The greatest gift

Keith LaPrade

Courtesy of Crystal Wilkins

Lewis Quinn of Ferrum, with girlfriend Crystal Wilkins and their dogs Dakota and Johnny, received a liver transplant in 1995 when he was 19 years old.

Andrew Madison

Courtesy of Jerry and Jeanne Eichhorn

Jerry Eichhorn, with wife Jeanne, received a kidney transplant in 1991 after spending seven months on a waiting list.

This holiday season, Dena Reynolds is hoping Americans will choose to give the gift of life. Reynolds is the media relations manager for LifeNet Health, the largest provider of bio-implants and organs for transplantation in the United States.

It only takes a few minutes to register as an organ donor, but one person can save seven lives, restore sight to two people and enhance the lives of many others, said Reynolds.

According to LifeNet, there are more than 100,000 people nationwide awaiting organ transplants, with more than 2,500 in Virginia. About 18 die every day nationwide.

Following are stories of some area residents whose lives have been touched by organ donations.

Finding something positive

Keith LaPrade was at the top of his game in 2001. The 16-year-old junior at Franklin County High School was the school's marching band leader, a member of the National Honor Society and a varsity tennis player.

He also was an organ donor.

On Feb. 27, 2001, en route to his Rocky Mount home from tennis practice, Keith lost control of his car and struck a tree.

"He was in neurotrauma ICU for three days," said Jane LaPrade, his mother. "That was a tough three days."

Daniel and Jane LaPrade's two older daughters, one away at college and one living in Richmond, came as soon as they heard the news.

"They came to the hospital that night," said Jane LaPrade. "We did not leave the hospital at all the entire three days."

But there was nothing the doctors could do. When they were sure Keith wouldn't survive off the ventilator, the doctors asked his parents about donating his organs.

LaPrade said they were a little surprised to learn he had signed up to be a donor when he applied for his driver's license. Everyone in the family was already registered, but Keith had never told his parents he was as well.

"But he had talked with both of his sisters and told them it was what he wanted to do," said LaPrade. "He was real close to his sisters."

Because Keith was a minor, the doctors needed parental consent to harvest his organs. The family wanted to be with Keith when he drew his last breath, so they chose not to donate his primary organs, said LaPrade.

"We couldn't have been with him when they cut off the ventilator," she said. "We wanted to be by his side."

Keith still was able to donate. Surgeons harvested the skin from his back, which was used to help about 100 burn victims, said LaPrade. They took his eyes, leg bones and the pericardial sac, the tissue surrounding the heart.

LaPrade said knowing that, in death, Keith was able to help others has helped the family through the grieving process.

"You have to look for something positive," said LaPrade. "It helped us along our journey because we know that he has influenced a lot of other people, not only in the way he lived his life, but he was also able to give a portion of himself to help someone live, and live a better life."

This is not a test

Lewis Quinn was 19 when he got the phone call that would change his life. The lifelong Ferrum resident had been waiting six months for a liver transplant.

Quinn, 33, was born with biliary atresia. The only known treatments are surgery or transplantation. Left untreated, it can lead to liver failure.

In November 1995, Quinn was put on the transplant list. That day, he went home, packed a hospital bag and set it in his closet. Then all he had to do was wait for the pager to go off.

It actually beeped two or three times over the next six months, but it was only a test.

"Every time it went off, I perked up pretty good," said Quinn. "Then I'd call back and it'd be a recording about a test."

On April 28, 1996, he wasn't paged; he was called. At 19, he drove to Duke University Hospital in Durham, N.C., for the procedure. Quinn spent 22 days post-op at Duke and the nearby Ronald McDonald House.

"My mom was my rock during the whole thing," said Quinn. "My mom stayed with me during the week and my dad stayed with me through the weekends."

It wasn't easy for his parents because they'd been through it before. In 1984, Quinn's father received a kidney transplant. Quinn said his father tried to talk him through it, but Quinn rebuffed him.

"At 19, I'm still in my punk stage, I guess," said Quinn. "I think I know everything."

Almost 14 years later, despite some numbness around a scar that covers most of his abdomen, Quinn, a Nascar and video game fan and amateur drummer, is happy and healthy, but he doesn't discuss his transplant very much.

"Eventually, people do ask questions when they see a big-ass scar on your stomach," he said. "If somebody asks about it, I don't lie to 'em, but I don't voluntarily hand out that information."

Shortly after receiving his transplant, however, Quinn visited a family at Duke whose young son was waiting for a liver transplant.

Quinn admitted it was out of character for him to talk with someone, especially someone he didn't know, about what he'd been through.

"I went down there and talked to him and his parents and eased them through it," said Quinn. "Considering I've been through it, I figured it was something I could do to help them."

