'Good-hearted man' doing well with recovery
Sunday, April 25, 2010 12:00 AM |
By Susan Shinn
For the Salisbury Post
One frigid February night, Robin Hager trudged out to the dog lot, the ground white, a shovel in her hand.
"I'm a control freak," says Robin, 52. "I felt out of control and totally overwhelmed. I stood out there in the snow, bawling.
"I came in and got ready for bed, and that night, I prayed for peace."
The next day, her husband Wayne got his new heart.
Seven years before, Wayne, 64, had a major heart attack. A stent relieved the pressure but not the damage. About two years ago, he had two more stents put in.
But his heart was not pumping well, and he had less energy.
"He was going into congestive heart failure," Robin says. Wayne's cardiologist, Dr. Brian Fazia, recommended a heart transplant.
"My reaction was, that's rather severe," Wayne says.
But his options were to live with his condition another two or three years, or have a heart transplant to improve his quality of life for years to come.
Wayne went to Wake Forest University Baptist Medical Center for tests, and entered the heart transplant program with a 2B classification.
As his condition worsened, his classification increased. When he entered Baptist on Jan. 13, he was at 1A, the top of the list.
He spent 26 days waiting for a heart.
"Once you're in the program, you know you're not getting any better," Wayne says. "You want to be No. 1 on the list."
"However, you're not happy that you're getting sicker," Robin adds.
Wayne worked at Lowe's until the day before he went to the hospital.
Working 40 hours a week, he says, was hard. He had to wear an infusion pump, and had to be extremely careful with it.
His fellow employees in the outdoor power equipment department helped out tremendously, doing all the moving of mowers and grills for him.
"I wasn't stressed out to have to do that lifting by myself," Wayne says.
Folks might remember Wayne from O.O. Rufty's, or FCX before that.
"He was the best employee you could have," Oscho Rufty recalls. "He was there every day. He came early and stayed late if you needed him to."
When Wayne was hired at Lowe's, Oscho says, "I knew somebody down there had some sense.
"He's good people."
Wayne and Robin consider Dr. Vinay Thohan "good people," too. He's the head of the transplant team at Baptist.
The morning of Feb. 9, the doctor had made his rounds.
"He came back in and sat on my bed, and held my hand," Wayne says, tears running down his face. "He said, 'I found you a heart.' "
If the plane carrying the procurement team could fly out of Winston-Salem, Wayne had a good chance at getting it.
Once a heart is taken from the donor, it must be placed into the recipient within four hours, tops.
"The heart is the only organ that has to be procured while it is still beating," Robin explains.
The Lear jet made it out of Winston-Salem on schedule, and within a couple of hours, Robin got the call that they were on their way home, bringing Wayne's new heart with them.
When the team left Baptist, Wayne was prepped for surgery.
His pastor and his mother were there, and Wayne and Robin had a few minutes alone in a holding room.
"We had a chance to talk," Robin says. "That is the hardest thing I've ever done, because it may be the last time we ever see each other. You aren't assured things will go fine, but you hope they do.
"We just basically told each other that we loved each other and that everything would be OK."
The surgery took four hours, and Wayne made it into recovery early the next morning.
Later, he'd see digital pictures of both hearts, side by side in petri dishes.
"My new heart looked like this perfect, pink, tennis-ball shaped thing," Wayne says. "The old one looked like an old, dilapidated football."
The next morning, his breathing tube was removed, and Wayne, in as much pain as he was in, felt happy to be alive.
A couple of days later, he sensed something was different.
"When they get you up and start walking you, you think, 'Hey, I've got more energy,' " Wayne says.
After four days, he could walk unassisted, and after 10 days, he came home.
Wayne still is under "house arrest," as he calls it. He's taking up to 40 pills a day to guard against rejection.
"Goodness gracious, that's a lot of medicine," Wayne says, but he takes the pills meticulously and without complaint.
He knows that someone had to die for him to get a heart, that the person had to be an organ donor, and that the donor's family had to agree to the donation.
"We had talked about it at length," Robin says. "We said a prayer for the donor and his family that night, and have prayed for his family since. I don't think you can express the gratitude you have for a donor. I know that if something happened to me, I would be so happy I could help someone else. The opportunity came to us, and we are so grateful for it."
Wayne feels an obligation to his "rental heart."
"I've got the gift of life now with this new heart," he says. "I'm going to take good care of it."
Wayne is walking a mile a day and plans to go back to work around Memorial Day.
He and Robin both love being around people. Robin is the owner of Spring Robin, a cross stitch and framing shop on Fisher Street. She hopes her business will pick up.
"We're just eking by," she says. "Financially, you really take a blow."
But this admitted control freak knows that she and her husband will make it.
- - -
At the end of our time together, I just have to ask Wayne one more question: Can I listen to your heart?
It's OK with Robin and it's OK with Wayne.
He unbuttons his dark green dress shirt — printed with the Labs he adores.
He points to a spot on his clean, white undershirt, and I lay my head on his chest, his skin warm beneath my ear.
The three of us grow quiet, and then I can hear it.
Puh-Pum.
Puh-Pum.
Puh-Pum.
I listen quite a while. I smile at Wayne, and he smiles back.
"It's a good heart," he says.
Freelance writer Susan Shinn lives in Salisbury.
Robin Hager makes a heart over her husband Wayne's chest at their home on East Ridge Road. Wayne recently received a donor heart to replace his ailing one after suffering problems for the last 6 years. Photo by Jon C. Lakey, Salisbury Post.
