ROBIN L. GARDNER | Independent Tribune | North Carolina
“I really haven’t thought about it. I try to convince myself to think about it, worry about it and visualize it. But no, the only time I think about it is when I see the bulge down here,” Hobbs said.
Receiving an organ is much deeper than that, though. He now has the kidney from another person functioning inside his body.
“To me it’s like I went to the hospital and I have something gone. I haven’t been fixated on that or thought about that,” he said. “Although, it is much bigger than that, greater than that.”
In an earlier story in the Independent Tribune, Hobbs’ struggle to find a kidney was featured along with the story of the unlikely living donor, a co-worker, paramedic Charles Cardwell. Now, as the two are recovering, Caldwell on a well-deserved rest at the beach, Hobbs is sharing a bit of the struggle from the past month and his feelings about the experience.
“I’ve thought more about how he (Caldwell) put his needs, his family needs, his family’s welfare and his welfare on the back burner and did this for my family,” he said.
Knowing if someone needed his help he would step up, Hobbs was still amazed at how carefree the decision was for Caldwell.
“I would probably have to think about it,” he admitted.
“With Charles, it was instant,” added DeAnne Hobbs, Jon’s wife.
Hobbs has a genetic disorder called polycystic kidney disease (PKD), which is characterized by the growth of numerous cysts in the kidneys.
A greater sense of vulnerability hangs above a man whose everyday professional life thrives on the chaos of an emergency room. He is in control at work, and the one people turn to for help. He is the caregiver, but now he is more vulnerable.
The others around him who share his life may agree. The hugs seem a little harder and the kisses come more frequently as his young children parade in and out of the living room.
Things had gotten pretty bad for the doctor the Sunday before his transplant. Cysts in his kidneys began to rupture; he was in painand bleeding internally. He went to the ER and they treated what they could. They sent him home with instructions to eat, drink plenty of fluids and take it easy.
He spent the week before surgery in bed, almost sedated, rallying just a bit before surgery. It was obvious it was time for the transplant. His spin, in typical ER form, was less dramatic.
“I was getting weak, and a lot more symptomatic,” he said. “I was feeling a bit more tired.”
Hobbs had weathered his disease well up until that point, never showing any symptoms. The numbers reflected in the constant testing told a different story inside his body, but it was important to Hobbs to continue working up until a couple weeks before the transplant. He wanted to remain busy and focused.
As his numbers began to climb, and his kidneys were failing, he realized if the surgery had been scheduled later in the summer, he would have needed dialysis to stay alive. That was the one thing he fought hard against.
“I never needed dialysis,” Hobbs said, almost proudly.
He spent five days at CMC-Main for his transplant, including several days in intensive care. The next three months will be spent recovering so he can return to his demanding job at CMC-NorthEast.
“I should be able to return, but it is going to take time,” he said.
There is a bit of worry in the words Hobbs speaks. Will he be ready to return to work at the end of the three months, and how will he weather the pace and exposure?
Hobbs’ immune system will be vulnerable from all the drugs he is taking to help his body accept the new kidney.
“It has wiped him out,” DeAnne said.
A summer cold passed on from his young daughter has him coughing and very stuffy.
“From that aspect I’m worried about going back to work. Can I cut it? Will I be tired? Will I be exhausted? Yes I will. Will I overcome it…yes I think I will,” he said.
Hobbs has the rare benefit of experiencing life from the other side, perhaps a valuable lesson in the medical profession. When the people caring for him didn’t know he was a doctor, he felt it made a difference in the care he received.
“Less attention was paid,” he said.
He made it a point to never announce to anyone he was a doctor, but when nurses or attendants read the chart they could see his occupation. It seemed that’s when things were explained a bit deeper and more time was spent with him, he said.
“You could tell when someone spotted it,” DeAnne said.
Hobbs explained that the ER is a fast-paced work environment; taking extra time to fully answer questions is difficult. Time is money in the medical world, and often there are so many patients waiting for help. Healthcare is a business. However, the doctor will now see some of himself in their eyes.
“In the ER, your interactions with patients are short. I’ve never liked that, never liked being short with patients or their families,”Hobbs explained. “I probably, right before the surgery, reconnected with that.”
“I like to believe I tell my patients what’s going on, but I believe this will make me more cognitive of that,” he said.
Hobbs will become a better doctor because of the vulnerability that crept into his life, and a better person because of the caring act of Charles Caldwell. Communicating his feelings much easier on Facebook, the simple words he expressed will float through the internet forever.
“I cannot put into words the gratitude and appreciation to him (Caldwell) for such a selfless gift. Literarily he never thought twice about it,” Hobbs said as he repeated his short and understated status on Facebook.
Looking well beyond his initial gaze, he gave a small smile.
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