Brian Willasch

Photo courtesy of Brian Willasch

When you're only 26 years old and yet your liver is destined to fail in every function — to cut short your young, active life — you tend to be in denial.

Brian Willasch was entitled to such a reaction. The young Arizona, man had previously embraced a healthy lifestyle — with the possible exception of numerous spirited games of football. He didn't smoke, refrained from alcohol and worked as a waiter to help with college expenses.

But life — and genetics — had dealt him a tough card. Brian had developed Budd-Chiari syndrome, a rare disorder in which an obstruction of the liver's hepatic vein causes advanced cirrhosis and ascites (fluid in the abdominal cavity). For Brian, the news that he could die without a liver transplant was an overwhelming prospect.

"This blew my mind. At this age, you feel invincible," admits Brian, who had a hard time accepting the grim reality of his condition even as his body deteriorated. By October 2000, the ascites had caused so much fluid to accumulate in his abdomen that he suffered constant back pain. Yet he had to avoid pain medications so as not to cause more liver damage. "I knew I was so sick, yet I toughed it out and avoided going to the emergency room," he confesses.

The big reality check came for Brian two days before Christmas in 2000, when he saw the words "transplant patient" on some of his paperwork at Mayo Clinic Hospital (MCH). His mother and sister were with him at the time, but there was little to soften the blow that he was that sick and was listed for a liver transplant.

By January 22 of the new year, Brian, severely weakened, was admitted to the Intensive Care Unit at MCH. "As time went on, they pretty much told me I had very little time left," Brian recalls somberly.

Fast forward to Feb. 12, 2001: Dr. David Mulligan, chair, Transplant Surgery at Mayo Clinic in Arizona, has entered Brian's hospital room to announce: "Start fasting. No food. Nothing. We have a potential liver." Although Brian was warned there were no guarantees that the donor liver would be appropriate for his body, he relaxed. For some reason, fear did not overtake him — only excitement. "I had a big smile on my face and at 11:30 p.m. they were ready for me." Even the hospital housekeeper who tidied his room flashed him a smile and said, "I have a good feeling about this."

The last thing Brian recalls before surgery was Dr. Mulligan, who had an oversized radio by his side, asking him, "What kind of music do you like?" Brian recalls he enjoyed about 20 seconds a great blues music before he went to sleep under the anesthesia.

The liver, a cadaveric organ from out of state, was an excellent match. Brian made an amazingly good recovery. He now attends college full-time, has a girlfriend and avoids football as part of his personal commitment to protect his precious new liver.

It was a special time for Brian in October 2002 when he volunteered to help serve food at a very special occasion for his former employer, Michael's at the Citadel, in Arizona. Michael's catered the Third Annual Celebration of Life reunion of transplant donors, recipients and family members at the Arizona Transplant House in Scottsdale.

"When I see myself each day, there's not a moment that goes by that I don't think about how thankful I am," says Brian.