Coeur d'Alene Press, The (ID)

The music of life
Mike Whallon, transplant recipient, hopes to survive making and selling flutes
Bill Buley; Staff Writer
Published: September 26, 2009
For a guy who has almost died several times, for someone who could die tomorrow if he's not careful in the sun, Mike Whallon is pretty happy. He laughs and smiles often as he explains how he makes flutes in the small shed in the backyard of his Coeur d'Alene home.

"I tune them twice," Whallon says proudly. "That way, they're right on the money."
They've got to be just right, he adds, if he's going to earn a living creating and selling the small musical instrument.
His very life, actually, could depend on it.

It was just last month that the 51-year-old suffered heat-stroke and collapsed while mowing lawns and carrying out his landscape duties on a hot, summer day.
His kidneys, organ transplants from almost a decade ago, stopped working. Doctors pumped him full of fluids and antibiotics, managing to jump-start the kidneys back into action.
But Whallon got a clear message: Do something else.

"Doctors told me I can't be out mowing lawns and trying to do landscape stuff," he says as he sits in the patio chair of friend and neighbor John Coutts. "So I'm going to give that up."
In its place?
He's found harmony with flutes.
"To me, those are like medicine," Whallon says.

This admitted blues and jazz guy has discovered comfort, peace and relaxation in collecting, playing, making and selling the wind instrument.
That might not even seem odd except that it was only a few years ago he picked up a flute for the first time. He heard it and something, he says, touched his soul.
"I've got a little native spirit in me," he says, laughing. "People think I'm crazy when I say that. I'm inspired by it."

But as Mike Whallon continues talking on a warm North Idaho afternoon in the quiet of a fenced and treed yard, he refers every so often to how blessed he is to be alive, how lucky he is to be alive, how wonderful it is to be alive.
He even jokes about being a cat with nine lives.
"I hope I haven't used them up," he says.

Time to die
Whallon, a 20-year Coeur d'Alene resident, had been a type 1 diabetic since he was 9 years old.
"I took insulin all my life," he says. "The diabetes finally got the best of me and it took out my kidneys, and it was a real shock. I did landscaping for 16 years and all the sudden I got sick and couldn't figure out what it was."
His condition worsened to the point he couldn't work and went on dialysis. While it works for some, it didn't do well by Whallon.
"Dialysis just about killed me," he says with a short, tight smile.
His prognosis was bleak. "I was pretty much done for," he says. "I was a walking dead man, basically."

Finally, he got the call in 2000. A pancreas and kidneys were waiting for him in Seattle. A flight, a 14-hour surgery and it was over. He woke up to find wife Debbie and others waiting for him, a room of smiles and tears.
"I don't remember much," Whallon says.
His recovery took two months.
"I lost everything. I was so weak," he says.
But he was still alive.


His donor
Whallon knew nothing about the person whose organs he received.
"I always wondered who my donor was. They won't tell you. They won't tell you anything about it," he says.
For years, he wanted to write a thank you letter, but he didn't know what to say.
"I received this gift of life and I always wanted to thank them," Whallon says. "I'd sit down and I'd try and try. I prayed about it, I couldn't do it."
Then, one "gloomy, rainy day," he grabbed a tablet, went to the basement and began to write.
"I prayed about it, all the sudden I wrote this letter, it came out perfect," he says.
He sent it to the organ donor agency, which in turn forwarded it to the donor's family.

Not long afterward, on a Tuesday night, Whallon's phone rang.
He has never forgotten the words he heard:
"Hello. My name is Bob Pul

Dear Friend,
Author unknown

Go ahead and mention my child, the one that died, you know.

Don't worry about hurting me further, the depth of my pain doesn't show.

Don't worry about making me cry, I'm already crying inside.

Help me to heal by releasing the tears that I'm trying to hide.

I'm hurt when you just keep silent, pretending he didn't exist.

I'd rather you'd mention my child, knowing that she has been missed.

You asked me how I'm doing, I say "pretty good" or "fine",

but healing is something on-going, I feel like it will take a lifetime

http://www.geocities.com/for_grievin...

Wherever You Will Go..by The Calling


So lately, been wondering
Who will be there to take my place
When I'm gone you'll need love
To light the shadows on your face
If a great wave shall fall and fall upon us all
Then between the sand and stone
Could you make it on your own

If I could, then I would
I'll go wherever you will go
Way up high or down low
I'll go wherever you will go

And maybe, I'll find out
A way to make it back someday
To watch you, to guide you
Through the darkest of your days
If a great wave shall fall and fall upon us all
Then I hope there's someone out there
Who can bring me back to you

If I could, then I would
I'll go wherever you will go
Way up high or down low
I'll go wherever you will go

Run away with my heart
Run away with my hope
Run away with my love

I know now, just quite how
My life and love might still go on
In your heart, in your mind
I'll stay with you for all of time

If I could, then I would
I'll go wherever you will go
Way up high or down low
I'll go wherever you will go

If I could turn back time
I'll go wherever you will go
If I could make you mine
I'll go wherever you will go
I'll go wherever you will go


That is just for you Mom, you remember that.