The ball is tipped and there you are

You're running for your life

You're a shooting star

And all the years no one knows

Just how hard you worked

But now it shows

In one shining moment, it's all on the line

One shining moment, there frozen in time

SHELL ROCK - College basketball fans will recognize the lyrics to "One Shining Moment," which has become the national anthem for the NCAA finals, typifying the spirit of the tournament.

For Troy Lindaman, it has become his personal anthem. After undergoing a double-lung transplant at the University of Iowa Hospitals and Clinics on Nov. 15, 2008, he listened to the song every day as he walked on the treadmill.

"The song was motivating; it explains me and my disease, the transplant process and the will to survive. For me it has nothing to do with basketball. It's about overcoming obstacles and succeeding," said Lindaman, a certified financial planner and wealth management adviser for Merrill Lynch in Davenport.

Diagnosed with cystic fibrosis at six weeks old, he wasn't expected to live to his fifth birthday. But his parents, Ray and Sally Lindaman of Shell Rock, were determined not to let the disease beat him. He participated in baseball, basketball, football and swimming, which actually strengthened his lungs. Most people had no idea he had CF, which causes thick mucus to build up in the lungs and digestive tract in children and young adults, resulting in life-threatening lung infections and digestive problems.

"My parents always encouraged me and we never let CF define who I was," said Lindaman, now 41. "My dad was ultra-competitive, and still is. I got a lot of it from him. I visited the doctor more and I had four nasal polyps surgeries before I was 8 years old, but I really wasn't restricted from anything. I used a lot of common sense when it came to being around sick people. I pretty much did everything any other kid would have done."

Life was normal for the Shell Rock native, who went to the University of Northern Iowa, graduating in 1990 with a bachelor's degree in accounting. He became a certified public accountant, got a job at an accounting firm in Oskaloosa, and met and married his wife, Diane.

Then, in his early 30s, the disease began to drastically alter his life.

"I was healthy in my teens and 20s, but I was always coughing and I couldn't gain weight no matter how much I ate," he said. "As I got older and my oxygen decreased, I was always tired. For the past 10 years, I was on eight nebulizers a day and took approximately 20 pills, plus chest physical therapy four hours a day. Chest therapy involves putting on an inflated vest that's hooked up to a machine that vibrates and breaks up the mucus."

When he was 32, he began going to the University of Iowa Hospitals and Clinics for two-week 'tune-ups,' which involved IV antibiotics, numerous blood draws and other procedures.

Beginning in March 2007, Lindaman acquired a constant companion-his 'leash;' a 50-foot tube, connected to an oxygen tank that pushed oxygen into his lungs.

He was put on the transplant list in March 2008, which meant he could live no more than 55 miles from the UIHC in case an organ donor was found. He and Diane both took leaves of absence from their jobs.

Each day, he would spend nearly three hours in physical therapy and inhaled medication, praying to get through the day. As days turned into months, he and Diane found support in the UIHC online CarePages, where they posted updates and people left messages of encouragement.

In August, he was notified of a possible donor. Before he could get out of the driveway, he got another call telling him the lungs weren't compatible.

"My biggest emotion came when I walked upstairs and saw all the oxygen tanks, nebulizers and vest equipment that would have been gone with a transplant. I realize this is not an easy operation, but I have put my full trust in God, my surgeons and myself. If they can just get me to the recovery process, I'll work harder than most people they have probably dealt with," he wrote on his CarePages.

As the months passed and no donor was found, Lindaman grew increasingly anxious. He knew he wouldn't make it to Christmas if a donor wasn't found. By November, his lung capacity was a dangerously low 18. He struggled for every breath, which made things like dressing, brushing his teeth and eating difficult. He dropped to 142 pounds - not much for his 6-foot-1-inch frame.

By this time, he was at the top of the national lung transplant list. On the morning of Nov. 15, as he and Diane were waiting for son Connor's basketball game to start, his pager went off: A donor had been found.

He and Diane raced to Iowa City and he was prepped for the 12-hour surgery. Coming out of anesthesia the next day, Lindaman, a devoted Hawkeye fan, scribbled two questions on a pad: "Did Iowa win the football game?" and "Am I alive?"

Twelve hours later, he was up and walking and on two liters of oxygen. His lung capacity: 100 percent. He spent 21 days in the hospital and another two weeks living in a hotel in Iowa City and came home for good on Dec. 22 and shared Christmas with Diane and their sons, Connor, 11, and Carson, 7; something he didn't think he'd live to see.

Now, almost a year later, Lindaman's lung capacity is at 121 percent and his weight is 210.

"Every night, I prayed that I would have no infection, no rejection and no complications, and that's what happened," he said. "My doctor said everything was perfect. She said I had the highest FEV1 they have ever had. FEV measures the amount of air you can force out of your lungs in 1 second. Mine was 4.91 liters; prior to my transplant it was 0.88."

He takes nearly 40 anti-rejection and other pills each day, but that's nothing in the grand scheme of things. He also exercises by walking running, or biking seven to 10 miles a day. He returned to work full-time on July 20, after nearly a 1 1/2-year leave of absence.

Because of the success of his transplant and recovery, Lindaman gets offers weekly from all over the country to speak about his experience. In September, he spoke at the Breath of Life Gala in Peoria, Ill., for the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation. He also mentors five lung transplant patients around the country. And just last week he was contacted by the donor's family. The lungs came from a 26 year-old from Ohio.

"Lots of people tell me I'm an inspiration," Lindaman said. "I never set out to be; I just wanted to live. The donor gave me an unselfish gift. I wouldn't be alive without it. What I do now is about giving people hope."