Transplant recipient struggles to go on after his brother's death, Castle Rock, Colorado

By PAULINE ARRILLAGA | Associated Press

CASTLE ROCK, Colo. — There is a movie that plays over and over in Chad Arnold's mind. It starts with the urgent call from down the hall: "Code blue. Room 601." Then Ryan's wife running into his own hospital room. Her words to his sister: "I need you." Chad, still a jumble of IVs and cords and tubes after the liver transplant, wresting himself from his bed and making his way just a few doors down to the room of his brother, his savior.

From the hallway he watched it all. And so the horror is forever ingrained in his memory.

What makes it worse is that they'd both made it out of surgery just fine, that until that moment in the middle of the night the entire process had been a celebration of life — not something to fear, really, but something with a happy ending.

Everything had moved quickly after Ryan received the phone call at their July family reunion confirming he was a match for the liver transplant surgery needed to save Chad's life. Just a week and a half later, the family was back in Colorado preparing for surgery. The night before, they read scripture, shared communion and prepared to keep friends and family elsewhere informed with updates on a website called CaringBridge.

The next morning at the University of Colorado Hospital, the brothers swapped jokes. But just before Ryan was led into surgery, Chad walked into his brother's pre-op room and wrapped his arms around him."We look forward to delivering a positive report," the family posted the night of July 28.

"I owe you my life," he whispered to Ryan, who patted Chad on the shoulder and tried, as always, to reassure.

"Piece of cake," he said.

By 5 p.m., it was done. Two-thirds of Ryan's liver was removed and placed into Chad, whose own diseased organ — enlarged to almost three times its normal size — was taken out in chunks. Almost immediately, Chad's jaundiced skin returned to its natural color; the pot belly caused by his swollen liver was gone.

Always the comedian, he posted a quick update on his Facebook page the morning after the surgery: "Well, that stung a little."

Chad, so sick for so long, felt the best he had in years. He asked his family to crank up The Black Eyed Peas' "I Gotta Feeling," and he danced, or tried to, in his bed. Through family members, he sent messages to Ryan. "Tell him I'm feeling good. Tell him I love him."

It was as if they'd switched places. While Chad was up and walking, Ryan was having a harder time. The family kept posting updates:

On Friday, July 30, at 11:59 a.m.: "Ryan is doing well this morning. Groggy from the medicine but (fairly) comfortable. ... It's taken awhile for it all to sink in, Chad is functioning with Ryan's liver . . . almost doesn't seem real."

On Friday, July 30, at 11:45 p.m.: "Ryan was just moved out of ICU and onto the transplant floor so he is now just a few rooms down from Chad. Chad went on two walks today ... up and down the hallway twice! ... Ryan has been pretty groggy today, which is normal."

On Saturday, July 31, at 3:44 p.m.: "Well, today is Day 3. We have been told from the beginning that this is perhaps the most difficult day, especially for the donor. ... Things are improving this afternoon, but again last night, Ryan did not sleep well and has been in quite a bit of pain."


On Friday, July 30, at 11:45 p.m.: "Ryan was just moved out of ICU and onto the transplant floor so he is now just a few rooms down from Chad. Chad went on two walks today ... up and down the hallway twice! ... Ryan has been pretty groggy today, which is normal."

On Saturday, July 31, at 3:44 p.m.: "Well, today is Day 3. We have been told from the beginning that this is perhaps the most difficult day, especially for the donor. ... Things are improving this afternoon, but again last night, Ryan did not sleep well and has been in quite a bit of pain."
Arnold Family / AP
Ryan Arnold, in the doorway, visits his brother Chad lying in bed in his hospital room after the liver transplant surgery. Their father, Robert Arnold, is at right.

On Sunday, Aug. 1, at 10:18 a.m.: "Unfortunately things took a turn for the worse last night. Ryan went code blue and was resuscitated. He is now in critical condition. We ask that you stand in faith and fight with us. ... Death can't have him."

On Monday, Aug. 2, at 11:04 p.m.: "Ryan went to be with Jesus this afternoon."

A recovery filled with sadness, guilt
"This is how we know what love is: Jesus Christ laid down his life for us. And we ought to lay down our lives for our brothers."

— Chad's journal entry called, "1 John 3:16."

Did the questions begin immediately? Not exactly. That's all part of the process, isn't it? The internal tug-of-war between doubt and determination.

Sometimes Chad's thankful for the drugs that leave some of the images of those days hazy. He does remember wondering, in the fog of it all, whether his friends and family were watching him too closely, especially that Monday when tests showed that Ryan's brain was no longer functioning and his family removed him from life support.

Chad acknowledges it might once have been his nature to rip out all those tubes and IVs and jump from the hospital window. But he wasn't living just for himself anymore.It was their father who delivered the news. He entered the room where Chad slept and grabbed his toes to wake him, the way he did when Chad was a boy. And then he said, ever so gently: "Ryan's brain is dead, but we still serve a good God."

It was the promise he made to Ryan when he went later that Monday to say goodbye. Looking at his younger brother, Chad told him: "I'm going to do this because I know this is what you want from me. I'm going to live fully. I'm going to live for both of us."

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