Dispatches from the Heart

by Ed Innerarity

  The NIV [New International Version Bible] reads, “Above all else, guard your heart; for everything you do flows from it.” There are many great translations . . . “Above all else, guard your heart; for it is the wellspring of life.” King James reads, “Keep thy heart with all diligence; for out of it are the issues of life.” I love this verse, especially for a 13 year old, because in one verse, it covers 31 chapters of Solomon’s instructions to avoid the snares of life. Even now, when our family discusses struggles or someone is embarking on a journey or adventure, we can utter to one another just the first three words—“Above all else . . .” It is an understood warning, instruction, and expression of love, regarding what really matters more than anything. The Hebrew word for heart in this verse is the same one used in describing David as “a man after God’s own heart.” It’s not talking about our heart of flesh, though the metaphor is not lost. David’s soul, his priorities, his cares were patterned after God’s. Ed, you are a Proverbs 4:23 man. A Proverbs 4:23 man cares more about the person he’s chatting with than getting down the road to his next appointment. A Proverbs 4:23 man cares more about the legacy he leaves than making an extra buck or impressing somebody. He cares more about his purity and his heart than about feeling good or achieving some status or conquest. I got a ringside seat while a Proverbs 4:23 man underwent a heart transplant. Now, if that’s not irony, I don’t know what is. The last year reading your messages and revelations about life has so juxtaposed the drama of your heart’s journey against the beauty of your soul’s journey. I am not alone in saying, “thank you” for the way you’ve touched so many of us.

  My favorite movie is It’s a Wonderful Life. It always has been, despite all the advances in movie-making and special effects; I’ve never felt any story even comes close to that of George Bailey’s epiphany and understanding of life. It’s a story and script so thick with metaphors and ironies. One of the reasons I love this movie is because George Bailey is everyone. I cannot relate to William Wallace, although I’d like to tell people I can. I’m not as smart as Tony Stark. I’m not as tough as Rocky Balboa. Sure, there are lots of movies where “ordinary men” become heroes or complete extraordinary feats. But William Wallace and Rocky are not, in my opinion, “ordinary guys.” George Bailey is really an ordinary guy who really doesn’t do any extraordinary things. George has wants similar to those the rest of us have . . . “Ah, I wish I had a million dollars . . . Hot dog!” (read with Jimmy Stewart flair). He wants to travel the world and see things and escape that crummy little town where he grew up. Like me, he periodically stumbles over the idea that there’s something out there that’s going to sate his desire for fun, adventure, and conquest.

  George is a hard worker and a man with a plan. But, every time he gets things all lined up to embark on his adventure, his heart gets in the way. Whether it’s tying the knot with the love of his life, helping out his neighbor, or bailing out the old Bailey Building & Loan, above all else, George listens to and follows the heart that God gave him. George is a Proverbs 4:23 guy. Like many of us, even if we were to set our priorities like George does, we may still miss the point. George had to die (or never be born) before Clarence Oddbody could lead him to appreciate the dividends produced by being a 4:23 man.

  As I’ve talked with you, Ed, and read your wonderful thoughts on life and God, I can’t help but think that you and George could really relate to each other:

  “Strange isn’t it? Each man’s life touches so many other lives. When he isn’t around, he leaves an awful hole, doesn’t he?”

  CLARENCE ODDBODY

  I wouldn’t claim to want to walk the journey you’ve walked over the past few years. It wasn’t mine anyway. But, in some ways, I envy the clarity you’ve found. For some reason, God chose for you to face this journey, and you have walked it well. Maybe it is so you could see how many lives you’ve touched. Maybe so you could see how well you’ve lived Proverbs 4:23. You have been a great brother and, at times, a father for me. I celebrate this year milestone with you and I am thankful that you were born with the heart you’ve always had and still have.

  —To my big brother, the richest man in town!

  JK

  LVAD: The left ventricular assist device (LVAD or VAD) is a kind of mechanical heart pump. It is placed inside a person’s chest, where it helps the heart pump oxygen-rich blood throughout the body.

