The Transformative Journey of Transplantation.

Abstract

The Transformative Journey of Transplantation Valen Keefer The moisture from the ocean floated effortlessly through the air as it glided over the rocky cliff. The steady stream of mist covered my face and frizzy hair with beaded water droplets. I had been sitting on a bench alone for hours admiring the Northern California coast at a magnificent overlook featuring a bird’s-eye view of the endless sea and campground I called home for the past month. The stunning mountain landscape behind me, the soothing colors of the coastal shrubbery, and the smell of eucalyptus made for a trifecta of surreal beauty. The ocean disappeared from my view and I became engulfed in the precipitation and felt like I was suspended in a cloud. I was soaking in every moment as it was the last day of my solo RV trip. The fog slowly separated and exposed bits and pieces of the ocean again and then a breathtaking rainbow came into sight. Each end appeared to be touching either side of the campground like it was giving it a hug. I was eye-level with the center and highest point of the rainbow, arching above our home on wheels. I stood on the bench with my arms wide open, embracing nature and the gift of life in all its glory. This moment would not have possessed such deep meaning if it wasn’t for the journey that came before it—the transformative journey of transplantation. Some may think of transplantation as a singular event when in reality, it’s a lifelong journey that can start with a diagnosis many years prior. My transplant journey began when I was diagnosed with polycystic kidney disease (PKD) at 10-years-old. Being diagnosed with a hereditary disease that has deeply impacted multiple generations of our family and with no known treatment or cure was a lot to carry as a child. My youth was full of love from my parents and filled with illness and the limitations and long-term impacts of growing up with multiple chronic illnesses. My education on PKD was the brutal real-life experiences of enduring it firsthand—with no support groups, resources, or internet to seek answers. I always felt different during a time when you’d do anything to fit in. I couldn’t play sports and had to sit on the sidelines in gym class. I was often in the nurse’s office, hospital, or recovering from a surgery. I hid my scars and unattractive body while changing in gym class. Friendships were really hard. Relationships were even harder. Growing up with chronic illnesses takes away from the fun of dreaming. It’s like that bright future full of endless possibilities is blocked by a huge mountain you know you have to summit first with no supplies, no friends, and no paved path to follow. Complications from PKD followed me from high school right into college, when I spent almost a year in the hospital. Both of my kidneys were removed, I was on dialysis, had pancreatitis, received over 70 blood transfusions, survived an internal bleed, and was in dire need of a lifesaving kidney transplant. At 19-years-old, I was too sick to be placed on the transplant waiting list, but needed a kidney to survive. My parents were living at the Ronald McDonald House, wondering if they would be the next ones to lose their teenage daughter. A close family friend forever changed our lives when she restored my health by selflessly donating her kidney to me. While it was an arduous path to transplantation, in some ways, the journey was just beginning. Fifteen years following my kidney transplant and summiting what I thought was going to be the most challenging mountain of my health journey, I found myself back on death’s doorstep with another battle ahead. I was in need of a second miracle, this time a lifesaving liver transplant. It was PKD again. The bile ducts in my liver were so gnarly that they looked like limbs of an oak tree rather than the desired smooth straw-like appearance. Their malformations led to chronic liver infections and multiple sepsis...