey, you in the back, stop looking down at your shoes. I know you are on FB!), you have seen these and I can see you are literally on the edge of your chairs in anticipation. Well, this year I am pleased to report I have achieved a .333 guessing average. I missed on the NASCAR 600 miler down in Charlotte, and who could foresee the wacky outcome of the Indy 500? I did nail it on the Monaco Grand Prix, however, for a very respectable one outta three. Hope you enjoyed it as much, if not more, than I did.

So it's off to nonnie-nooners, where I will dream up another literary gem just like this one for next time. Until then, I remain...

Bob/Irv

We Meet My Donor's Family, At Last

A MAJOR LIFE EVENT

Please excuse the long time between my previous, brief news item and the promised expansion of the discussion concerning our meeting with my donor's family. Simply, we are still attempting to fully comprehend all the ramifications, and it just may take a bit longer to fully process. So, I have brilliantly ascertained that it is not fair to you, My Readers, to continue to delay.

I recall clearly the morning of February 9, 2010. I was already well into my daily inpatient routine of French toast, checking email, and doing a bit of reading. My pre-transplant coordinator, Celia , came in the room and simply told me that today was to be the day. I was elated, and started calling with the news, starting of course with Cheryl. I recall feeling excited but surprisingly not frightened. I suppose I had been waiting for this moment for so long that it made me more hopeful than scared.

When Dr. Nancy A., my distinguished kidney surgeon, came in for a brief exam, she told me my donor was a young person. This stopped me cold in my tracks. Never once during the five long years of preparation and waiting did I consciously think about an identity for my donor. When I realized someone had died and perhaps left a grieving family, I was overwhelmed and frankly emotional in my response. Dr. A. was kind enough to pat my shoulder and assure me "It's OK". From that moment I wanted to find out about this unfortunate young man or woman.

The ensuing confusion, wondering, and misinformation have been chronicled elsewhere in past episodes. Not far into 2011 our coordinator at CTDN, Gwenn S. told us that the family was in fact ready for a meeting. Gwenn indicated that the planned date and location would be April 30 at the annual donor family recognition ceremony at Chabot College. Although I was a bit impatient, I accepted the fact. Our concentration turned to my one-year post-transplant anniversary, so we set our sights on April, National Donate Life Month.

THE DAY ARRIVES

The Thursday before the Saturday event, Gwenn asked if our family was "OK with media". Answering for all of us (Leslie, Chris, Linsey, Andy, Cheryl and I), I said "Yes" not really thinking we would be any more that part of a group photograph or general news piece. There would be, I imagined, other family/recipient introductions going on, as well as a well-organized observance of the hard decisions made by grieving families.

Upon arrival at Chabot we were asked to wait at the end of the lobby. We did not know if we were going to be shown to a private room, meet in the lobby, or be ushered into the auditorium. Gwenn showed me a page in the donor remembrance book, giving all of us the first glimpse of my donor's identity....Ruben Bernal. She then gathered us up and took us back outside the front doors where we found ourselves before a virtual crowd of people. They were all looking at me, some smiling, some crying and holding tissues to their eyes. I looked at Cheryl and she was also tearing up. In the center of Ruben's family was a woman in a white sweater, being hugged and comforted by several younger members of the group. This was, in fact, Ruben's mother, Maria.

AN AMAZING ENCOUNTER

I have many impressions, thoughts and emotions about the next moments. Many people, perhaps 25 (we were told there would be 8), immediately introducing themselves to us. They had name tags, we had none, but the recognition of names and the displayed relationship to Ruben were a blur. I saw a row at the back of large guys, several of whom were Ruben's older brothers. Suddenly we noticed after hugging and holding hands with Maria that there was a large group of other people all around us watching our story unfold. Amongst them was a TV cameraman recording the happenings. I then realized this was in fact "the media" focus, and the event was not a matter of happenstance.

My initial flush of happiness about the long-expected meeting was instantly tempered by the sense of loss still being felt by the family over a year after losing Ruben. A microphone with the NBC logo appeared to my right, being held by Mel B. from CTDN. In addition to serving as a human mic stand, Mel joined the translation corps helping us to speak and listen to Maria and Ruben's father, Ruben Sr. The camera operator asked me to be interviewed, which I did after a small microphone was affixed to my lapel. All the while I was in awe of the dreamlike situation unfolding all around us. A young man then came up and asked for yet anther interview, this one for the news group which publishes local papers in several East Bay communities. He scribbled my answers in shorthand in one of those little lined tablets you see reporters and cops using in the movies and on TV.

I found myself addressing Ruben's family, my primary message being profound gratitude for an enormous gift of life. I told them I had literally thought about them every day since my transplant. I further assured them I would be a conscientious steward of Ruben's heart and kidney, and would do everything I could to assure them I would be a grateful and worthy recipient.

