Priscilla French surprised herself in late August 2005 when she ran out of breath in mid-sentence. Energetic and active at age 59, she lived in the Phoenix area and worked in tourism sales, so gasping for air between words soon led her to consult a physician.

Her physician prescribed a diuretic to treat a trace of fluid on her lungs, saying her breathing should clear up soon. "I thought I had something that would go away in two days," French recalls. Instead, she encountered more surprises: nearly drowning during a quick swim that instantly made her breathless and weak; fading strength and energy; and feeling too exhausted to drive after a routine procedure to drain her lungs.

Priscilla French walks a short distance down an area nature trail with her faithful companion, Honey Bunny, right behind.

French's clinic arranged for her to see a heart specialist in October. She never made it to the appointment. "It got worse and worse. I couldn't go in to work. I just couldn't breathe," she says.

On Sept. 27, 2005, French's deteriorating condition became critical. She remembers struggling for air, a friend driving her to a local hospital emergency room, and then events blurred. A cardiologist at the hospital determined she had heart failure, attached her to an emergency heart pump, and had her transferred by ambulance to Mayo Clinic Hospital in Phoenix.

French arrived at Mayo in grave condition. "Without medical treatment, she would have died within six hours," says Francisco Arabia, M.D., surgical director of the Heart Transplant Program at Mayo Clinic in Arizona. "Her heart was not pumping much blood. Blood clots were forming inside the heart because of the low blood flow. We knew she needed a heart transplant."

French was too weak for major surgery, so Dr. Arabia performed a procedure to remove the clots, thus preventing a stroke. He also connected two ventricular assist devices (VADs) to her heart to restore normal pumping and help French regain strength.

Two days later, French awoke to find herself in the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit. Dilated cardiomyopathy, often undetected until an emergency, had developed over the years, causing her heart to expand and weaken. Her older sister, Janice, had received the same diagnosis seven years earlier but did not qualify for a heart transplant because of other smoking-related damage.

Hooked to medical equipment and still fatigued, French felt unrecognizable. "I was just a totally different person," she says. After six days with VAD-powered circulation, she was strong enough to undergo surgery and was placed on the transplant waiting list.

A dramatic beginning

The day before French arrived at Mayo Clinic, the United Network for Organ Sharing (UNOS), which coordinates the nation's transplant system, approved Mayo Clinic in Arizona for heart transplantation, and the Heart Transplant Program officially opened at Mayo Clinic Hospital and Mayo Clinic's campus in Scottsdale.

Mayo Clinic, whose three campuses perform more solid organ transplants than any other U.S. medical center, had announced plans in September 2004 to introduce heart transplantation to Phoenix, the nation's fifth-largest metro area. At the time, the only Arizona hospital performing heart transplants was in Tucson, 120 miles away.

Mayo Clinic recruited Dr. Arabia, who had performed 120 heart transplants and assisted on nearly 200 more, to be surgical director and Robert L. Scott, M.D., to be medical director; invested in the latest mechanical circulatory technology for patients awaiting a transplant; and trained an integrated multidisciplinary team of about 20 people.

Happy to be alive

French's critical condition put her near the top of the waiting list. "I didn't want somebody to die for me," she recalls. She felt anxious, not fearful. "I didn't think about life and death. I trusted my doctors."

"There's no doubt that having a transplant program here in Phoenix makes it easier for the family in a difficult time."
Francisco Arabia, M.D. (front) + Robert L. Scott, M.D.

On Oct. 19, 2005, UNOS contacted Mayo Clinic with a match — a heart that would be medically compatible with French. The surgical team, the medical team and French were ready when the transport team returned with the heart from a donor at another medical center. The eight-hour surgery was complex yet went as planned: A new heart started beating in the chest of Priscilla French, the first heart-transplant recipient at Mayo Clinic Hospital.

She was discharged from the hospital on Nov. 9, 2005. The postsurgical pain slowly faded. She shed 27 pounds after temporarily losing her sense of taste, a common side effect of heart surgery. Waking up became a daily blessing. "Every day I'd see the sun and thank God," she says.

A distinct need for transplants

In its first year, the Heart Transplant Program performed 18 transplants — triple the projected number. "There's no doubt that having a transplant program here in Phoenix makes it easier for the family in a difficult time," Dr. Arabia says. "When the family is closer, they're able to provide more support to the patient."

The program's specialized transport team also helps save lives. "Three times last week they went to pick up patients who were dying," Dr. Arabia says. "We had a 16-year-old male whose heart stopped twice in the ambulance. We got him on a VAD within 45 minutes of receiving the call."

Meanwhile, this highly visible program has brought more patients with all kinds of heart problems to Mayo Clinic for all kinds of answers.

Enjoying every day

Sixteen months after her transplant, French lives independently and continues to gradually regain strength and add activities: climbing stairs, driving, swimming, traveling. "My next challenge is hiking," she says. "I want to get back into everything I used to do."

She joined the New Life Society, a group of about 50 transplant recipients, and helped organize a support group for people who received a new heart at Mayo Clinic. Her sister Janice died from cardiomyopathy in August 2006 at the age of 68. "I was the lucky one," French says. "She couldn't get a heart."

French must take immunosuppressive medications to maintain a delicate balance that prevents her body from rejecting the new heart and still protects her from infection. Those pills and a new heart have made it possible for her to celebrate her 61st birthday and to build a new life with her faithful companion, a furry, white lapdog named Honey Bunny.

"I'm still here," French says with profound appreciation for the magnitude of that simple statement. "I live every day to enjoy it."