1 of 2
Paul Nordmann
Justin Stout and Maureen O’Brien
2 of 2
Post-op, Maureen O’Brien and Justin Stout compare notes on their surgeries.
Thirteen years ago, Justin Stout strolled into a pool party with a case of beer and his girlfriend, Kelli, at his side. He never suspected that those partygoers, mostly acquaintances of Kelli’s, would become his best friends—or that one of them would save his life.
Maureen O’Brien and Ted Cernich quickly bonded with Justin and Kelli.
“When we got together, the four of us just clicked,” Maureen says.
“We got married two weeks from each other, we went to the same place [in Mexico] for our honeymoon, and we closed on our houses [in the same South City neighborhood] two weeks apart,” Justin says.
In May 2013, Justin started suffering from excruciating headaches. Then his vision was affected. “It was a weird sensation,” he says. “It was wavy lines and a bit blurry on the peripherals. It was a constant thing. It would get worse as the headaches got worse. They sent me to see a retinologist, and they determined that the capillaries in the back of my retina were exploding because the blood pressure was so high. They said it was any wonderthat I didn’t have a stroke, because my blood pressure was 200/130.”
Doctors tried to get Justin’s blood pressure under control—but no amount of medication helped. Determining that the problem must be elsewhere, they performed more blood tests. That July, doctors found that his kidneys were floundering, causing his blood pressure to skyrocket.
His physician told him that it could be “six days, six hours, or six months” before his kidneys went into complete failure. “There was no way of knowing,” Justin recalls. “We knew the shoe was going to fall—it was just waiting for when.”
In late September, his kidneys began slipping into more rapid decline. He talked to a transplant coordinator “in hopes that I would have a kidney before it got too bad,” Justin says. After a barrage of tests, Justin signed up for the National Kidney Registry, went on dialysis, and started seeing doctors at Saint Louis University Hospital.
“Dr. [Peter] Horton said he wanted me to be very aware that I have a 1-in-6 chance of dying every year that I wait for this kidney,” Justin says. “He nailed his point home.”
As of mid-May of this year, more than 100,000 people were waiting for kidney donations, according to the National Kidney Foundation. In 2013, approximately 14,000 kidneys were transplanted, with about two-thirds coming from deceased donors and one-third from living donors. Every day, an estimated 14 people die while waiting for a kidney transplant. And every 20 minutes, another name is added to the recipient list.
Last fall, Ted took Maureen to dinner at Maya Cafe, wherehe relayed the news of Justin’s renal failure. “He knew I would completely freak out,” she says. “As soon as he told me, I did break down in the restaurant. I am having my little bitty meltdown, and all of a sudden this strange feeling came over me. I don’t want to embellish the situation, but to explain it the best that I can: It was a voice or a feeling that basically told me that everything would be OK, because you are the donor and he will be fine and you are going to do this.”
The only known commonality between the two was blood type; they’re both O-positive. But beyond that, the likelihood of a complete match was infinitesimal. “The chances of that happening were slim to none,” Justin says. “They never put a number on it, but if I had to guess, I’d say a one-in-a-million shot.”
Maureen went to Saint Louis University Hospital for a string of tests that started two days after Christmas. She learned the results on January 13 and immediately called Kelli. They decided to tell Justin in person, when he got home from work.
“Her husband and I go to and from work together every day,” Justin says. “He was setting me up, saying, ‘Man, I’ve got to use the bathroom.’ I said, ‘I have one, and you can come to my house and use it.’ Then we drive up, and Maureen’s car is already there. I walked into the house, and she just looked at me and said, ‘Do you know why I’m here?’ I just lost it.”
She’s an awesome girl,” Anna Mae O’Brien says of her daughter. “She’s always been the person who thought about others. She is always thinking about her friends.”
While Maureen was attending Columbia College, her parents, Anna Mae and John, came for a visit. At one point, Maureen asked her father for a $10 bill, which she slipped into a birthday card. Later, on their way to campus, Maureen walked up to a homeless man and gave him a hug and the card. Her parents watched warily.
“He shook hands with John and said, ‘Mr. O’Brien, you will never have to worry about your daughter,’” Anna Mae recalls. “‘We will take care of her.’ She just connects to everybody. That’s just how she is.”
She’s also fearless. Years ago, when Maureen saw a dog being abused by its owner on the sidewalk, she insisted her father stop the car, so she could jump out and yell at the culprit. Then there was the time a mugger stole her suitcase. “She went running until she caught up with him, and she wouldn’t leave until he released the suitcase,” says Anna Mae. “I just never dreamed she would do something like this.”
It’s late May, and SLU Hospital’s third-floor waiting room is packed with people wearing T-shirts emblazoned with “Team JustinMo.” Maureen’s family is gathered on the lower tier of the area. Justin’s family and friends are a few steps up, on the second level. Maureen’s father, John O’Brien, teases his loved ones—a grasp at easing worry. At one point, Justin’s mother, Gail Soltysiak, introduces herself to Anna Mae. Teary-eyed, she tries to thank her for Maureen’s donation, but she’s at a loss for the right words.
In the operating room, Horton operates on Maureen while Dr. Janet E. “Betsy” Tuttle-Newhall waits to transplant the kidney. Each doctor oversees a team of 10. Maureen goes into the operating room first. “I’m like Humpty Dumpty,” she’d said earlier. “They literally have to take me apart and put me back together again.” Her surgery takes about six hours; Justin’s is close to eight.
Back in the waiting room, Anne Mae recalls that Maureen was 4 pounds, 7 ounces when she was born, while her twin brother, Kevin, was almost 7 pounds. “She was in the hospital for at least a month before we could take her home,” Anna Mae says. “She was stuck under my rib cage; they had to do a cesarean to get her out. We almost lost her.”
Ted’s mother, Jo Ann Cernich, glances over and says, “She made it because this was what she was supposed to do.”
Two weeks after the surgery, Justin’s recovery is proceeding without complications. “I expected so much worse than this,” he says. “I was out of the hospital in six days. I came home and was resting comfortably. I was up doing things for myself already. Aside from adjusting to the medication, this recovery has been very easy. I’m off dialysis.I couldn’t be happier.”
Maureen also says she feels great. “I have no regrets—it was a life-changing experience for me,” she says. “I’m so proud I was able to do it;I wish I could do it again. It was the happiest day of my life.”
When asked earlier how the experience has affected her, Maureen says, “I look at things completely differently now. Ridiculous things that would stress me out on a daily basis don’t mean anything anymore. I’m not just saving his life; he’s saving mine, too.”
“In the grand scheme of things, the things that used to get under my skin just don’t matter anymore,” says Justin. “Being trapped at home on that darn [dialysis] machine has really hit me. I just want to get out and do everything. There is so much to do, to see, people to help. I know I can never pay her back, but I have an overwhelming urge to help people now.”
Both Maureen and Justin want to spread the word about the need for kidney donors. “People don’t need to die from this,” she says. “There are ways to help. I don’t feel like I’m making a sacrifice at all—I really don’t. I have two of them; I only need one. It’s not rocket science. He needs me.”