Robin Hager makes a heart over her husband Wayne's chest at their home on East Ridge Road. Wayne recently received a donor heart to replace his ailing one after suffering problems for the last 6 years. Photo by Jon C. Lakey, Salisbury Post.
For the Salisbury Post
One frigid February night, Robin Hager trudged out to the dog lot, the ground white, a shovel in her hand.
"I'm a control freak," says Robin, 52. "I felt out of control and totally overwhelmed. I stood out there in the snow, bawling.
"I came in and got ready for bed, and that night, I prayed for peace."
The next day, her husband Wayne got his new heart.
Seven years before, Wayne, 64, had a major heart attack. A stent relieved the pressure but not the damage. About two years ago, he had two more stents put in.
But his heart was not pumping well, and he had less energy.
"He was going into congestive heart failure," Robin says. Wayne's cardiologist, Dr. Brian Fazia, recommended a heart transplant.
"My reaction was, that's rather severe," Wayne says.
But his options were to live with his condition another two or three years, or have a heart transplant to improve his quality of life for years to come.
Wayne went to Wake Forest University Baptist Medical Center for tests, and entered the heart transplant program with a 2B classification.
As his condition worsened, his classification increased. When he entered Baptist on Jan. 13, he was at 1A, the top of the list.
He spent 26 days waiting for a heart.
"Once you're in the program, you know you're not getting any better," Wayne says. "You want to be No. 1 on the list."
"However, you're not happy that you're getting sicker," Robin adds.
Wayne worked at Lowe's until the day before he went to the hospital.
Working 40 hours a week, he says, was hard. He had to wear an infusion pump, and had to be extremely careful with it.
His fellow employees in the outdoor power equipment department helped out tremendously, doing all the moving of mowers and grills for him.
"I wasn't stressed out to have to do that lifting by myself," Wayne says.
Folks might remember Wayne from O.O. Rufty's, or FCX before that.
"He was the best employee you could have," Oscho Rufty recalls. "He was there every day. He came early and stayed late if you needed him to."
When Wayne was hired at Lowe's, Oscho says, "I knew somebody down there had some sense.
"He's good people."
Wayne and Robin consider Dr. Vinay Thohan "good people," too. He's the head of the transplant team at Baptist.
The morning of Feb. 9, the doctor had made his rounds.
"He came back in and sat on my bed, and held my hand," Wayne says, tears running down his face. "He said, 'I found you a heart.' "
If the plane carrying the procurement team could fly out of Winston-Salem, Wayne had a good chance at getting it.
Once a heart is taken from the donor, it must be placed into the recipient within four hours, tops.
"The heart is the only organ that has to be procured while it is still beating," Robin explains.
The Lear jet made it out of Winston-Salem on schedule, and within a couple of hours, Robin got the call that they were on their way home, bringing Wayne's new heart with them.
When the team left Baptist, Wayne was prepped for surgery.
His pastor and his mother were there, and Wayne and Robin had a few minutes alone in a holding room.
"We had a chance to talk," Robin says. "That is the hardest thing I've ever done, because it may be the last time we ever see each other. You aren't assured things will go fine, but you hope they do.
"We just basically told each other that we loved each other and that everything would be OK."
The surgery took four hours, and Wayne made it into recovery early the next morning.
Later, he'd see digital pictures of both hearts, side by side in petri dishes.
"My new heart looked like this perfect, pink, tennis-ball shaped thing," Wayne says. "The old one looked like an old, dilapidated football."
The next morning, his breathing tube was removed, and Wayne, in as much pain as he was in, felt happy to be alive.
A couple of days later, he sensed something was different.
"When they get you up and start walking you, you think, 'Hey, I've got more energy,' " Wayne says.
After four days, he could walk unassisted, and after 10 days, he came home.
Wayne still is under "house arrest," as he calls it. He's taking up to 40 pills a day to guard against rejection.
"Goodness gracious, that's a lot of medicine," Wayne says, but he takes the pills meticulously and without complaint.
He knows that someone had to die for him to get a heart, that the person had to be an organ donor, and that the donor's family had to agree to the donation.
"We had talked about it at length," Robin says. "We said a prayer for the donor and his family that night, and have prayed for his family since. I don't think you can express the gratitude you have for a donor. I know that if something happened to me, I would be so happy I could help someone else. The opportunity came to us, and we are so grateful for it."
Wayne feels an obligation to his "rental heart."
"I've got the gift of life now with this new heart," he says. "I'm going to take good care of it."
Wayne is walking a mile a day and plans to go back to work around Memorial Day.
He and Robin both love being around people. Robin is the owner of Spring Robin, a cross stitch and framing shop on Fisher Street. She hopes her business will pick up.
"We're just eking by," she says. "Financially, you really take a blow."
But this admitted control freak knows that she and her husband will make it.
- - -
At the end of our time together, I just have to ask Wayne one more question: Can I listen to your heart?
It's OK with Robin and it's OK with Wayne.
He unbuttons his dark green dress shirt — printed with the Labs he adores.
He points to a spot on his clean, white undershirt, and I lay my head on his chest, his skin warm beneath my ear.
The three of us grow quiet, and then I can hear it.
Puh-Pum.
Puh-Pum.
Puh-Pum.
I listen quite a while. I smile at Wayne, and he smiles back.
"It's a good heart," he says.
Freelance writer Susan Shinn lives in Salisbury.
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