Finding calm in high-pressure moments of medical chaos

Have you seen the T-shirt or sign that reads “Keep Calm and Carry On” (KCCO)? You might be surprised to learn the story behind this phrase. Created in 1939, it was part of a three-poster series intended to boost morale during World War II. Ironically, the Keep Calm and Carry On poster was never published or made public. It might have faded away were it not discovered in a box at a book auction in 2000.

When I was diagnosed with idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis (IPF) in 2017, the phrase Keep Calm and Carry On was widely known, with plenty of variations that replaced “carry on” with a variety of two-word replacements. When I felt the need to pause or call a timeout during my IPF journey, the concept of KCCO would join my thoughts.

Have you had times when you’ve needed to pause so you can move forward? Shortly after my diagnosis, I began to take note of things that made me pause. I made a mental list of those moments, noting things to be mindful of instead of things to avoid.

Several examples of that came up during the pre-transplant phase of my journey, when I had a lot of appointments, especially tests to qualify for the surgery. When I’d look at my calendar and see a week full of appointments, I’d think of KCCO. I’d remind myself to stay focused and remember why these appointments were necessary.

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Keeping calm through my transplant

At 9 a.m. on July 9, 2021, hours before I received my bilateral lung transplant, I was notified that lungs were available. After taking a minute to say a prayer for my donor family, my wife, Susan, and I were off to the hospital, which is 90 minutes away on a good traffic day.

When I got there, the donor’s lungs hadn’t arrived yet. Still, the staff immediately began to prepare me for surgery. Once the lungs arrived, the surgeon, along with my care team, determined that ex vivo lung perfusion was necessary to make them ready for transplant. That was another opportunity for a KCCO moment, as I waited to learn if the process was going to make the donor lungs suitable for transplant.

About 3 a.m. on July 10, that question was answered, and I was taken into surgery. Because it was during the peak of COVID-19 in the U.S., Susan had to sit alone in the waiting room during my transplant. She shared with me much later, when I was recovering at home, that she’d been worried that she’d leave the hospital a widow. That was her time for a KCCO moment. When I came out of surgery and recovery at noon, the surgeon told Susan everything went well, and I was doing well, too. She exhaled.

During the 3.5 years since my transplant, the opportunities to pause have continued. I used KCCO:

• When I learned I had chronic kidney disease stage 3B from medication
• When I learned my bronchial stem had narrowed and would require a stent
• When I was hospitalized with COVID-19.

In each of these events, I was able to take a deep breath and reassure myself that I was going to carry on.

In moments of chaos, allow yourself the time to pause. Each of us might do that differently, which is fine. My own KCCO moments have allowed me to make every breath count.

Note: Pulmonary Fibrosis News is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of Pulmonary Fibrosis News or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to pulmonary fibrosis.