Tennessee official Tom Satkowiak’s liver transplant journey had dark times, Jesus and Rick Barnes

KNOXVILLE, Tenn. — Tom Satkowiak had Oct. 17 marked in his calendar for months.

The date served as an unofficial start of the college basketball season — the SEC hosting its annual media day in Birmingham, Alabama.

Satkowiak, the Tennessee assistant athletics director for communications, had his bag packed and was almost ready to pick up Admiral Schofield and Grant Williams. They had a flight to catch with Vols coach Rick Barnes.

Then his phone rang. The caller ID read “Vanderbilt liver transplant program.” His heart pounded. This was the call.

“Are you kidding me? This is going to be the day?” Satkowiak thought.

That phone call turned Oct. 17 from a day Satkowiak had circled to a day he had hoped and prayed would come for years.

Satkowiak was diagnosed in 2000 with primary sclerosing cholangitis, a liver disease where a person’s immune system attacks the bile ducts, which results in scar tissue and slowly causes the liver to stop functioning due to damaged cells.

There is no cure. The only fix is a transplant. On that day, Vanderbilt called to let him know they had a liver available. He had spent more than four years on the transplant waiting list.

Satkowiak’s day and life flipped. The 38-year-old tasked his support staff with handling SEC media days and headed for home. He had a different bag to pack and a trip to make to Nashville with his wife, Brooke.

A few hours later, he sent an email from the hospital to his pastor and close friend Tim Miller with the subject line “just in case …”

“If for some reason God is eager to have my company — which is fine — can I ask you to be sure the church provides a network of support for Brooke?” Satkowiak wrote. “Just love, attention, a refuge. She has been my rock. Thank you. I love you.”

Why Tom Satkowiak couldn't kill himself

Seven months earlier, Satkowiak contemplated death.

He got out of bed one night during a particularly difficult stretch and thought “relief is right there in the garage.” He could start the car, roll the windows down and be gone. But he knew that wouldn’t be the answer. Insurance wouldn’t pay out to take care of Brooke if he did that.

He needed a different way.

He drove west down I-40 on his daily commute home. He exited at Pellissippi toward Oak Ridge and saw an out every day: a pillar under the Dutchtown Road overpass.

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