A Heart Transplant Survivor Story
Memoir
Date Published: December 12, 2023
Publisher: Acorn Publishing
Darla Calvet is a thirty-nine-year-old working mom whose life turns upside down when she is diagnosed with congestive heart failure. Suddenly, fear threatens her dreams for the future as doctors’ appointments replace her daily routines and she realizes she may not live to see her daughters grow up. After dying twice while waiting for a new heart, Darla begins to understand her own resiliency—her heart may be weak, but her mind refuses to give up.
My Life in Stitches: A Heart Transplant Survivor Story is a candid, witty account of one woman's determination to transform a devastating prognosis into an inspiring fight for survival. Darla’s story offers insight into the complex world of medicine with a dose of humor about her challenges and victories as a heart transplant patient. In this sensitive, thorough, and informative debut, Calvet brings compassion and gentle wisdom to a difficult subject in hopes of demystifying the uncertainties that inevitably accompany long-term, life-threatening medical decisions.
from the
beginning of Chapter 1
My fears that something was seriously wrong were confirmed as we checked into the musty, overcrowded emergency room. I showed the admitting clerk my elephantine ankles, and she immediately bumped me to the head of the line. I was out of breath and wheezed repeatedly. I thanked her on my way to the exam room and gasped, “I can’t breathe.” She looked me straight in the eye and responded, “You have a heart virus. I can already tell.” She was correct in her diagnosis.
After being quickly assessed in the triage area, the silver- haired, haggard-looking physician on duty looked at my vital signs and ankles. He frowned. “It looks like you are in heart failure. They are going to transport you to the regular hospital for tests and admittance.” Before I could plead with him for more information, he was gone. I noticed that the man in the bed next to me began urinating in a bedpan. I wanted to scream but shut my eyes instead. I prayed to God that this was some kind of horrible dream, and I would wake up in my normal life. I was only thirty-nine years old.
A half hour passed, and two young male paramedics loaded me up on a sitting gurney. It was bright yellow and black and reminded me of a giant bumblebee robot transformer. Although I must have looked monstrous with my slicked-back hair and sweating forehead, they were kind to me and tried to be reassuring. “Okay miss, we will be transporting you over to the main hospital now,” said one of them as he lifted up the giant gurney.
The half-mile trip between the emergency room and the main hospital was a ridiculous exercise in logistics. It took them twenty minutes to get me loaded and buckled in, then five minutes to drive over to the main building and another twenty to unload me. They placed me in a temporary patient holding room on the main floor of the hospital, where I encountered a pudgy, peroxided nurse.
My husband Pat had gone home to leave the kids with some trusted neighbors while I waited for more treatment. I sat alone in the holding room in a despondent state. After hours of sitting alone considering my bleak diagnosis, a tall, older priest with a shock of white hair entered the room, smiling. I took one look at him and whispered, “Oh my God. Are you here to administer the Last Rites?”
In a predictable Irish brogue, he took my hand and replied, “No, child. I am just here to see if you are hungry. I know you have been here a while. I brought you a bit of something.” He pulled his hand from his shirt pocket and produced a tiny peanut butter sandwich, neatly wrapped in plastic. I had been at the hospital for over eighteen hours and had been given nothing but water and intravenous fluid. “Oh, thank you, Father,” I said with relief. “Yes, I am a bit hungry, and I would love that.” We both shared a good laugh before he gave me a standard blessing and continued his rounds. I was going to need it.
The first lesson I learned as a heart
transplant patient is that a sense of humor is vital on the road to recovery.
You cannot survive without it.
About the Author
A heart transplant survivor, Dr. Darla Calvet won a gold medal for ballroom dance in the 2022 Transplant Games of America. Currently, she serves as the vice president of the board of directors for the Southern California Transplant Games of America team. She is also the CEO of Blue Tiger, Inc., a strategic planning consultancy. A doctor of education, Calvet holds degrees from Claremont Graduate University, San Diego State University, and the University of California, Berkeley. She lives in San Diego, California, with her husband Pat and their French bulldog Quinn, and she is the proud mom of two adult daughters, Claire and Annie.
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