New York:
Christian Volpe was shopping with his wife when an alarm started beeping to warn that only 15 minutes of battery power were left on the implanted heart pump that was keeping him alive.
Mr. Volpe, 67, a slight, gray-haired man, looked in his car for the bag he always keeps nearby with spare batteries. But, no bag. In his mind's eye he saw exactly where he had left it, to make sure he would not forget it, on a chair near the door back home -- an hour and a half away. He thought of the clever little hand pump he had been given to keep his mechanical heart going in an emergency. It, too, was in the missing bag. Standing in the parking lot, he could hear one thing. Beep. Beep. Beep.
"I have to admit, I panic," he said.
Mr. Volpe is one of thousands of Americans who have had these pumps, called left ventricular assist devices, surgically implanted to help their failing hearts. Former Vice President Dick Cheney is another. Sometimes the pumps are used to keep people alive until a transplant becomes available, but in other cases they are meant to remain as long as the patient lives.
Mr. Volpe, a retired subway conductor who had had two heart attacks and two bypass operations, had an assist pump implanted in October 2009 by Dr. Yoshifumi Naka at NewYork-Presbyterian/Columbia hospital.
The pump is placed near the patient's own heart. A power line emerges about waist level and connects to a controller, a mini-computer which plugs into a pair of one-and-a-half-pound, 12-volt batteries. Patients wear a black mesh vest over their clothing that holds the controller and batteries. The pump Mr. Volpe had, a HeartMate XVE, made by Thoratec, could run for about four hours on two batteries. The pumps cost $70,000 to $80,000, usually covered by insurance.
That day in the parking lot in December, in Fishkill, in upstate New York, Mr. Volpe was too far from Columbia to get there in time. But his wife phoned its heart-pump clinic, and nurse practitioners told her to call 911 for an ambulance to the nearest hospital.
Mr. Volpe knew that if the pump stopped, he was not likely to die immediately; his own heart, though weak, would probably keep him alive. But he was still in real danger, because clots would form in the mechanical heart if it quit, and cause a stroke if they escaped into his bloodstream.
Dr. Donna Mancini, Mr. Volpe's cardiologist and director of the heart failure and transplant program at NewYork-Presbyterian/Columbia, said the hospital had not encountered a situation like this before.
"But with these devices getting more use, it may arise," Dr. Mancini said.
Right now, Dr. Mancini said, Columbia has 45 patients with pumps who are waiting for transplants. Just a few years ago, there were only 10.
She said she did not know why, but this year fewer donor hearts have become available than in the past, leaving more patients dependent on the pumps. Usually, the hospital performs 80 to 100 transplants a year.
"This year we're on a course that will probably yield around 60 transplants," Dr. Mancini said, adding that there were about 150 patients on Columbia's waiting list.
Nationwide, 3,138 people are waiting for heart transplants, according to the United Network for Organ Sharing. Last year, 2,211 received new hearts.
Thoratec said that in the past decade or so, a total of 6,000 XVE devices and 5,000 of a newer model, the HeartMate II (the one Mr. Cheney has) had been implanted.
An ambulance took Mr. Volpe to Vassar Brothers Medical Center in Poughkeepsie. But that hospital does not implant assist pumps, and had no batteries or hand pump. Doctors there, advised by Columbia, began dripping in a blood-thinning drug, heparin, to prevent clots.
Meanwhile, Khristine Orlanes, a nurse practitioner at Columbia, began trying to find another patient with an assist pump who was close enough to bring Mr. Volpe a set of batteries in time.
She called Robert Bump, 61, a building contractor who worked near Poughkeepsie. He had six spare batteries in a knapsack.
"I'm on my way," Mr. Bump said.
An electrician offered to drive, and they tore off in his pickup truck. The electrician called a state trooper friend, told him the story and said, "We're not stopping."
A police car met them partway to Poughkeepsie and escorted them. They made the half-hour trip in about 20 minutes.
Mr. Bump strode into the emergency room and spotted Mr. Volpe on a gurney, surrounded by doctors, nurses and his frantic wife. The alarm was still beeping. A doctor, noticing Mr. Bump's black-mesh vest and the controller, said, "Oh, he's got one, too."
Mr. Volpe, who had no idea what plans had been hatched on his behalf, said: "I see this big fellow walk in. I recognized the outfit right away."
Mr. Bump snapped the batteries in place and said, "O.K., you're good."
There was a small round of applause in the emergency room. Mr. Volpe could not stop saying thank you.
His pump, due to run out in 15 minutes, had somehow lasted nearly an hour, but apparently had just minutes left when Mr. Bump arrived.
The two men had different pump models that happened to use the same batteries. If Mr. Bump had been using a newer version of the batteries for his model, they would not have been compatible with Mr. Volpe's.
"Mr. Volpe's stars were aligned that day," Mr. Bump said. "There is some reason that gentleman needs to be here."
On July 24, after nearly a year on his assist pump, Mr. Bump made it to the top of the waiting list and received a transplant at NewYork-Presbyterian/Columbia. At the hospital, his wife overheard the spouse of another transplant patient say that she, too, was from upstate.
Mr. Bump's wife mentioned that her husband had helped another patient from the same area who needed batteries for an assist pump.
"That was my husband," the other woman said.
By coincidence, Mr. Volpe had also just received a transplant.
Last week, the two were up and about, in good spirits. Both said they owed their lives to the assist pumps -- but were thrilled to be free of them. Both were desperate for showers, after nearly a year of sponge baths. They would not miss the vests, either. On more than one occasion, Mr. Bump had had to reassure strangers that he was not wearing a bomb.
Leaving a sitting room at the hospital last Thursday, Mr. Bump rose first and offered Mr. Volpe a hand getting up.
