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Show C H R Y S A L I S PAGE 197 "You're living in a Buck Rogers sort of world - almost science-fiction," I say. "You're a sort of Six-Million-Dollar- Man." Mr. Meier gives a short laugh. He is a practical man. Then he falls silent. "After all," I continue, hoping he'll really open up and share, "these three extra years must have had some special meaning for you. Do you believe in God?" "I never expected to live forever. I've never been much of a church-goer. But do I believe in God?" It takes him a while to answer. "I don't know what that means. I think I'm just as nasty and onery as I used to be. These three years my disposition hasn't improved any. I didn't go to California for a nice transplant. I went for a heart transplant." He is smiling again. He tells me of regular injections of sulfa drugs that supress tissue rejection but also leave his immunity low. "So I don't go out in crowds. I walk every day. I work in the yard, and I collect rocks. It's the little things that upset me more'n big things, you know. All the little things, colds, boils -" He pulls up his trousers and shows me the sores on his shins. Mr. Meier is one of 149 total heart transplants - 62 are still alive. He takes sixty pills a day to keep his fragile body |