A liver transplant changed Bob Olson's life. Now, as a Mayo staff member, he's supporting patients behind the scenes by repairing wheelchairs and distributing surgical instruments.

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Bob Olson first came to Phoenix, Arizona, for a vacation. Three years later, he's still there. But almost everything else in his life is different — his liver, his job, his outlook.

On July 15, 2022, he woke up severely swollen and short of breath. Instead of exploring Phoenix — a potential place to retire — he rushed to an urgent care center.

"They said, 'You need to be at a hospital,'" Olson recalls. "So, they sent me to Mayo."

The fluid in his abdomen was a symptom of liver disease, a diagnosis he'd received a decade earlier. Although draining it would ease his discomfort, a transplant was the only cure.

Despite this prognosis, Olson thought he could beat the disease without a new liver.

He decided to stay in Phoenix for treatment. By September, he was visiting the Fluid Clinic at Mayo Clinic in Arizona every Friday to drain his abdomen. Without fail, Stephany Conner, a procedure assistant, found him smiling in the waiting room, eager to chat or ask how she was doing.

"Bob is an energy giver," says Jennifer Marino, a physician assistant in the Fluid Clinic. "He has an incredible sense of humor that is healing to everybody around him. He's an absolute spark."

As Marino and Conner sat with Olson each week — laughing, listening to his stories, sharing their own — they also witnessed his decline. Still, he continued to oppose a transplant. Marino began to suspect Olson didn't want to accept an organ someone else might need.

"He was an easy candidate with so much life left in him, even on his tough days," Marino says. "We tried to educate him — to give him his options and advocate for him. We knew Bob was probably not going to get better without a transplant. We really wanted that for him."

"Why not you, Bob?" became their refrain.

Choosing transplant, choosing life

In December, Olson shared that he'd started the transplant process, prompting a group hug in the Fluid Clinic's procedure bay. Over the next few months, Marino and Conner asked about every step. Deeply invested in his journey, they wanted to make sure he stuck with it. 

One Friday in May 2023, Olson missed his appointment. Rather than worrying them, his absence filled Marino and Conner with anticipation.

They didn't have to wait long to find out where Olson was.   

Through another care team member, he invited them to visit him in the intensive care unit (ICU). When the two women arrived, he was sitting in a chair, smiling as brightly as ever.

After only three days on the transplant list, Olson had gotten a new liver. This was the moment they'd all been waiting to celebrate.

"When our patients no longer need the Fluid Clinic, there are so many people — a physician assistant, a sonographer, nurses — cheering for them, and they probably don't even know it, " Marino says. "We're so lucky to share this period of their life with them."

Typically, the Fluid Clinic team doesn't see patients after they "graduate." But this wasn't the end of their time with Olson, even though his transplant was a success.

Olson had decided he didn't want to return to his old life in San Diego. He didn't want to go back to being a real estate broker. He wanted to stay close to the people who had become like family.

From patient to Mayo colleague

A year after his transplant, Olson joined the Mayo team.

"I applied for everything from mopping floors to greeting people to things I wasn't qualified for," he laughs.

When he was offered a job at the front desk, Bob welcomed the chance to assist patients — especially those arriving for liver transplants. He loved sharing the hope of his own journey.  

"He's so proud to be a Mayo Clinic employee. How motivating is that?" Morino says. "As one of the first faces people saw, Bob became an ambassador for Mayo Clinic."

A lifelong learner, Olson recently took a new role in Central Services. He now distributes surgical instruments in the morning, then fixes wheelchairs in the afternoon. He averages three wheelchairs a day, repairing everything from torn seats to busted brakes.

He sees this as his opportunity to support Mayo's primary value.

"I try to keep the wheelchairs as safe as possible," Olson says. "I don't just repair the problem. I look for anything that could potentially cause harm in the future."

The future is something he thinks about a lot now.

"I have the liver of a much younger person — I'm preparing to be around a lot longer," he says. "Whatever my forever is, I want Mayo to be my last employer. This community has given me belonging. It's become part of me."