W. Texas woman donates kidney in brother's honor

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W. Texas woman donates kidney in brother's honor

By JON MARK BEILUE
Associated Press,  March 30, 2007, 11:12AM

AMARILLO — When things seemed their most bleak, Julie Arias exhaled a long breath and stared into space. That song, that "stupid song," as she called it, wouldn't leave her alone.

She's not even a country music fan, but the lyrics from a Lonestar song kept coming back to her: "Yeah, the good Lord gave us mountains so we could learn how to climb."

And then she would think of David. Not so much David Neely, a stranger who desperately needed a kidney transplant, but David Callahan, her older brother by four years.

It was 1990, but never seemed that long ago when she watched her brother, a lifelong diabetic, slowly die while awaiting a kidney and pancreas transplant that never came.

Though he was sick, he was still full of life until the end — hunting, fishing, gardening. David, 30, would sit with his sister in night classes when she was studying for her GED, but his illness had zapped him so badly he'd often fall asleep.

"He just inspired me to go for everything I wanted," Julie said. "As sick as he was, not much was going to stop him."

Julie's life had not been easy. As much joy as four children and eight grandchildren had brought her and husband Henry, there had also been much heartache.

Her mother, Marcia, had died of leukemia. Two years after her brother died, Joan, a younger sister, was killed by a drunken driver in Florida. She was a youth adviser taking some children to Disney World when she was struck by a car after the bus had broken down.

Now, it seemed so obvious, so clear. Here was a chance to save a life, to make a difference if she were able. How many are ever confronted with such a distinct decision and then said no?

"Because of my brother, I knew it was the right thing to do," she said.

Julie not only needed to do this. She wanted to do this.

Leigh Neely is the ACE coordinator at Palo Duro High School. Julie Arias is the director of the college talent search program at West Texas A&M University.

They were, at best, casual acquaintances when their job-related paths would cross — like what would be a life-changing conference last April in Austin.

During some downtime at breakfast, Leigh mentioned her husband, David Neely, was in need of a kidney transplant. He was one of more than 70,000 across the country who needed one.

A diabetic for 24 years, Neely, 35, had declined rapidly over the last three years. Two months before, doctors said his kidney was operating at only 16 percent and a transplant was the only option.

Julie asked to be put on an e-mail update list, that she would like to help in any way she could.

"You hear that, and you think, 'OK, maybe she'll cook a meal at some point,' " Leigh said.

The Neelys were confident they could find a match from a live donor. In the majority of cases, that comes from a family member where emotional attachment is high and a chance of a match is higher.

They thought they had one with David's brother, Steven. Testing, which began in July, had progressed enough that a surgery date was set. Then doctors discovered they weren't a match.

Neither were some cousins, an aunt or David's mother. Three months of trying to find a live donor had hit a wall.

David was on a donor list, meaning he could receive one from a cadaver at some point. But kidneys from live donors last three times as long, and David was getting weaker by the day.

"I had hope something good would happen," David said, "but just didn't know when it would be."

When Leigh told Julie her husband's dilemma nearly a year ago, it was, Julie said, like a kick in the gut.

It brought back memories of her brother. The Neelys had a 2-year-old son, Max, and Julie's brother had left behind a little boy when he died.

"Neither one of us understood what would eventually happen," Julie said. "I didn't think I could do anything except be a cheerleader and a shoulder to cry on."

Into September, the e-mail updates weren't encouraging. Julie's conscience wouldn't let her rest.

Her brother. That Lonestar song. An opportunity. So she asked Leigh if a donor had to be a blood relative.

"That's not a question you ask if you're just casually interested," Leigh said.

And, of course, Julie wasn't. By September, she had reached the decision that she wanted to give a kidney to a stranger so that he may live.

"They were desperate," Julie said. "I told Leigh that you don't have a choice. You have to let me do this."

Leigh thought it a noble, but far-fetched idea. It's a commitment that seemed just too much.

"I thought it was nuts for Julie to offer," Leigh said. "I kept telling her no, no, no. It's such a big deal. I tried to talk her out of it, but she was so persistent. I said, what about your family?"

Julie had taken care of that, already getting the blessing of Henry and their grown children.

"I told her if she wanted to do it, I was behind her," Henry said. "God willing, it would happen. To do something to help someone like that, that's about the best thing you can do."

The Neelys thought the chances of a match were low, just like with their family members and that would be that. But the blood test matched, and the antigens matched. Each test along the way brought more good news.

Julie showed no fear, no trepidation, no second thoughts. After each positive test, she pushed hospital officials to get the next one completed as soon as possible.

There were cheers and high-fives on Nov. 20 when it became official they were a match. The four went to dinner that night, the first time Julie and David had met.

The surgery would be performed by Dr. David Van Buren on Dec. 14 at Lubbock's University Medical Center.

Rejection. David's body would not accept Julie's kidney. For nine hellacious days, there was nothing.

Finally, on Dec. 23, doctors told them the day after Christmas, David would have to start dialysis. Too much fluid had built up in his body.

Julie had been released from the hospital, six days after surgery. Her selfless gesture seemed ultimately for naught.

Then, a miracle, nothing less. The day before dialysis, of all days, of all times, on Christmas morning, David's body accepted his new kidney.

David was released from the hospital on Dec. 30. He has lost nearly all of the 40 pounds he gained from fluid buildup.

His energy level is as high as he can remember. His weight is back to a normal 150 pounds.

"Every day I wake up to a whole new life," he said.

He continues to get good reports on post-operative checkups and very soon will return to work as a construction foreman, which he has been unable to do since August.

"All I can think of is how much I look up to Julie from the time she convinced Leigh to be tested," David said. "She didn't know me. But she went at it full throttle, pushing everyone to get it done. She's a big hero to me."

As for Julie, there was the initial intense pain following surgery and the 30 pounds of extra fluid weight.

She returned to work at WT on Feb. 14, 12 weeks after surgery. She took advantage of Christmas break and 30 sick leave days the state of Texas gives employees who donate an organ.

"I don't feel like I have one kidney," she said. "I'm not quite 100 percent, but I'm getting there. The only thing I can't do is contact sports — no football."

Julie believes most others would have done what she did, had they been touched in her life like she has. Maybe, maybe not. But the sacrifice to a stranger should be as significant as the life it healed.

"I could cry every time I see Julie because of what she did for our family," Leigh said. "Like David said in ICU, 'She gave us a chance to see our 3-year-old grow up.' What more could a person do for another?"

More than 6,500 people a year — 18 per day — die while waiting for an organ transplant, according to the United Network for Organ Sharing. Nearly 100,000 in the United States are waiting for an organ donation.

April is Organ Donation Awareness Month. Texans can help in the transplant shortage by becoming a donor of organ, tissues or eyes upon death. It can be done by registering at www.texasdear.org at any Texas Department of Public Safety office.

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