The ARDS Foundation - Body, Mind, & Spirit

By Pastor Ian

THANKSGIVING

Well, we’re back home and Irene and myself would like to say to the ARDS community and our neighbors how grateful we are for all of the prayers that have been directed our way these past four months. Knowing that there were so many people who cared about us seemed to lift us and carry us through this very difficult time in our lives. The poem that seemed so appropriate to our circumstances…”Footsteps in the Sand,” has often been in our minds. In addition to prayers, we received help in more tangible ways, and I don’t think at home, our grass has ever looked so good and cared for as it has this summer. So, to our ARDS friends and neighbors, please accept this big “THANK YOU” as our way of saying that we could not wish for a nicer group of people as our friends and neighborhood family.

Many of you will be somewhat confused by the foregoing, wondering ‘what is he talking about?’ It will help you to know that earlier this year I had been listed as a candidate for a lung transplant due to a serious respiratory condition contracted in the year 2000 when I became first a victim of ARDS, and then a survivor. As many of you will know, following ARDS, the prognosis can be quite good for a full recovery. In my case, my lungs were so badly compromised that I left the ARDS hospital supported by oxygen 24/7. It was about a year later, while sitting in the corridor of a large city hospital that my wife Irene and myself received the news that my lungs were deteriorating and my life expectancy was somewhat poor. My only option, the Respiratory Specialist suggested, was to go home and think about the possibility of applying for lung transplant surgery.

The story continues…

Weeks later and after much painful reflection, Irene and I had made a decision to move forward with the application process for transplant surgery. Months later (and I am compressing this greatly) and it seemed a zillion tests later during which not one freckle on my body was left unnoticed, (I now glow in the dark) the big day came when my case went before a board of senior doctors at Toronto General Hospital for consideration. A couple of days later the phone rang to tell me that I had been accepted. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry and as I write this I am listening to The Bee Gees singing: “I started a Joke that Started the Whole World Crying but I didn’t see that the Joke was on Me.” Ironic…what!! We went through the motions of packing a case. I carefully strapped the ‘beeper’ to my belt and it went everywhere with us. We knew that when the call came we had to be at the hospital in Toronto within 2.1/2 hours. We could achieve that on a good day however if the call came during rush hour we were nixed.

The Transplant Program at Toronto General is so well known that people come from all over Canada for their transplant. In my phase of waiting, I had to attend the hospital every week and during this time met people from Newfoundland, New Brunswick, everywhere, who had been forced to move to Toronto to live while they waited for a transplant to become available. It is an expensive city, and takes a huge level of commitment to leave loved ones far away to reach out for this one last chance at life, living in a rented apartment adjacent to the hospital.
My story continues…

On July 7th this year, we had just returned from Kingston and had eaten supper when the call came from Toronto General Hospital (TGH) telling us to get there as quickly as possible. Irene and myself set out on a journey into the unknown, and some day I might share some of that journey with you. Suffice to say that it has taken all of our faith and all of our strength to handle the ups and downs of life on the edge.

On July 8th. I received the gift of life. It came from an unknown donor who chose to sign a card, giving the gift of life to strangers who were, like myself, suffering from terminal illness caused by the failure of major body organs. The donor of whom I speak, now lives on, in me, and others, in a unique way, thanks to their choosing to offer life to me in the face of their own premature passing from this world. They and their family are constantly in our prayers.

Following my operation, eight weeks in ICU and about twelve difficult weeks total in hospital, we were required to live within close distance of TGH so that I could attend various clinics and re-habilitation three days every week. I wrote this article from what was for many weeks our ‘home’ in our daughter’s apartment in the grand ‘city’ of Whitby to the east of Toronto. I use the word ‘city’ because Whitby, which used to be a small suburban town a few years back, now numbers over 100,000 inhabitants and is headed for 200,000 in short order. Oshawa, Ajax and Pickering are expanding at a similar rate with Pickering claiming ‘city’ status about a year ago, but that’s yet another story we might share.

The shock of the commute into the city of Toronto for my hospital appointments via the 401/404 has been for us ‘County people’ traumatic as, over the past few weeks, we joined the other half million Lemmings in their gas guzzling vehicles and pointed the car west and then south, turning on to the 401 at 6.30 a.m. only to find the traffic at a standstill; a twelve lane car park stretching for miles. It makes our home town of Picton rush hour outside Tim Horton’s Donut Store seem mild in comparison. The speed limit of 100 kph seemed quite ironic as we struggled to achieve 35 kph on a straight stretch, before being slowed to a crawl by the masses of vehicles ahead of us. It is amazing what we will do when the need arises and we run out of options, yet some millions of people do this commute day and daily for years on end, the frustration showing in their driving habits. What a waste of human energy!

For us, this has been a small price to pay for the miracle gift received. Four months ago, thanks to a wonderful person, I received two beautiful new lungs and my miracle began to happen.

Now each one of us has either had our own personal experience of a ‘miracle,’ or know of someone who has, so I ask you: “How can you possibly give thanks for a miracle?” Simply said, I don't think you can. It's just too great. However, what you can do is to live in awe of it, and live each day as the very best you can be; as if it was your first and last. This, to my way of thinking, makes our lives a "constant outpouring of gratitude."

What of the future as an ARDS Survivor, and now with new lungs and an immune system that must be kept very docile for my survival? I don’t go there, content for the moment to being able to soak up the sights and sounds of our beautiful County, and give thanks that “we’ (my wonderful wife Irene who has walked the road with me, picked me up when I have stumbled and allowed herself to receive Grace when it has been needed for simple survival of the stress of the process) …we are able to live here among friends and communicate once again with our many friends on the ‘net,’ like Eileen and Dee and Sue, Paula and so on…

One thing I will tell you. There is a small, signed card in my wallet which may some day be my opportunity to ‘Pay it Forwards,’ and in that way become the unknown donor who starts another miracle on its journey.

Pastor Ian.