  From: Ed Innerarity

  Sent: Monday, May 29, 2017 9:52 PM

  Subject: Wedding rings, labs, tuxedos: 3/1/17

  Friends,

  Like many of you, especially those of you in business, I am a rate-of-return guy. Meaning, I hope to get some positive return on my investment. Simple enough, even biblical. Dave Ramsey would certainly approve. Examples abound: hoping to get many years of dependable service from that washer/dryer set, a car that lasts longer than the car note, a fly rod that will last for years, a good dividend paying stock, the remodeled kitchen. You get the point. You could come up with as many good examples as I.

  Not every investment we make and not every purchase of a durable good is expected to yield measureable returns. Like a tuxedo or a wedding ring. More about this later.

  During the year or two leading up to my big new heart adventure, my life was the pits. My golf game too, although that seems so obvious as to barely require typing the words. Some of you knew of my problems, many were sympathetic, but not my golf buddies. They took great delight in winning $6 each Saturday as I was unable to will myself to be stronger. With each passing week, I was slipping further behind and further away. Behind the others and away from my former self and former life. Perhaps the worst part was that I had not yet accepted the fact that as my heart slowly headed south, it took with it my 7 iron. Then my putter, and then my driver. I could have just as easily said it took my joy. Then my dignity, and finally my hope. It’s all the same.

  I know holding my own on the golf course with these guys is not what I was put on the earth for, but in desperate times, you seek a familiar cave to wait out the storm.

  So I get the call and a young grieving widow offers to let me borrow her husband’s heart. That was exactly 600 days ago. Exactly one day ago, I got my 18th and final biopsy. It and almost all of the 17 before have gone well. Each one easier than the one before if that is possible. But unless I get sick or slip into a rejection episode, 18 of those trips to Disney World will be it.

  And now for the part about me. During the past 600 days, I have had a chance to see up close what a second chance at life looks like. And I have shared some of what that’s like already. Not all of that has been smooth sailing, but I am no longer in a leaking lifeboat. During this time I got shingles like many others get, and I had to have a rather nasty and scary skin cancer cut out. Many transplant recipients experience that. And yesterday I had an MRI along with my Two for Tuesday biopsy which confirmed a ruptured disc squished between L-5 and L-4. Like we really care what the L it is next to. This hurt more than the transplant or my knee replacement, and I don’t even know how I did it. It hurt so bad I found myself calling out to Jesus for help. Since that call did not go through, I found myself wondering if there is something to be learned from all this pain. It sure would be a waste of everyone’s time to have a pain that bad without something important to be learned. I told a friend that I finally figured out the lesson only to be told that I had called them only a few days earlier with a different lesson. OK then, pain so bad, it comes with two lessons. My original theory was that I was being shown what Paige might be going through since her wreck several years ago. But that wouldn’t make sense because this is supposed to be about me.

  The lesson I am to learn is how I lived the past 600 days. OK, most of the time, I was sufficiently grateful and thankful and appreciative, but I also found ample time to do rehab on my pride. During these 600 days, I was very diligent about doing everything they told me to do regarding post-transplant rehab. “Slow and steady and make it part of your daily/weekly routine until it i
s a habit.” I have done strength training 132 times since my transplant. I record each one on a chart inside a blue folder with my name on it in a big clear plastic organizer behind the folder with Paige’s name. 132 trips in all kinds of weather, and I recorded each machine I used that day and how many reps and how many sets, and when I finally got to slightly increase the weight under the watchful eye of the main PT guy. Plus treadmill sessions. Of course, I was just doing what I was told. OK, I was doing a few more of them than maybe I was told to do. But this was my ticket back to where I had been 10 years ago. I could play with our granddaughter, I could hunt with David and Jim and Jamison and Brian, I could hike with everybody up in Colorado, I could get back in the river that is my soul, and I could play golf again, perhaps like before. I kept telling myself the more I put in, the more I will get out. More of that return on investment thing.

