Transplant Legacy: A Little Life

Column by The Post's David Wecker

Nine-month-old Delaney Kuhlman is an active child. Aggressive, too. She's an aggressive crawler, with an urgent squeal and an aggressive little laugh. She likes it when you hold her hands so she can hop aggressively on her sturdy legs, look up at you and give you one of her delighted-to-be-here smiles.

On Oct. 11, the day her mother died, Delaney was aggressively helping her father and his family make sense of things. They were gathered at Delaney's grandparents' home in Southgate, Ky. All the aunts and uncles were there, along with Grandma Bet and Grandpa Tom and the youngest of their five, Delaney's dad, Keith.

And there in the middle of all their sorrow was this brilliant baby, aggressively crawling from one to the other, reminding them of all they had to be thankful for.

Cindy Claypoole Kuhlman wasn't supposed to be able to have a baby.

In 1980, when she was 7 years old, Cindy was diagnosed with juvenile diabetes. Her condition grew progressively worse so that, from the time she was 11, she was in and out of the hospital.

Three years ago, her pancreas failed. She underwent transplant surgery at the A.B. Chandler Medical Center at the University of Kentucky in Lexington to receive a new pancreas and kidney. She later learned the donor was a 19-year-old boy who'd been killed in a car crash. Cindy's mother, Charlotte Claypoole, remembers asking God to comfort the boy's parents.

Charlotte also remembers thinking that, from there on out, Cindy would be fine. Of course, there wasn't any expecting Cindy could ever have a baby. Even Cindy - who was known for never complaining, not even when her teeth were clenched in pain - had reconciled that much to herself.

So Delaney was a beautiful surprise - a healthy, boisterous, feisty surprise. ''Our miracle baby.'' That's what Charlotte and all the Kuhlman women called her. At family gatherings, they were all reluctant to pass her around. They all tried to keep that baby to themselves.

Three weeks ago, Cindy and Keith found a sitter and went out to celebrate their anniversary. Later that night, Cindy began feeling sick to her stomach. She was admitted to St. Luke Hospital. The signs indicated she was going into rejection.

She was taken in an ambulance to Chandler Medical Center for further tests. It was Sept. 25, on the anniversary of her marriage to Keith.

''They did a kidney biopsy, and it turned out Cindy was in what they called 'acute' and 'chronic' rejection,'' Charlotte said.

''So they brought in the big guns, whatever that anti-rejection medicine is called.''

The Kuhlmans all visited her in the hospital, the women especially. Cindy would tell them not to worry. She said she'd had three years that she wouldn't have had otherwise. She told them they were the best three years she could imagine.

On Oct. 9, Cindy returned to her home in Alexandria. The next day, Keith stepped out briefly. Cindy drew a drink of water to take with her medicine. As she turned away from the kitchen sink, her leg snapped. They say those anti-rejection drugs do a number on the bones. In any case, Cindy was lying there on the kitchen floor when Keith got home.

The next day, she underwent a procedure at St. Luke to mend her leg. Her pain medication was increased from a dose every 10 minutes to one every five minutes. The day after that, around noon, she stopped breathing.

My wife, Karen, was sobbing when she called with the news. She said she was headed to St. Luke to be with her brother, Keith. All the Kuhlmans were going to St. Luke.

It was a dazzling blue day, utterly cloudless. Keith noticed it. One day, when Delaney can understand, Keith will tell her how blue the sky was.

The same blue sky stretched over the funeral. There was a gathering afterwards at a sister's home in southern Campbell County. I asked Keith to let me know if there was something I could do. He wondered if I could put out the word about transplants.

''People always talk about signing up to be organ donors, but they never get around to it,'' he said.

That's me. If it's you, too, and you'd like to do something about it, here's how to start:

Talk to your family. Let them know that, when the time comes, you want to be a donor. They're the ones who will have to sign the forms at the hospital. You can also indicate your wishes in a living will.

Ask for a donor card to fill out when you renew your driver's license. You can even take a ball point pen and sign your name on the appropriate line on your driver's license. Press hard and leave room for two witnesses to sign.

For more information about becoming an organ donor, you can call the Ohio Valley Life Center at 513-558-5555 or 1-800-981-LIFE. Or call the Kentucky Organ Donor Affiliates at 859-278-3492.

Keith signed the papers for Cindy to be a donor the day she died.

''I wish people knew what transplants can make possible,'' he said.

''In Cindy's case, she had more energy, she could eat what she wanted and she didn't have to wear that insulin pump. On top of it all, we had Delaney.

''That baby's a symbol of what can come from a transplant.''

You can contact David Wecker at (513) 352-2791 or via e-mail at sambets@choice.net

Copyright © 1999 The Cincinnati Post.

This article posted November 8, 2000.