PG&E troubleman and former Marine overcomes his fear to save life of teenage stranger

Life can throw a curve ball when you least expect it. For Marysville troubleman Chris Stockton, that moment happened during his lunch break as he sat in his blue PG&E bucket truck parked under a tree on a drizzly day in Colusa County.

It was Feb. 11, Stockton had just finished a residential service call and he was eating a hamburger and fries (he hates fruits and vegetables, but more on that later). He was on his phone watching a spring training preview of his favorite team — appropriately, the Los Angeles Angels (more on that later, too) — when he received a startling text. The message was from the Be the Match Registry, a national nonprofit that seeks matches for desperately sick patients in need of bone marrow transplants.

“This is not a soliciting call,” the text read. “There is now a patient waiting for your help.”

He called and the woman on the other end of the line was a representative in Minnesota who confirmed Stockton's identity. Before he knew it, he was speaking to a doctor.

Some background: In 2009, Stockton was an apprentice lineman with PG&E when a fellow apprentice rallied coworkers to register as possible bone marrow candidates for his brother, a Gas employee who had just been diagnosed with leukemia and who tragically passed away soon after.

Fast forward 12 years and Stockton was suddenly hearing news that nearly took his breath away. The doctor told the PG&E worker he was the only known person in the world to be a bone marrow match for a 14-year-old boy with one of the rarest blood disorders. Only 40 people around the world have the disorder, which leads to cancer, and the boy’s prognosis was grim without a transplant, Stockton was told.

‘Are you still willing to donate?’

But first things first. The organization delivered an overnight package so he could swab the inside of each side of his mouth and then send the sample right back to ensure the match. The following day, the doctor called and led with a blunt question: “Are you still willing to donate?”

“There was absolutely no hesitation,” Stockton recalled. “I was his only hope for survival. I told them, ‘Just tell me when and where I need to be.’”

But the doctor wanted to level with the 42-year-old troubleman. The procedure would begin with a week of daily shots from a visiting nurse, followed by a lot of blood drawn. And that last part was what he had to mentally prepare himself. Stockton, who describes himself as a former “badass” U.S. Marine who had dreams of playing professional baseball (he was scouted as an outfielder by the Seattle Mariners and Tampa Bay Rays) and who stands 6-foot-4 and weighs 270 pounds, also has extreme hemophobia — the fear of blood. Particularly his own.

“It’s hard for me not to throw up just thinking about it,” said Stockton, who never considered not going through with the procedure. “I was a big bad Marine once. I can handle it.”

He overcame the daily shots, which suppresses the immune system and causes the body to overproduce white blood cells. But the pain to his bones was excruciating, he said.

“I felt like Brett Favre being crushed by linebackers,” he said.

Before he knew it, he had taken vacation time and was flying solo to San Diego for the procedure at Scripps Memorial Hospital in La Jolla. His wife Andrea stayed home to watch Evan, their 3-year-old son. Even if she had accompanied him, she wouldn’t be allowed in the hospital due to COVID-19 precautions.

Surprises and complications

When he arrived, he was treated like royalty, he said. But the doctor had more surprises in store for him and asked him if they could also get his stem cells because that could very well lead to a cure to a rare form of cancer. Of course, he agreed.

But there was a problem when doctors had trouble drawing blood. Stockton's diet, particularly his aversion to fruits and vegetables, made it difficult to find a vein, he learned.

“Up until I got married, I never once ate a fruit or vegetable,” he said.

There were more complications but for the sake of the squeamish, we'll just say doctors were eventually able to complete the 12-hour procedure. In simple terms, Stockton said, “They take all your blood out and run it through a machine and then put it back into you with all the stuff they want removed.”

The next day, he was on a flight home. The nonprofit registry had purchased his plane ticket but when it tried to reimburse him for his hotel, meals and cab fare, he flat-out refused.

“I make a hell of a good living being a troubleman for PG&E,” he said. “I told them, ‘Take all that money and put it toward the next person who needs it.’”

‘I’m no hero’

He doesn’t know any details about the boy he helped. Due to privacy rules, the registry requires a year-long wait before the family can reach out if it chooses. He does know the high school student is planning to write a story about the stranger who saved his life.

Stockton said he’s sharing his experience to encourage others, especially his PG&E coworkers, to join the registry and maybe save a life themselves. He also became an organ donor and asks others to do the same. And he's now eating more fruits and vegetables, thanks to his wife; one of his favorite recipes she prepares is stuffed peppers with riced cauliflower as a substitute for white rice.

"Believe me, I realize now how important vegetables are," he said.

When reminded of his favorite baseball team and the red Halos cap he always wears when he’s not working, Stockton insisted he’s no angel.

“As much discomfort and pain that I was going through, I was thinking what that boy’s parents have had to go through and the joy and jubilation they’re feeling today,” Stockton said.

“I’m not the hero, folks,” he added. “I’ll help anybody anywhere, any time. I’m just the guy you called when I was eating lunch.”

Email David Kligman at David.Kligman@pge.com.