Jeff Moore, 55, collapsed in his North Las Vegas home the day before transplant procedures were set to resume in California, where he was due for an appointment.

Richard Davis' husband, Jeff Moore, was due for a double lung transplant in March, but because of the coronavirus pandemic, elective surgeries were canceled and delayed, including his. Moore then died April 21, the day before California lifted its ban on elective surgeries. (Rachel Aston/Las Vegas Review-Journal)

Richard Davis holds a photo of him and his husband Jeff Moore on their wedding day at his home in North Las Vegas, Monday, April 27, 2020. Moore, 55, collapsed in their North Las Vegas home the day before transplant procedures were set to resume in California, where he was due for an appointment. (Rachel Aston/Las Vegas Review-Journal) @rookie__rae

Richard Davis, 63, left, pictured with husband Jeff Moore, 55, right. Moore collapsed in their North Las Vegas home the day before transplant procedures were set to resume in California, where he was due for an appointment. (Richard Davis)

Jeff Moore, 55, was in need of a double lung transplant. He collapsed in his North Las Vegas home the day before transplant procedures were set to resume in California, where he was due for an appointment. (Richard Davis)

Jeff Moore, 55, was in need of a double lung transplant. He collapsed in his North Las Vegas home the day before transplant procedures were set to resume in California, where he was due for an appointment. (Richard Davis)

Richard Davis with his dogs Benji and Zoey at his home in North Las Vegas, Monday, April 27, 2020. His husband Jeff Moore, 55, collapsed the day before transplant procedures were set to resume in California, where he was due for an appointment. (Rachel Aston/Las Vegas Review-Journal) @rookie__rae

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The last thing Jeff Moore said was his husband’s name.

“Richard!” he shouted as he collapsed in his North Las Vegas shower early April 21.

Richard Davis, 63, ran to his aid. He tried to call 911, but his phone was off. He had been teaching a public health class over Zoom for Dignity Health, St. Rose Dominican Hospital. It felt like an eternity, booting it back up.

He administered CPR. But even after paramedics took over, and then Centennial Hills Hospital staff, Moore never regained a heartbeat.

“I wish I had said, ‘I love you, I love you, I love you,’ instead of ‘one, two, three,’ ” Davis told the Las Vegas Review-Journal last week.

Deadly delay

Moore did not test positive for the coronavirus.

“But it killed him just the same,” Davis said.

That’s because Moore — who was diagnosed in August with idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis, a lung disease with no discernible cause — was in need of a double lung transplant.

On March 23, he was supposed to travel to the USC Transplant Institute in California for a preliminary appointment to determine how suitable he would be for the procedure.

At 55, Moore was bedridden because of the disease and managed diabetes, but he was otherwise in good health and considered a good candidate, Davis said.

But his appointment never happened. Because of the pandemic, California hospitals were prohibited from performing elective procedures, which included Moore’s appointment. A new appointment was scheduled for May 12. — a date Moore never lived to see.

“When I went in to see his body, I expected him to look dead,” Davis said. “But he didn’t. He looked handsome. It was so hard.”

A technician covered him in purple brocade — his favorite color.

When Davis returned home a few hours later, alone and in shock, he realized he had a missed a call from a California number. He listened to the voicemail.

It was USC, calling to say they would like to move Moore’s appointment up — California Gov. Gavin Newsom was set to lift the state’s elective procedures ban the next day.

Tripped into love

In life, Moore was a “big talker,” his husband said.

It was necessary for his longtime job at Connections Housing, a meeting planning service, where he worked to accommodate thousands of Las Vegas convention guests over the years.

As a teen, Moore was a champion roller skater in Southern California. More recently, he was an avid bowler. Davis didn’t bowl much himself, but he would often watch Moore, cheering him on.

The couple first met at Metropolitan Community Church in Las Vegas, when Davis tripped and literally fell into Moore’s lap.

“He has often had to pick me up ever since,” Davis said.

Moore loved Harry Potter, tie-dye shirts, fast cars and the couple’s “children” — their big cat Dale, cockatiel Ricky and chihuahuas Benji and Zoey.

The animals often cozied up on Davis’ lap, “but as soon as Jeff came into the room, they were like, ‘zoom,’ over to him,” Davis said.

“Even the bird would fly off my shoulder,” he said with a laugh.

Last morning

Their last morning together was normal, even routine. Moore was not working for the time being, and Davis was permitted to work from home amid the pandemic.

So Davis made his husband oatmeal, and the two caught up on the news together — Davis reading the paper, and Moore watching CNN.

“I knew he was seriously ill,” Davis said. “I knew unless he got that transplant it wasn’t going to be long. But — not today, I thought. Not today.”

After breakfast, he turned up Moore’s oxygen so he could shower, which he had done by himself before, and instructed him to “tell me if you need anything.” Then Davis got to work.

“This is affecting so many people beyond those who are directly suffering and dying from COVID, which is horrible enough,” Davis said.

He asked that, in these difficult times, people still consider those like his intuitive, smart and loving husband, Jeff.

“Who knows how many others have died,” Davis said.

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Contact Rachel Crosby at rcrosby@reviewjournal.com or 702-477-3801. Follow @rachelacrosby on Twitter.