Roanoke Times
                 Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.

DATE: MONDAY, October 25, 1993                   TAG: 9310250012
SECTION: VIRGINIA                    PAGE: B-1   EDITION: METRO 
SOURCE: Brian Devido
DATELINE:                                 LENGTH: Medium

HIS 2 DAYS COULD MEAN A LIFETIME

I turned on the light to see what time it was. 3 a.m. "Great," I thought as I turned the light off and eased back into bed, "I'll be well-rested for tomorrow."

The nurse had told me she'd wake me up at 6:30 to get ready for surgery. Surgery. That word bothered me - even though I was only donating bone marrow.

When I got a call from the National Institutes of Health over the summer telling me I was a match for somebody who needed bone marrow, I jumped at the chance. I figured it could save someone's life.

One doctor told me that he'd seen people who were unwilling to donate bone marrow to their own brothers or sisters, for fear of the inconvenience it would cause. I thought that was ridiculous. There was no question in my mind about it. I was going to donate.

A couple of years ago, I had gone to a bone-marrow drive for a friend of mine, Robbie Hope. We had wrestled together in high school, and we both went to Virginia Tech. When I heard he had leukemia, I went to a bone-marrow drive his church set up in Northern Virginia.

I didn't expect to be a match for Robbie. They told me the odds of being a match for somebody were astronomically slim, but I decided to give it a shot. Robbie finally got his bone-marrow transplant this summer. So far, so good. It'll take a year before they know for sure it if worked.

But it turns out I was a match for somebody - a 27-year-old man from the Midwest. That's all I was told about him. When I participated in the bone-marrow drive, my blood sample was put in a national bank for others needing bone marrow. And after undergoing some more tests, I still was a match for this person.

So one day in early September, I agreed to be a bone-marrow donor. It wouldn't be any big deal, I figured. I'd just go in the hospital and give my marrow. All my expenses - the flight to Washington, D.C., hospital bills, doctor bills - were taken care of.

If all went well, somebody's life would be saved.

But as I lay in that hospital bed the night before the operation, I began to worry. They needed to take a couple of hundred shots of marrow from my back. A sobering thought, even though the doctors said my back wouldn't hurt bad - maybe like I'd fallen on ice.

I finally drifted off to sleep, unsure of what was going to happen.

But it turns out I worried for nothing. My back was sore when I first tried to move around the afternoon of the operation; but the more I moved, the better I felt. A couple of days after the operation, I was back at work.

I got a call a few hours after the operation. It was from the NIH, informing me that my marrow had been sent to the recipient. He was in bad shape at the time, having undergone intense chemotherapy treatment 10 days before he received the bone marrow. He was near death, they told me, but it was necessary to kill his cancerous marrow.

A day later, they said he was feeling better.

As with my friend Robbie, it'll take up to a year before they know if his body will accept the marrow. There's only a 50-50 chance of that happening, but I'm optimistic. They're going to keep me posted on his condition. I'm praying for this guy.

I'm no hero. All I did was go into the hospital for two days. Some have said that's heroic. I just think it was the decent thing to do - helping a person who needs it. Anybody can get involved, just by calling your local Red Cross and asking about their bone-marrow program.

Who knows what might happen? It could save a life.

Brian DeVido covers sports for this newspaper.