Man's blood cells give woman hope for life
National Marrow Donor Program match may save 36-year-old with leukemia

by STEVEN MAYER
Californian staff writer
e-mail: smayer@bakersfield.com
10/23/2005

Terry Bowe has never run into a burning building to save a child. He hasn't had the occasion to dive into the Kern River to rescue a drowning man. But the 50-year-old technician at Chevron is a lifesaver nonetheless.

Two months ago, he donated his blood stem cells to a seriously ill patient whose name he doesn't know, whose family he has never met, whose city of residence remains a guarded secret. All he knows is the recipient of the precious blood tissue is a 36-year-old woman with leukemia who is fighting for her life.

As a man who deals each day with down-to-earth details in his oil company job, Bowe is logical, organized and not typically prone to flights of fancy. But lately, he's been downright giddy. "I've already had one update on her condition," he said last week. "She made it through the first month, which is critical. "I'm still walking on cloud nine," he added. "And that was three weeks ago!" He laughs out loud with the pure joy of it. He takes it to work and to home with him, like a winning lottery ticket tucked safely and secretly in his breast pocket. "I can't begin to describe how good this feels," he said.

Bowe first got involved about five years ago when a young leukemia patient named Mikella McAuley was in the news. The 6-year-old was desperately in need of a bone marrow transplant, and her family's plight captured the hearts of thousands in Kern County. Bowe was one of more than 2,000 who responded by registering with the National Marrow Donor Program, a national registry that connects bone marrow and stem cell donors with patients in need. Ironically -- and tragically -- a match for Mikella was never found. She died of complications related to leukemia in October 2001. The little girl who had inspired so many to register never directly benefited from their generosity. But others have.

At least six tissue matches have been established so far from the original 2,000 who signed on for the lifelong commitment as potential donors, Bowe said. But more donors are needed. Now and always. When adults register, a sample of their blood is collected and tested, and the tissue type is added to the national registry. Doctors can search the registry when they need to find a donor whose tissue type matches a patient's. "My goal is not to put me in the limelight, but to put the process in the limelight," Bowe said. "Finding an appropriate match is tough. They never found a match for Mikella."

Julie Young, a Bakersfield resident whose sister-in-law Terrie Young died from leukemia in 2002, said Bowe and others like him are quiet heroes. They register and then often wait years before they are called. Most are never called, but the simple act of making oneself available to save the life of a stranger is an act of profound kindness and love, she said. "What could be more important?" Young asked. "Terrie lived eight extra years because of the generosity of another anonymous marrow donor. Until it happens in your family, you just can't know what it means."

For Bowe, the call that told him he was a potential match came last spring. The next step was to donate another blood sample at Houchin Blood Bank for further testing. After the additional tests confirmed his compatibility, Bowe went to the Bay Area for a physical. A date was agreed upon, and on Aug. 15, Bowe went to Comprehensive Blood & Cancer Center in Bakersfield, where he was given two shots of a growth factor drug that increases the number of stem cells released into the blood stream.

Over a five-day period, Bowe received 10 shots. The fourth day, he flew up to the Bay Area again and on the fifth day, the process of extraction began. There are at least two ways to extract the needed stem cells. The older process involves using a needle to extract stem cell-rich bone marrow from the pelvic bone. But the use of the growth factor drug allowed Bowe to donate through a blood extraction process known as apheresis.

"They get you comfortable in bed, support your arms and insert a needle in one arm to extract blood," he said. "They run it through a machine to extract blood stem cells and back to your body through the other arm. It's like platelet donation, but longer ... about four hours." Bowe said he was tired after the procedure, but also euphoric. "I knew my donation was on its way to the recipient," he said. "That stuff was out of the hospital in an ice chest and on its way to the airport before I was out of bed." He also knew whatever inconvenience or discomfort he had experienced was nothing compared to the suffering the recipient had already endured. "I figure this gal has been through a lot already, not only the physical pain, but the mental anguish."

The confidentiality of both patient and donor is strict, but after one year, if both agree, contact information may be exchanged. Bowe understands that the recipient is not yet out of danger. But if -- when -- she makes it through the next 10 months, would he like to meet her? "Yes. No hesitation," Bowe said. "It's one of those things. You know the person's OK, but you want to see them. It's not curiosity, it's caring." It's not so different, he said, from a mother who knows her injured child is safe, yet must see his face before she can fully believe it. In the meantime, Bowe is doing what he can on the home front. "I believe in prayer," he said. "Lots of prayer."

Recognition dinner helps blood donor meet recipient

by STEVEN MAYER
Californian staff writer
e-mail: smayer@bakersfield.com
11/18/2006

"She just looked at me and said, 'Thank you very much,' and I said, 'You're welcome' -- and then we just hugged," Bowe recalled this week.

"He actually saved my life," she said.

Fifteen months ago Bowe was flown to a medical facility in the Bay Area where he was attached to a machine that extracted stem cells from his blood.

Bowe knew little about her -- not her name nor her city of residence. Confidentiality requirements meant the reverse also was true. All the leukemia patient knew was that a man somewhere in the world had been found to be a perfect bone marrow/stem cell match for her.

But the news of this nameless, faceless man who was willing, even eager, to help was some of the best news her family had ever heard.

During the Christmas season of 2004, Kimberly Richards began to get sick. By the following February, she was diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukemia, a particularly aggressive type of cancer of the blood and bone marrow.

"It was about 11:30 p.m. and Kim and I were totally in shock. I'd tried to think of questions to ask the doctor, but frankly, my mind was spinning," Kevin said in an e-mail.

That night they tried to make sense of things. They talked and prayed. But sleep would not come.

He had always been the type to think logically through any problem -- and then come up with a solution. But Kevin didn't have a solution to this thing called leukemia that had the potential take Kim away from him and their two young children, Megan, 6, and Aaron, 8.

"We received very good news at the doctor's office yesterday! A bone marrow stem cell donor has been found that is, according to the doctor, 'a perfect match!'"

Aug. 13, 2005, was Day Zero, the term the doctors used for the day of the transplant.

"I'm still walking on cloud nine," he said last year after Kimberly made it through the first critical month. "I can't begin to describe how good this feels."

When adults register, a sample of their blood is tested, and the tissue type is added to the registry.

"That little girl didn't win her battle, but she inspired 2,000 more people to register," said Janet Hedgpeth, a program coordinator for the donor program in Phoenix.

SPECIAL THANKS TO STEVEN MAYER FOR WRITING AND ALLOWING US TO POST THESE ARTICLES!