From the Friday addition of the Deseret News

Heart recipient Emily Roosevelt lived like she meant it

By Lee Benson

Published: Thursday, April 15, 2010 10:37 p.m. MDT

These are heady times for the Utah Cardiac Transplant Program.

The unit marked its 25th anniversary in March, and just two weeks ago, it was widely hailed for successfully implanting a Utah-made heart pump in an Idaho man.

But the grim reality of the precarious life-and-death nature of what goes on at one of the world's most respected and longest-standing heart transplant collaborations hit home Sunday when 40-year-old Emily Roosevelt unexpectedly passed away due to congestive heart failure.

Emily's passing hit the transplant community hard. In the 22 months since the young wife and mother of two received a donor heart in June 2008, she wasn't just the heart of the local transplant universe but also its soul.

Even as she personally negotiated the usual speed bumps associated with getting acquainted with her new heart — a follow-up surgery here, an emergency room visit there — Emily became the program's all-star supporter and advocate.

When she wasn't helping raise money or beating the drum for people to sign up as organ donors, she was doing everything she could to buoy up the attitude of all around her. So much so that last July, when University Hospital opened its new $200 million wing, hospital officials didn't ask the architects, the surgeons or the governor to act as master of ceremonies.

They asked Emily.

She leaves behind a how-to for anyone and everyone who should find themselves in her shoes:

Don't whine.

Don't act like a victim.

Do encourage the world to donate their organs.

Do talk to the doctors — you are your own best advocate.

Do appreciate every single second.

Do thank everyone, everywhere, all the time.

She became so popular, so fast, she could have been elected president. (Franklin Delano Roosevelt was her great grandfather.)

When her untimely time came, almost without warning, there was a stunned silence at University Hospital.

A place that routinely deals with death was unroutinely staggered.

"You just felt like you got punched in the gut," said Chris Nelson, assistant vice president of public affairs for University Health Care. "She had such an impact on so many people in such a positive way. She definitely transcended being a patient and helped epitomize what our organization is all about — providing care to people who are dealing with complex situations."

Away from the hospital, it was the same thing.

"She didn't have superficial relationships," said her husband, Peter Foehl. "She wanted to get to know you and care about you."

That extended to the person whose heart gave her an extra 22 months.

"She woke up every morning and said a little prayer to herself and her donor," Peter said. "It meant so much to her that she was able to have a new lease on life and be a mom to our two kids."

She wedged so much life into life.

"I don't know if she thought she was invincible — but we did," said Amy Albo, one of a legion of friends. "She was such an inspiration. So gracious. So kind. Such an example."

In contrast to the Tim McGraw song "Live Like You Were Dying," Emily lived like she was living.

"She had this amazing attitude," said LeAnn Stamos, heart transplant coordinator for University Health Care. "She was always looking forward."

In the end, Emily reflected the sobering statistics of transplants. Even though Utah's crack cardiac transplant program exceeds the national averages, a heart transplant patient still has a 7 percent chance of not surviving a year and a 30 percent chance of not making it past five years.

Such odds did not slow Emily Roosevelt down, nor swerve her off course. They just made her that much more appreciative of her time.

As she said after a ski outing with Peter and their sons, Mason and Liam, this past winter: "I think now I sorta stop and take stock. I don't care so much about the speed. It's the views, it's those little things. You know, the wonders of life."