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Shirley Hrastich
In December of 1995, I was confronted by two liver transplant surgeons while
I was a patient in Barnes-Jewish Hospital. I was a patient due to my second
GI bleed due to a liver condition I had called Primary Biliary Cirrhosis. My
14-year-old sister died of this same disease on March 5, 1959. At that time,
there was no such thing as transplants, let alone any type of medication that
could have cured her. When the doctors told me that I needed to undergo an
evaluation and my name be put on the transplant list, I had mixed emotions.
I went through all the tests and was officially placed on the liver transplant
list around the first of February 1996. I was still apprehensive for several
months until April 1996. I met a wonderful man that I wanted to spend the rest
of my life with. We set a wedding date for December 28, 1996. According to my
blood type, I really did not expect to receive a transplant until February 1997.
I was making preparations for my wedding when, on November 8, 1996, at about
1:10 p.m., I was called to report to the admitting office at Barnes-Jewish
Hospital. A liver was found for me and, if the test on the liver to be
transplanted and my tests turned out all right, then the liver would be mine.
I was still a little apprehensive, but on the ride to the hospital, I realized
what was ahead for me. In a couple months I would be marrying a man I searched
for all my life; I would be able to watch my grandchildren grow up and would be
given a second chance on life. What more could a person ask? Seven weeks later,
on December 28, 1996, I walked down the aisle at my wedding. A month or so
after my transplant, I wrote a letter to my donor family. There were not enough
words in my heart to express all that I felt. My only wish for the future is
that one day I would be able to meet the family that gave me a second chance at
life.
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