  Pride did not turn my rehab into something bad; pride stole why I was doing it at all. Nothing wrong at all about getting back into shape, nothing wrong at all. I just seemed to forget that while my heart is 30-something years old, my knees, hips, and discs are 65. I also seemed to forget that 132 workouts or a thousand, none of them were possible without the donor family, the folks at Seton, my supportive family and friends, and a million things that could have gone wrong, but haven’t. Not yet anyway.

  One drawback to living 300 miles from the transplant hospital is that it is harder to stay in touch with the others in the program. Nurses and doctors, techs, and IV “cultists” I get to see most every visit. But the others who experienced the same or similar struggles as I, those guys I miss. And the ones whose struggles and ordeals were far worse, my heart really goes out to them.

  OK, back to the tux and wedding ring. On those investments, there is a different kind of return, one that is realized even without having to sell it. But who sells a used tuxedo or wedding ring? Many of these thoughts came to me as we were planning to attend the wedding of our sweet niece. I even ordered a new tux, pretty sure that I would not have a chance to wear it enough times to offset the cost of renting one. Some investments have returns far greater than percentages can measure. Tuxedos. Wedding rings. Letting someone have your organs when you are through.

  Ed’s Note: This was written on February 28th but not sent to you guys because of the disc issues. I found out the next day that I would not be able to attend the special wedding because I got the unhappy disc surgically repaired. I also lost another one of my fellow transplant guys after a very long and very arduous battle. It is a very humbling experience to be part of a group of men and women desperately trying to stay alive long enough for a transplant, or an LVAD, only to witness their battle with endless complications. Particularly when my transplant went so smoothly. Like I said, pretty humbling.

  Live well, like your joints are young again.

  ed

  THE THIRD DAVID

  (BY PAIGE)

  One of the greatest blessings of Ed’s illness has been David Terreson. When Ed was diagnosed with cardiomyopathy, we had all of the test results sent to my brother, Jim Kemper, who is an otologist in Austin. Jim, who is our in-family consultant on all medical questions, read everything carefully. Ed’s woefully low ejection fraction was only one of many red flags but was particularly alarming. In his kind, measured way, Jim told Ed he wanted him to “come as soon as possible to Austin and see my friend David Terreson. He is a fantastic cardiologist and a great guy. I want him to check you out. This needs to be done now, Ed.”

  Truer words have never been spoken. David Terreson and his wife, Pam, have shared their lives with us now for over ten years. There was an immediate rapport between David and Ed that was brought about by shared interests in hunting, fly fishing, economics, sports, and the fact that their wives became fast friends, hiking all over the mountains while the boys pursued trout on float trips and wet wading. David has a disarming self-deprecating manner and humor, is a terrific chef, and possesses an encyclopedic knowledge of the human heart. His medical training is superior, and his Pascagoula, Mississippi, accent belies a razor-sharp intellect. He and Pam have been steadfast friends, gracious hosts, incomparable guests, and delightful adventurers with us for many summers in Austin, Midland, and Colorado.

  The fact that David Terreson was able to keep Ed’s flaccid, worn-out heart beating for almost ten years after taking over his case is a credit to his skill as a doctor and Ed’s compliance as a patient. The only time they really had a disagreement was over Ed’s determination to climb Half Dome.

  Ed has read every word written by the great naturalist John Muir. His book My First Summer in the Sierra lit a fire within my husband of evangelical intensity. Ed started training to climb Half Dome, the signature granite monolith of Yosemite National Park.

  Climbing Half Dome is done by people of varying fitness levels and completed by many of them successfully. The last five hundred feet of the climb, up metal cables for one’s hands and boards at forty-foot intervals for one’s feet, is extremely rigorous. Of course, that is after hiking eight miles to the base of Half Dome. Once the summit is attained and pictures are taken, “what goes up must come down,” and the climber has to descend along the same cables. All of this ascending and descending is accompanied by scores of other climbers of varying abilities, putting one another in varying degrees of peril. Dry granite is slippery. Wet granite is deadly slick. People die on Half Dome every year due to ill-preparation, poor conditioning, lightning strikes, inclement weather, their own carelessness or that of other climbers, or just bad luck. Ed could not wait to get to Yosemite!

