Will Martin

The young radio host adjusts his headphones, leans into a studio mike and calmly says, "Welcome, Savannah, to another episode of Tiger Beat with WHCJ's very own Will Serious."

It's a distinctive name, Will "Serious," and befitting of someone who began to lose his life when he was only 4 years old. "My family noticed I was constantly drinking water and running back and forth to the bathroom," says Will, known outside the studio as Will Martin IV. "When they looked at my face they could see something wasn't right."

"We thought he had a virus," says his dad, Will Martin III.

The Martins took their son to a doctor. "His blood sugar was 900 high," says his mom, Barbara, "and he was in the preliminary stage of comatose." Will was hospitalized with type 1, or insulin dependent, diabetes.

"I didn't understand what it meant," says Will. "At that age, those were just words I couldn't spell."

His parents, however, understood it all too well. Diabetes had been in the family, and type 1 meant Will's pancreas had stopped producing insulin. "But how do you explain that to a child?" asks his dad. "How do you tell him he'll take needles the rest of his life. That he'll spend his fifth birthday in a hospital bed, and he'll never taste a piece of birthday cake again?"

"I'll never forget," says his mom. "The hospital brought him a birthday cupcake, but he wasn't allowed to eat it."

It was a long time before Will understood what was wrong, but right from the start he knew he was different from the other kids. In his child's innocence, he thought he'd done something shameful. So, he told no one about the disease. Instead, when cake and ice cream and candy came around, he just said he wasn't hungry.

Of course, kids will be kids. "And like everyone, I got into my share of mischief when Mom and Dad weren't looking," says Will, unable to conceal a telltale smile. "My mischief was sneaking things I shouldn't eat or drink. If I saw the opportunity and I wanted it, I took it." He also paid the price.

"My blood sugar level would go up and that meant another needle stick in the finger and another shot of insulin. But what a way to go."

Best Laid Plans

Sticks and shots became a way of life. Will grew up, entered Savannah State University on a scholarship and planned his future in radio and TV.

"In my sophomore year, I started swelling up," he says. "People said I was gaining weight and getting fat. I never told them I had diabetes."

Blurred vision brought things into focus.

"When we took Will to have his eyes checked," says his father, "we were told he should give up college and learn Braille because within a year he'd be totally blind for life. The sugar had gone too far. There was no reverse. The doctor also said diabetic blindness may be a signal that his kidneys were failing. It was hurtful, but in my heart, I knew the last man hadn't spoken yet."

Will was of the same mind. "I said no way. I'm 20. I'm immortal. Nothing can hurt me. I'm getting my kidneys checked just to shut that doctor up."

The test showed Will's kidneys were functioning at 50 percent. Diabetes damages tiny blood vessels, which can cause problems such as vision loss and poor kidney function. The kidneys filter waste, chemicals and excess water from the blood. When they don't function well, the blood must be cleaned by other means.

"The first time I heard the word dialysis," says Will, "I said this isn't my plan. My plan is to finish college, have my own radio show and work in TV. This other stuff just isn't happening."

But it was. He began dialysis at a Savannah clinic in January 2001.

"That's when it hit me," says Will. "I was in pretty deep. I was in a very serious situation."

"We inquired about a pancreas transplant," says his mother, Barbara, "but the doctor wanted to try to control Will's condition without surgery."

Despite dialysis, Will's kidney function deteriorated within three months to barely 10 percent. His blood sugar dropped with alarming frequency. "My mother kept vigils at my bed because I would slip into diabetic comas at night. So many times I woke up with paramedics standing over me, and she and my sister were there, crying. I thought, is this how I go out?

"I was mad at God for doing this to me until my Grandmother told me to stop blaming God and start telling Him what I needed. That's when I made up my mind to beat this thing. I asked my diabetes doctor and his physician assistant (PA) how could I overcome this? The PA said research had been done on islet cell replacement, but the procedure was risky. His main recommendation was a kidney transplant."

The family did some research. Donors were scarce. Waiting lists for organ transplants were long. "I'd say to any parent, it's hard on your child and it's hard on you," says Will III, "because you are feeling his pain and all you can do is pray, Lord, let me be able to do something for him."

Will and his family looked at transplant programs in the Carolinas, Georgia and Florida. Not realizing that Mayo Clinic had a kidney transplant program in nearby Jacksonville, they ended up driving nearly 1,000 miles round trip to another center.