Now, Quinn's story is public, but he's OK with that. His story may lead someone to register as an organ donor. He is, and has been since he was 16 years old, applying for his driver's license, unaware that one day, he'd need a donor himself.

"I didn't really know about my condition when I got my driver's license," said Quinn. "I just thought it was the right thing to do."

Heroes come in small packages

Thinking of all the superhero movies that have come out in the past two years makes Linda Johnson somber. Her son, Andrew Madison, loved anything involving a superhero. One year, she bought him a Wolverine costume for Halloween. After the holiday passed, he continued to wear the outfit as pajamas.

"He just about wore those out," said Johnson of Bedford.

Andrew would have loved the latest movies, she said, but he died in 2007.

Andrew was born with a complex congenital heart disease. He had his first surgery at 4 weeks old and his first open-heart surgery at 8 months. Many more followed. When he was 6, the doctors told Johnson that Andrew needed a heart transplant.

He was on the list for 17 days before he had the transplant. The change was instantaneous.

"It was like Pinocchio turning into a real boy," said Johnson.

He learned to ride a bicycle and rollerskate. He loved jumping on the trampoline, playing with the family dog and climbing trees. In his last year, he had three girlfriends.

Then in the summer of 2007, his heart rate became elevated. Johnson took Andrew to Duke University Hospital for cardioversion, a shock therapy that slows the heart rate. En route, Andrew asked whether he'd die. Johnson assured him the procedure was safe.

"He said, 'If I died, can somebody else use my heart?' I said, 'No ... The heart can only be given away once.'"

Hearing that he could donate the other organs, Andrew said that's what he wanted to do if he died.

On Nov. 13, 2007, less than two months after his 14th birthday, he did. Johnson said the doctors think Andrew had a pulmonary embolism because he died so quickly. He was transported to a hospital in Lynchburg, but the doctors were unable to resuscitate him.

"He spent so long without oxygen, he couldn't donate any organs because you have to be alive and brain dead," said Johnson. "Once you're dead, you can only do eyes, tissues, bones."

His eyes restored sight in two people. And the harvested tissue helped 16 others.

Recalling the conversation she'd had with Andrew en route to Duke for cardioversion, Johnson said she had no problem giving parental consent for her own superhero to be a donor.

"It wasn't hard for me because somebody gave me seven years with him," said Johnson.

A sci-fi procedure

Every year, Jerry Eichhorn celebrates two birthdays -- April 5, when he was born 72 years ago, and May 6, when he received a kidney transplant 18 years ago.

Eichhorn, who moved to The Waterfront in Moneta with wife Jeanne in 2000, was born with polycystic kidney disease. It's a genetic disorder, passed down from his mother's side of the family.

Eichhorn said children have a 50-50 chance of inheriting the disease, but he and both of his siblings did. Eichhorn's mother died from the disease at 54. His brothers succumbed to the the disease at 42 and 52.

When Eichhorn was in his early 50s, it looked like he'd be next.

Eichhorn's kidneys were operating at five percent. He was on dialysis three days a week, living in Long Island, N.Y. and still trying to work.

The doctors laid out all the Eichhorns' options, including transplantation. It was still a fairly new procedure. The first successful kidney transplant in the United States was in 1954. Less than 40 years later, most people still didn't know much about transplantation.

"Our friends all had trepidations," said Jeanne Eichhorn. "It was like science-fiction stuff."

But it was a chance at regaining his life. Jerry Eichhorn was put on a waiting list. The procedure would be done in Boston and Eichhorn would be contacted via pager when a kidney match was found.

"There were a lot of false alarms," said Eichhorn.

They were so accustomed to being disappointed that the pager beeped, the Eichhorns almost dismissed it when it went off seven months later on March 5, 1991. They had just entered their hospital's lobby for Eichhorn's dialysis treatment. Then the doctors came running down the hallway.

"They didn't know what to do with me," said Eichhorn. "They were calling Boston to see what they wanted to do. They gave me a half-treatment of dialysis."

His elation was contagious, spreading to the hospital staff and fellow dialysis patients. As soon as he was done, the Eichhorns boarded a shuttle from LaGuardia to Boston.

"We got there before the organ," said Eichhorn.

The procedure was done in the early morning of March 6. Within a few hours after the operation, he was a new man.

"It was like turning on a switch," said Eichhorn. "It's a wonderful thing."

Although Jerry Eichhorn's story has a happy ending, his 42-year-old son's story still is developing; he inherited polycystic kidney disease. The Eichhorns' daughter did not.

Having children was a difficult decision for the Eichhorns, but the couple decided that advances in medical science would give their children more hope than Eichhorn had 18 years ago when he put his life in the hands of a science-fictionesque procedure.

"I saw my kids go through college, get out of school, get married, have grandchildren," said Eichhorn. "I would have missed all of that."