My Second Heart Journey

My Friend’s Advice

A friend of mine is getting ready to row across the Atlantic Ocean. Yes, the actual Atlantic Ocean. Not across a lake, not down a lazy river, but across that enormous stretch of water separating continents.

He has a saying: “We all have oceans to cross, so keep rowing.”

That got me thinking about what we go through as transplant recipients. We’ve certainly rowed our way across a few oceans. Some days the water was calm. Other days it felt like we were rowing through a hurricane with one oar, a leaky boat, and a medical team yelling instructions from shore.

Before my transplant, I spent 67 days in the ICU waiting for a heart. That was an ocean all by itself. Every day felt like I was sitting in a boat, looking toward the horizon and wondering if land was ever going to appear.

Then the call finally came. A donor heart was available.

You’d think that would mean I had reached shore. Nope. I had simply traded one boat for another.

There was surgery, recovery, biopsies, bloodwork, medications, rejection worries, infection worries, tremors, kidney numbers, and enough medical appointments to qualify for frequent-flyer miles at the hospital.

Transplant recipients spend a lot of time rowing. We row through the fear of rejection. We row through medication changes. We row through test results we don’t understand until someone calls and explains them. Sometimes we row through Google at two in the morning, which is usually a terrible idea. According to Google, every minor symptom means you have three rare diseases and about six minutes to live.

There are days when we feel strong and could row all the way to Europe. Then there are days when walking to the garage feels like crossing the Atlantic while pulling another boat behind us.

But we keep rowing.

We row because somebody gave us another chance. In my case, that somebody was Charles. His gift put me back in the boat when I thought my journey might be over.

I still don’t know exactly where this ocean is taking me. None of us do. There may be rough water ahead. There may be storms, setbacks, and a few waves big enough to scare the heck out of me. I’m sure there will also be calm mornings, beautiful views, good laughs, and days when I stop long enough to realize just how far I’ve come.

My friend will have food, navigation equipment, emergency supplies, and all sorts of gear packed into his boat. As a transplant recipient, I have a pill organizer, hand sanitizer, an N95 mask, and enough medication to start a small pharmacy. We each prepare for the ocean in our own way.

His advice is simple, and I like it:

“We all have oceans to cross, so keep rowing.”

Some of us row across the Atlantic. Some row through illness, loss, fear, or uncertainty. Some of us row with a borrowed heart beating inside our chest.

The boat may rock. The weather may change. One of the oars may occasionally fall overboard.

Just grab it, sit back down, and keep rowing.

Frederick M. Hueston author of MY Heart Journey book series(7/19/26)