  Of course, he shared this awesome plan with his outdoorsy friend and doctor, David. David told him there was no way that any of those people who had climbed Half Dome had advanced cardiomyopathy. Ed would be putting his life at tremendous risk. He would be in a wilderness area where he could not be evacuated in a timely manner. The elevation change in a single day is 4,800 feet. Ed needed to realize this was a dangerous idea and forget about it.

  God bless David Terreson. He called me. He urged me to try to reason with Ed. I told David that I understood his concerns. I knew they were valid. I told him that there was no way I could discourage Ed from attempting the climb.

  Life is fleeting and precious. Our experiences validate and confirm our appreciation of each breath we take. We are all living on borrowed time. The difference with Ed was he knew his time was very limited. Heart disease would kill him, more likely sooner than later. He was racing mortality to squeeze every last glorious moment in before it was too late. “Die Trying” was the name of his drift boat and his motto. I would not kill his spirit by trying to deny him the chance to climb that iconic American symbol of the wilderness he loved.

  Ed climbed Half Dome. A framed picture of Ed, standing on top of Half Dome with his arms outstretched in triumph, sits in a place of honor on David’s desk.

  From: Paige Innerarity

  Sent: Sunday, January 29, 2017

  Subject: Daniel

  Dear Lisa,

  Ed told me that when he spoke with you today he learned that Daniel had died. Daniel, who I met one time because we were at the same table at the Christmas luncheon at Seton. Daniel, who was wheeled down from his hospital room connected to a whole cartload of IVs, monitors, and medical devices, just like Ed had been when he was being evaluated as a transplant candidate. But not at all like Ed, because Daniel’s lips were blue; he was incredibly weak, wrapped in multiple blankets and layers to keep him warm; and he could barely whisper “hello” when we all introduced ourselves. Ed was never that thin, that sick, that hollow-eyed. Daniel, whose sweet wife filled a plate with food from the buffet, encouraging him to eat, watching his every move, his every breath, with love. I remember doing that. I remember trying to be available but not hovering, helpful but not smothering, walking a tightrope over a minefield of my own and Ed’s emotions. I don’t think I did it with the grace of Daniel’s wife. No, I am sure I didn’t.

  I was deeply impressed with
both of them. I thought Daniel and his wife incredibly brave to come to the luncheon when he was so sick. They didn’t know any of us in that room, except you and some of the other hospital folks who were all working like crazy to try and save his life. We tried, not too successfully, to engage them in conversation. Perhaps we didn’t try hard enough. Perhaps they just wanted to sit there, be part of a Christmas lunch, and feel included. Dear God, I hope they felt included. I do remember being amazed when Daniel whispered that his father had received a heart transplant. I hope his father had a good outcome. Daniel did not say, and we did not ask.

  When we passed the microphone around the room, and it was Daniel’s turn, he waved it away and covered his face with his hands. I wanted to climb under the table. His wife took the microphone from him and said, “This is my husband, Daniel. We have noticed that everyone who has received a transplant has a number. We hope that Daniel will be getting a number very soon.” Anyone and everyone who heard that statement must have held that same hope, looking at that dear couple who shared so honestly their vulnerability, fear, and deepest desire with us.

  Ed was the 382nd transplant at Seton, and the 13th transplant for 2015. Only because some individual, or a grieving family, stepped up and made the offer of life did Ed get his number, his chance to live. Daniel never received his number and I cannot stop thinking about him.

  Lisa, I cannot thank you enough for the job you do. I cannot thank any of you at the transplant center adequately, and it is ludicrous for me to try, but I will never stop trying. My job, Ed’s job, our family’s job is to beat the drums, ring the bells, and tell the world to DONATE LIFE. It is not enough to be grateful, ever. Daniel did not get his number, and that is reason enough to tell the world there are too many people who die waiting for that phone call from the transplant center.