When Damon was diagnosed with stage IV colorectal cancer, we learned a statistic that has been impossible to forget.
Historically, the five-year survival rate for metastatic colorectal cancer is only about 13–15%. Those are the numbers.
But Damon has never been someone who lets numbers define him.
If you know Damon, you know that every time someone has told him he couldn’t do something, he’s found a way to prove them wrong. Sometimes just out of pure stubbornness.
How Damon Became a Candidate for a Liver Transplant
From the day he was diagnosed, he has treated this fight like a full-time job. He has followed every recommendation from his medical team. He has searched for additional treatment options. He changed his diet. He gave up drinking. He worked to reduce stress. He has endured surgeries, chemotherapy, countless appointments, and more phone calls with doctors and insurance companies than anyone should ever have to make.
He didn’t wait for hope to find him. He has worked, and continues to work, for every opportunity.
One of those opportunities was something we never imagined would become a possibility: a liver transplant.
Most people don’t realize that liver transplants for colorectal cancer are incredibly rare. They are reserved for a very specific group of patients whose cancer has spread only to the liver and who meet strict medical criteria. Only a handful of specialized medical centers perform these procedures, and because colorectal cancer isn’t a traditional reason for transplantation, these surgeries often depend on finding a living donor.
Being accepted into this program isn’t luck.
It’s the result of months of treatment, determination, and meeting incredibly rigorous medical requirements.
Not Yet Isn’t Never
Our journey to that acceptance wasn’t easy.
The first time Mayo Clinic reviewed Damon’s case, we were deferred.
We understood why. His original rectal tumor had not yet been removed, and we still needed to build a complete caregiving plan. Even though we knew it was a possibility, hearing “not yet” was devastating. We knew this transplant represented Damon’s best chance to be here five years from now – to watch our kids graduate, to see them build their own lives, and one day, to walk our daughter down the aisle.
Instead of giving up, we got to work.
Preparing for Our Second Chance
When Damon returned to Mayo Clinic in June, everything was different.
His surgery had successfully removed the primary tumor.
We created a nine-page caregiving plan that covered every possible scenario. We gathered letters of support from medical providers. We documented transportation plans, caregiver schedules, housing options, and contingency plans. We left nothing to chance.
Damon left Rochester feeling hopeful, but we expected it would be another month before the transplant committee reviewed his case.
Instead, everything changed.
The Call We Never Expected
It was a Wednesday afternoon, and I was working. His phone rang, and he answered. I recognized his “phone voice” immediately, but I didn’t think anything of it. Damon spends hours every week talking to doctors, insurance companies, HR departments, and specialists. It sounded like every other medical call.
He was calm. So calm.
When he hung up, he looked at me and said, “I got approved.”
For a second, I had no idea what he meant. I actually thought he was talking about Social Security or insurance.
Then he said, “I got approved for the liver transplant.”
I immediately started crying. This was real.
After everything we’d been through, after every setback and every appointment and every unknown, we had finally heard the words we’d been hoping for.
The kids were home, and we pulled them into one big family hug. I don’t know if they fully understood what that phone call meant. But they knew Mom and Dad were happy. And they were happy too.
For a little while, hope felt bigger than cancer.
Approval Wasn’t the Finish Line
As exciting as that phone call was, it also marked the beginning of a new challenge.
Approval wasn’t the finish line. It was the starting line.
Now we have to find a living liver donor.
That is an enormous ask. It’s asking someone to consider surgery – not because Damon has done anything for them, but because they believe another person deserves the chance to keep living.
The hardest part is knowing that time matters. Even though Damon has been approved, his cancer doesn’t stop while we wait. If the tumors in his liver begin to grow beyond the transplant criteria, everything can change. His transplant could be delayed or placed on hold.
Every day matters.
Every share matters.
Every conversation matters.
Every person who fills out the donor questionnaire could be the one who saves his life.
Learning to Live in the Waiting
People often tell us they can’t imagine what this must be like.
The truth is, we couldn’t either…until we were living it.
Waiting is exhausting. It’s hopeful and terrifying at the same time. Some days we celebrate because we’ve made it one step further. Other days we wonder how much time we have before another hurdle appears.
Living in the waiting is one of the hardest things we’ve ever done.
The Community Carrying Us Forward
Through all of this, we’ve never been alone. We are overwhelmed with gratitude for the people who have carried us.
Friends who made the introductions that connected us with Beacon Clinic.
Dr. Bartels and the relationships that helped get Damon in front of the transplant team at Mayo Clinic.
The friends, family, and complete strangers who have donated to our GoFundMe.
Everyone who came to the fundraiser at Vantage Brewing.
Those who have donated airline miles, hotel points, meals, prayers, and encouragement.
Every gift – whether financial, emotional, or practical – has helped make it possible for Damon and his caregivers to travel to Rochester and continue this fight.
We have been carried by an incredible community.
How You Can Help Save Damon’s Life
Today, we’re asking for one more miracle.
If you’ve ever wondered whether sharing a post makes a difference, it does.
If you’ve ever considered becoming a living donor, please learn more.
You may not be a match for Damon.
But you could become the reason someone else gets to watch their children grow up.
Damon is more than a statistic.
He’s a husband.
A father.
A son.
A brother.
A friend.
And he’s still fighting.
We’re just hoping someone will help him take the next step.