A match made in heaven: Donor, bride and groom

Adam Myers and Sloan Braith spent nearly a year and a half planning a wedding that they weren't sure would ­happen.

There had been two bouts of cancer for Myers and a seemingly endless list of medical obstacles. Doctors said radiation treatment in 2010 from a battle with skin cancer had likely caused the second round of cancer: acute myeloid leukemia.

Myers, 31, got his second diagnosis in December 2012. He was gearing up for another round of chemotherapy but eventually ended up in the hospital, losing about a pint of blood each day. A bone marrow transplant was his best chance at survival.

"I was suffocating from the inside out and blind in my right eye," said Myers, a cellphone and satellite TV salesman from North Branch. "I couldn't even remember how to start my car."

Things deteriorated quickly while the family searched for a donor, and Myers was told he may have as little as a week to live. At the last minute, he was saved by a stranger.

The match

Jeremy Gitzlaff, of Pewaukee, Wis., noticed a bone marrow donation table at an off-road truck race he attended a few years ago.

As an Iraq war veteran who served six years in the Marine Corps Reserve, Gitzlaff was used to donating blood. So when he saw the table, he thought: "I can do that, too!"

Gitzlaff, 30, signed up to donate at the BloodCenter of Wisconsin, one of the National Marrow Donor Program's affiliates, which ­operates Be the Match. He was sent a packet of cotton swabs to swipe his cheek.

Within a few short months, Myers was notified there was a match.

Gitzlaff, an industrial maintenance worker, immediately agreed to donate his marrow. It was transplanted to Myers the same day — May 3, 2013.

"He gave me life," Myers said. "He gave my daughter a father. My fiancé a husband. My parents a son. And my siblings an older brother.

"He gave me all that, when I thought I might lose it."

Before the 'I dos'

On Saturday, the sun was bright at William O'Brien State Park. Myers stood in a gray tailored suit, nervously anticipating the arrival of not only his bride-to-be but also the man credited with saving his life.

Privacy laws had prevented Myers from learning who the mystery donor was until a full year after the transplant. But as soon as the waiting period was over, he reached out to Gitzlaff via Facebook, and they've been communicating ever since.

Just before he said "I do," Myers met Gitzlaff for the first time. As Gitzlaff approached the decorated pavilion, Myers pulled his 7-year-old daughter, Summer, close for introductions. "Remember when I had that transplant? This is the man who made it happen," he explained. "We have the same blood."

Gitzlaff insists that his donation amounted to nothing more than a few hours of his time. But Myers' family and friends reject that humility. At the wedding, he was ambushed by guests wishing to express their gratitude.

Of the 6,000 Americans in need of bone marrow transplants each year, only one-quarter can find relatives to provide a close enough match for donation. The remaining patients are forced to search for donors elsewhere, said Sid Rao, a transplant specialist at the BloodCenter of Wisconsin.

Wait times to find the closest possible match (to reduce the risk of complications) can range from four to six weeks, he said.

"For many of these patients, this is their only chance of long-term survival," said Rao, adding that the process is relatively painless for most donors. "These donations and transplants are absolutely vital."

The Be the Match registry has about 11 million donors on file and takes less than 30 minutes to join. Young donors with diverse racial and ethnic backgrounds are in especially high demand.

It's as simple as getting your mouth swabbed, Rao said, but "it can truly save a life."

A grateful mom

Myers said he began feeling much stronger a year after the transplant, and is currently cancer-free.

On Saturday, the mother of the groom could hardly find words for her gratitude.

"He wouldn't be here right now without [Gitzlaff]," said Lori Stahley. "How do you thank someone for that? You just can't."

Liz Sawyer • 952-746-3282