"That's where we learned about the two-for-one procedure, the kidney/pancreas transplant," says Barbara, "and they put him on the transplant list."

But determination gave way to desperation. "They gave me a beeper," says Will. "They said they would call the minute they had a donor. I waited a year and a half, but that beeper never went off. I thought I was going to die waiting, and I started to give up. But my grandmother told me God had a purpose for my life, and I had to keep on."

Two things kept Will going: his otherwise good health and a special nurse at the dialysis clinic. "She was very aggressive," says Barbara, "and she was as impatient as Will for that beeper to go off. She was so frustrated, she said we should get on another list. She's the one who said there was a place called Mayo Clinic in Jacksonville. They had a transplant program, and we should get in touch with them."

Surprise, Surprise

"When I talked to the Mayo scheduler, I cut straight to the chase. I said I don't want to lose my eyesight and I don't want to lose my life. I want to beat this, and I had to get better for the people that count on me and need me. The scheduler surprised me. She said she'd arrange an appointment in the Endocrinology Department in a few days and my name would be all over it."

One visit was all it took. Will was put on the Mayo list for a kidney/pancreas transplant. "They thought a three- to six-month wait," says Will.

Then, another surprise.

"In less than a month Mayo's number popped up on my cell phone. They said, Mr. Martin, we have an organ donor. I was hysterical. I didn't even pack. I grabbed my dad and called my mom to say meet us in Jacksonville."

The date was Sept. 10, 2002.

"We got in the truck," says Will III, "turned on the flashers and hammered down I-95 at 115 miles an hour. Everyone moved out of the way until a state trooper pulled us over. I jumped out of the truck, showed him my son's papers, and he said, sir, just go and be careful. He must have radioed ahead, because no other patrol cars stopped us."

Teamwork, Technology, TLC

The Martins arrived at St. Luke's Hospital in the late afternoon. Mayo was waiting. "The whole team was there," says Will, "doctors, nurses, surgeons, anesthesiologist, they were all there."

As Will would learn, that's no surprise. Multispecialty team medicine is a defining strength at Mayo Clinic. Just as parts of the human body work together to function as a whole, Mayo Jacksonville's group practice of 342 specialists and scientists work together, pool their knowledge and employ treatments and technologies often not available elsewhere.

Will's medical team did a pre-operative workup and told everyone to get a good night's rest. The transplant would begin in the morning. "I felt safe," says Will, "like I was with uncles and aunts who knew me. That night I took my last insulin shot, and the anesthesiologist came to get me at 4 in the morning."

Will said so long to his family and goodbye to diabetes at the double doors to the operating room. "Next thing I knew, everyone was saying, how are you, you must be hurting. I said, yeah, but it's the best pain I ever felt."

He would stay at St. Luke's for a month and a half, and Barbara intended to be at his bedside every minute. "All my life I dealt with so many hospital staffs," says Will. "I was always just another patient, and they were like you know, you win some, you lose some."

Mayo had another approach. "Right away, the Mayo nurses became my big sisters and foster moms. They understood what I was going through and what I needed every step of the way. After the first day, I told my mom she could go home."

"And I said, no way, Jose," laughs Barbara.

Six weeks later Will was standing in the radio station at Savannah State. "The manager gave me a hug and told me my show was a go. They wanted me on the air right away."

Despite his longing for that radio show, Will hesitated. He'd missed 2-1/2 months of his junior year, and old uncertainties nagged him. "I didn't know what people would think. My mom said that part of beating this was getting back in the game. I felt like an athlete coming back from an injury. The first time you go out to play, you're scared of getting cut again. But when I walked into to my classroom, everyone jumped up to hug me. They were all crying and so excited to see me well."

Here's to Life

"I used to blame God and ask, why me?" says Will. "But, like my grandmother said, I have a purpose. God had me to go through 18 years of suffering so I could help other people. Even if it's only one person, I'm here to say when your back's against the wall, when you're gonna' take a fall, that's when you start fighting for your life. And if you go, go out fighting because you might win, and great people are out there to help you."

Today, if you tune to Savannah State University's radio station, you'll hear, "Welcome, Savannah, to another episode of Tiger Beat with WHCJ's very own Will Serious."

Will is back. Back in school. Back on plan. Back in life. Back for a slice of cake on his 22nd birthday seven months after transplant surgery.

So, here's to life, Will Serious. Many happy returns.