Mom Gets Rare Intestinal Transplant After Car Crash

Lacy Cornelius Boyd was excited to show her 6-year-old daughter the Grand Canyon last March, but black ice on the drive home changed everything. The head-on collision left her with a collapsed lung, broken bones, and intestinal damage so severe that doctors had to remove almost all of her small intestine.

Boyd went home after a month in the hospital, but life as she knew it was over. She was left with just 35 inches of small intestine instead of the usual 35 feet. Her body couldn't absorb nutrients from food, so she needed 12 hours of IV nutrition every day through tubes and machines that filled her home.

Her daughter was afraid of all the medical equipment. Boyd was too weak and embarrassed to leave the house or eat at restaurants. "I felt like everyone was enjoying their life and I was just going through the motions," she said.

For months, doctors told Boyd this was her new reality. Then in November 2024, she self-referred to Cleveland Clinic, where surgeon Dr. Masato Fujiki suggested something she'd never heard of: an intestinal transplant.

"I started crying," Boyd said. "I think he thought I was sad, but I was really happy."

Intestinal transplants are incredibly rare. Only about 100 are performed in the U.S. each year, compared to 25,000 kidney transplants. They're reserved for people who will be dependent on IV nutrition for life because the risks are high and rejection rates have historically been challenging.

But advances in the last decade have dropped rejection rates from 40% to about 8%, according to Fujiki. Boyd qualified for the procedure and received her transplant in July 2025, 16 months after the crash.

The 12-hour surgery went smoothly. After three weeks in the hospital and three months of outpatient recovery in Cleveland, Boyd's ostomy bag was removed and she no longer needed IV nutrition.

Sunny's Take

Boyd made it home just before Thanksgiving, in time for the holiday traditions she thought she'd miss forever. She got to watch her husband carry their daughter to the Christmas tree every morning to open presents. She can take her daughter to school, go out to eat, and drink a Coke again.

"It's so much," Boyd said. "Everyone is just a little bit more at peace."