Former Kellam classmates, she's now trying to save his life by donating a kidney to someone else - Virginian-Pilot

March 23, 2019 at 12:32AM

As classmates at Kellam High School in the mid-1980s, Jeff Beavers and Wendy Swoope were friendly but not particularly close. Back then, Beavers, a star wrestler, had no idea that he had been born with only one kidney.

He found out at age 18, when a blockage in the tube from that kidney to his bladder nearly killed him. Now 50, Beavers has had two kidney transplants and needs a third, relying on grueling dialysis treatments and strict fluid restrictions to stay alive.

And Swoope, the former cheerleader who reconnected with Beavers after their own children became friends at Kellam, is ready to give up one of hers.

While the Virginia Beach residents aren't a match, they have signed up for a "paired exchange" on the National Kidney Registry, a nonprofit that facilitates living donor transplants. Swoope, 50, has agreed to donate to a compatible recipient — a stranger — in return for a well-matched kidney for her friend. While her remaining kidney should quickly enlarge to handle the work of two, she also would have priority should she ever need a transplant.

"This was an easy decision," Swoope says. "Jeff is an amazing father with two boys who are just going out into the world to start their lives. I can be perfectly healthy with one kidney. I'm just worried about him."

Swoope was approved as a donor last September after passing physical and mental screenings, prompting Beavers to jump-start his fitness routine with near-daily swims. On March 16, the two ran the Shamrock 8K together to raise awareness of living donor programs.

"Wendy is the hero here," Beavers stresses. "The gratitude I feel is so overwhelming. What can I do, other than keep thanking her?"

About 100,000 people are waiting for kidney transplants at any given time, but just 16,000 are done annually, according to the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. Roughly two-thirds involve a deceased donor, with an average wait time of three to five years.

However, living donor kidneys tend to last longer: 15 to 20 years versus 10 to 15 years, on average, although that varies widely by case. Eventually, wear-and-tear from anti-rejection medications, immune system reactions or other health issues cause the organs to fail.

The living donor registry, separate from the better-known waitlist maintained by the United Network for Organ Sharing, helps patients find high-quality matches even if they're not compatible with a loved one, says Roland French, Living Donor Transplant Coordinator at Sentara Norfolk General Hospital. Sentara currently has three pairs on the registry, with two more awaiting approval. Individuals also can register as altruistic donors.

"This has opened up so many more possibilities for patients," French notes. "For people like Jeff who are difficult to match, it can really be a godsend."

Since Beavers' body has built up antibodies that rule out more than 75 percent of donors, doctors told him to expect a four- to five-year wait for a kidney. With Swoope's donation, that could drop to a year or two.

Beavers' medical odyssey dates back to 1986, when he fell ill during a ski trip with what doctors first diagnosed as stomach flu. Eventually, Beavers spent 13 days in a hospital before a newly developed test revealed he had a single kidney that was already damaged beyond repair.

After about eight months on dialysis, Beavers had his first transplant, which lasted five years. He underwent a second transplant at age 24, receiving a kidney from an 18-year-old car crash victim that gave him nearly a quarter century of good health. He built his own millwork company and threw himself into outdoor adventures with his sons Jake, now 19, and Josh, 17.

"I'm the luckiest guy," Beavers says. "I should have been dead at 18."

In the fall of 2017, Beavers went back on thrice-weekly dialysis as his second transplant began to fail. His body no longer produces urine, so the exhausting four-hour treatments involve pulling out fluids and filtering toxins from his blood.

"Dialysis rags you out and ties you down," Beavers says. "You're not totally alive when you're on it, even though it's what keeps you alive."

Swoope heard of Beavers' situation when he was dating her best friend, and after her daughter Haley, 20, had befriended Jake. As regional director for revenue management for a hotel chain, she knew she could work from home during the expected four- to six-week recovery period. She also was reassured that Haley has a universal blood type and would match to any donor should she ever need a kidney.

Now passionate about organ donation, Swoope hopes to offer someone part of her liver one day, too, after learning the organ can regenerate itself.

"I'm not scared at all," she says. "I'm just frustrated because I haven't been able to do anything for Jeff yet."

Beavers begs to differ.

"Without people like Wendy, people like me would have nothing," he says. "Even if you don't want to be a living donor, sign that donor card. Give someone else a chance at a full life."