"No thanks," Mr. Volpe said softly, smiling. "You gave me enough help, Robert."
Mr. Volpe, 67, a slight, gray-haired man, looked in his car for the bag he always keeps nearby with spare batteries. But, no bag. In his mind's eye he saw exactly where he had left it, to make sure he would not forget it, on a chair near the door back home -- an hour and a half away. He thought of the clever little hand pump he had been given to keep his mechanical heart going in an emergency. It, too, was in the missing bag. Standing in the parking lot, he could hear one thing. Beep. Beep. Beep.
"I have to admit, I panic," he said.
Mr. Volpe is one of thousands of Americans who have had these pumps, called left ventricular assist devices, surgically implanted to help their failing hearts. Former Vice President Dick Cheney is another. Sometimes the pumps are used to keep people alive until a transplant becomes available, but in other cases they are meant to remain as long as the patient lives.
Mr. Volpe, a retired subway conductor who had had two heart attacks and two bypass operations, had an assist pump implanted in October 2009 by Dr. Yoshifumi Naka at NewYork-Presbyterian/Columbia hospital.
The pump is placed near the patient's own heart. A power line emerges about waist level and connects to a controller, a mini-computer which plugs into a pair of one-and-a-half-pound, 12-volt batteries. Patients wear a black mesh vest over their clothing that holds the controller and batteries. The pump Mr. Volpe had, a HeartMate XVE, made by Thoratec, could run for about four hours on two batteries. The pumps cost $70,000 to $80,000, usually covered by insurance.
That day in the parking lot in December, in Fishkill, in upstate New York, Mr. Volpe was too far from Columbia to get there in time. But his wife phoned its heart-pump clinic, and nurse practitioners told her to call 911 for an ambulance to the nearest hospital.
Mr. Volpe knew that if the pump stopped, he was not likely to die immediately; his own heart, though weak, would probably keep him alive. But he was still in real danger, because clots would form in the mechanical heart if it quit, and cause a stroke if they escaped into his bloodstream.
Dr. Donna Mancini, Mr. Volpe's cardiologist and director of the heart failure and transplant program at NewYork-Presbyterian/Columbia, said the hospital had not encountered a situation like this before.
"But with these devices getting more use, it may arise," Dr. Mancini said.
Right now, Dr. Mancini said, Columbia has 45 patients with pumps who are waiting for transplants. Just a few years ago, there were only 10.
She said she did not know why, but this year fewer donor hearts have become available than in the past, leaving more patients dependent on the pumps. Usually, the hospital performs 80 to 100 transplants a year.
"This year we're on a course that will probably yield around 60 transplants," Dr. Mancini said, adding that there were about 150 patients on Columbia's waiting list.
Nationwide, 3,138 people are waiting for heart transplants, according to the United Network for Organ Sharing. Last year, 2,211 received new hearts.
Thoratec said that in the past decade or so, a total of 6,000 XVE devices and 5,000 of a newer model, the HeartMate II (the one Mr. Cheney has) had been implanted.
An ambulance took Mr. Volpe to Vassar Brothers Medical Center in Poughkeepsie. But that hospital does not implant assist pumps, and had no batteries or hand pump. Doctors there, advised by Columbia, began dripping in a blood-thinning drug, heparin, to prevent clots.
Meanwhile, Khristine Orlanes, a nurse practitioner at Columbia, began trying to find another patient with an assist pump who was close enough to bring Mr. Volpe a set of batteries in time.
She called Robert Bump, 61, a building contractor who worked near Poughkeepsie. He had six spare batteries in a knapsack.
"I'm on my way," Mr. Bump said.
An electrician offered to drive, and they tore off in his pickup truck. The electrician called a state trooper friend, told him the story and said, "We're not stopping."
A police car met them partway to Poughkeepsie and escorted them. They made the half-hour trip in about 20 minutes.
Mr. Bump strode into the emergency room and spotted Mr. Volpe on a gurney, surrounded by doctors, nurses and his frantic wife. The alarm was still beeping. A doctor, noticing Mr. Bump's black-mesh vest and the controller, said, "Oh, he's got one, too."
Mr. Volpe, who had no idea what plans had been hatched on his behalf, said: "I see this big fellow walk in. I recognized the outfit right away."
Mr. Bump snapped the batteries in place and said, "O.K., you're good."
There was a small round of applause in the emergency room. Mr. Volpe could not stop saying thank you.
His pump, due to run out in 15 minutes, had somehow lasted nearly an hour, but apparently had just minutes left when Mr. Bump arrived.
The two men had different pump models that happened to use the same batteries. If Mr. Bump had been using a newer version of the batteries for his model, they would not have been compatible with Mr. Volpe's.
"Mr. Volpe's stars were aligned that day," Mr. Bump said. "There is some reason that gentleman needs to be here."
On July 24, after nearly a year on his assist pump, Mr. Bump made it to the top of the waiting list and received a transplant at NewYork-Presbyterian/Columbia. At the hospital, his wife overheard the spouse of another transplant patient say that she, too, was from upstate.
Mr. Bump's wife mentioned that her husband had helped another patient from the same area who needed batteries for an assist pump.
"That was my husband," the other woman said.
By coincidence, Mr. Volpe had also just received a transplant.
Last week, the two were up and about, in good spirits. Both said they owed their lives to the assist pumps -- but were thrilled to be free of them. Both were desperate for showers, after nearly a year of sponge baths. They would not miss the vests, either. On more than one occasion, Mr. Bump had had to reassure strangers that he was not wearing a bomb.
Leaving a sitting room at the hospital last Thursday, Mr. Bump rose first and offered Mr. Volpe a hand getting up.
"No thanks," Mr. Volpe said softly, smiling. "You gave me enough help, Robert."
Track Latest News Live on NDTV.com and get news updates from India and around the world