Several of Ruben's buddies introduced themselves as well, describing him as "a great guy", "very cool", "the life of the party", and "very funny". They were all amazed and fascinated when Ruben announced he was registering to be an organ and tissue donor. We were all truly touched by the obvious devotion his friends had for him.

THE INTENSITY GROWS

After the entire group was shown to seats in the first two rows of the theater, the Moss/Chaw/Fluken contingent began conversing with the Bernal/Tovar family members while waiting for the official presentation to begin. I was seated behind Alfredo, Ruben's older brother. It was then I learned of the incredibly horrible circumstances of Ruben's death. He and Alfredo were in front of Alfredo's mother-in-law's house in Union City enjoying a late-night barbeque, when gunfire erupted from a passing vehicle. Both brothers were struck. Alfredo managed to drag himself to where Ruben lay, and immediately saw that it was a hopeless situation for his younger brother. Alfredo's first reaction was that he wished he could have been the one mortally injured, then he bid Ruben farewell and a good journey. This was too much for me to process, as you might imagine.

We all watched while dozens of donor families crossed the stage to receive their recognition medals, including the Bernals and Tovars. At the end, we all hugged again and Alfredo mentioned that we should keep in touch and perhaps get together at some point. All of us then departed the event, emotionally drained and struggling to sort out our feelings.

This amazing event took place over the noon hour, so a late lunch/early dinner (aka "Linner") was in order. We all agreed one of our most favored cuisines was in order, so we dined at Casa Orozco. All of us except for Chris, who later told us he was 100% worthless at work that evening after the indescribable experience we had all shared.

As we entered our house, the phone immediately rang. Cherie's sister Robin was on the line, excitedly telling us to turn on the TV to the NBC affiliate. We did so in time to see a commercial end with the reporter introducing a piece about the day's transplant donor family ceremony. We saw ourselves in a group shot, followed by images of us embracing and shaking hands with the Bernals and Tovars. Next was roughly 30 seconds of my funny-looking face, with an answer to one of the cameraman's questions. After the segment we switched to CBS and in a few moments saw a virtual repeat. Again, we were floored.

Sunday morning an article appeared in the news section of our paper entitled The Bridge Between Two Lives. Some editions had a picture of Ruben Sr. and me, others a photo of Linsey, Andy and me, both over the same article. Very soon after the newspaper and TV reports appeared, I received quite a few calls, emails and personal acknowledgements saying that folks had seen them. It all still seemed like a wonderful/tragic story happening to somebody else.

Later in the next week, Kathy at CTDN asked us if we would give telephone interviews to a writer for a group of newspapers in Fremont, Milpitas and San Jose. We did so, and learned that Maria had been interviewed prior our discussion, and had voiced satisfaction with me and my family as good recipients. Again, an incredible feeling for us.

SO, BACK TO THE TRANSPLANT TURNPIKE, ALREADY IN PROGRESS

We have all had several weeks to absorb these moments, and I will tell you that it will be a rather long while until everything is fully sorted. I am told by other recipients that it can and does take time. We look forward to further communication with the family, and joint activities in whatever context seems appropriate. We feel that in many ways our family has increased in size and variety. A very nice thing, to be sure.

Bob/Irv

PS: To see related articles and pictures, go to "Fremont family meets man who received son's donated organs" - Inside Bay Area
www.insidebayarea.com
or Google Ruben Bernal.

For Now, Words Fail Me

YET AGAIN, A LIFE-CHANGING MOMENT

The day I have been thinking about, hoping for, and pursuing tirelessly has come. Utilizing letter-writing, emailing, phoning, and outright pestering, I was united with the family of the donor of my heart and kidney. Our emotional day has been chronicled elsewhere, including Facebook, KPIX, KNTV, and several East Bay newspapers' Sunday editions. While we were told that news media would be present, we had no idea that our family-to-family event would be their main focus.

DETAILS TO FOLLOW

Please permit me to more fully process and share at a later date not only the momentous happenings on Saturday, but also some additional amazement experienced earlier today. To answer a few of the mysteries, I can say that my donor was Ruben Bernal, a 21 year-old resident of Union City. Last February, Ruben was enjoying a late-night BBQ at the home of a relative when an as-yet unknown individual or individuals opened fire from a moving vehicle. Ruben suffered grievous injuries and was taken to Eden Medical Center in Castro Valley. There he was declared brain-dead and placed on a respirator.

Ruben was a registered organ and tissue donor. He figured if the worst were to happen (which most young people think never will), he would want his organs used to save someone else. In his circle of friends, this was an unusual concept, but he had determined and done it on his own. And horribly for Ruben, his many friends, large family and fiancee, the worst did occur early on the morning of Saturday, February 6, 2010. And on Tuesday the 9th, he was taken off respiratory support and pronounced dead.

I will organize my thoughts and feelings, and share more of this truly mind-boggling story very soon. I ask you all to take just a moment to reflect on a person described to us as full of life, humor and love. It humbles me that he had to die so I could rediscover my own life, humor and love. Muchas gracias, Ruben.

Bob/Irv