Strangers In Time

“Never talk to strangers. You might be kidnapped or sold as a slave or even murdered.” Those were my mother’s ominous words to me when I was a child. As I grew older that dire warning faded.

Years later I was shocked. At some juncture I had met a stranger. No word was ever spoken so I was safe, or was I?

It was like an encounter with a pickpocket. The stealth is only noticed later when you get home and exclaim, “Oh, no, my watch is gone!” There was never a moment when you could say, “Ah, that was when it happened.” This thief of time left a so-called calling card behind, but not one I ever could have imagined. It was invisible. The shock left me gasping for breath.

An ECG initiated this unwanted journey through time. After enduring many tests, the cardiologist at the Trillium Hospital told me, “You have Congestive Heart Failure or CHF. We don’t know why. There is no obvious cause. We can only think that a virus has weakened your heart muscle. The heart cannot repair itself like other muscles and must work harder to maintain its function.”

A virus with no name! The stranger. “Oh, no.”

I continued being active and in 2012 my wife and I moved to Amsterdam for my work. A year later I was diagnosed with diabetes mellitus. Strange. Not being overweight, a healthy diet, and exercising should have prevented it. My blood glucose was seven times the norm.

Visits to the local hospital, the Ziekenhuis Amstelland, were common. In January of 2014 these catalyzing words came from the cardiologist, “You must stop working. You will need a heart transplant.”

That did it. Full of dread at this predicament I told my employer, “I must return home to Toronto and my family and deal with my health.”

The CHF had done its damage. Medication was no longer effective. Edema was a sure sign of that, leaving me gasping for breath. A series of tests in November of that year prepared the way for a transplant at the Toronto General Hospital.

During the week of the 2015 Easter weekend I was in hospital with edema. On the Thursday evening I was told my name had been entered on the list of patients waiting for a transplant. I was to be discharged the following morning. Keen to get going I was packing my belongings when the nurse said, “You are not going home today. We may have a heart for you.” Stunned I sank back on the bed. Tears welled up in churning emotions.

Just in time another stranger had crossed my path. No words could ever be spoken, and unlike that unknown thief this stranger left their heart for my wellbeing.

The gift of life: so unselfish, so humane and so unconditional.

It was Good Friday. I was in good hands.

As I lay on the operating table feeling comfortably numb and remote from time signing the waiver to receive a new lease on life came easily before the lights went out.

Five hours later my wife was relieved when the surgeon came into the waiting room smiling, and told her “The operation went well, just peachy, the way transplants should go.” It was after ten that night.

In the days following the surgery my family gathered. From Montreal, Australia and Florida my daughters came, and then my sister from Connecticut to join my wife and me. Five days later we celebrated my birthday with heart. Well wishes poured in from far and near.

The good news is this stranger’s heart gave me time enough and more to accompany my daughters down the aisle, complete the Ride for Heart charity event again, and, while traveling, by chance to sit on a bench next to a statue of Mark Twain.

In time the question has become: How can I thank this stranger for their gift if they are no longer present?

Surely it must be to . . . Talk, and talk all about that gift of life. Giving is better than receiving. You, who give life by leaving your organs and tissues for strangers, know that they will thank you and think of you, their donor, for all time.