I am Colin Farrell. Admittedly, on the face of it, we don't have that much in common. Him: Irish, male, attractive, internationally renowned actor, millionaire; me: short, plump, ginger, unemployed bum...but more specifically, I am Colin Farrell in "Phonebooth". Just like Colin, the outcome of my life depends on whether or not I answer a specific phone call. If you want to be pedantic, yes, there are some basic differences: he has a psychopathic maniac aiming a rifle at his head and threatening to kill his loved ones. Granted, I don't have that. There is, however, a kidney in it for me - and that is as important to me as not having his head blown off is to Colin.
It used to be the case that I would not go anywhere without my phone. I'd take it to the gym, to the toilet; I set it on a loud profile and placed it on my pillow when I slept and I recklessly refused to turn it off in the cinema, because that is just how far I am prepared to go. I was so anxious not to miss the Kidney Call that I would not let my phone out of my sight. The battery dying was enough to give me a stroke: the Call would obviously absolutely definitely come in those three minutes it took me to locate my charger from amongst the detritus on my bedroom floor and plug the damn thing in. A fellow patient once told me that she missed the call because she was upstairs and her phone downstairs. She had to wait another 18 months before the next one came.
The longer I have waited on the list, however, the more things have changed. When you first go on the list, you are convinced the call will come any minute. Your life revolves around your phone and I even had a bag of toiletries and pyjamas packed, like an expectant mother, so that I would be prepared to make a mad dash to the hospital as soon as I hung up. When the hospital calls, the number appears on the display as "unknown". I once heard my phone ringing as I was teaching my Year 10s and a sneaky peak revealed a missed call from an "unknown" number. I FREAKED OUT, sure that I had just missed my one chance for a brand new kidney and a brand new life. I was barely able to teach the rest of the lesson - I stuck on a DVD of "Great Expectations" and fretted, mute with worry...
...it turned out it was my bank, wondering if I was interested in opening a new savings account.
Now, I am miles past the hysteria that being on the list induces. The average wait for a transplant is 18 months, but in my case, for various reasons, it is likely to be closer to 2 years. Having been on the list for a year, almost to the day, I am roughly half way through and I have long since stopped willing my phone to ring or assuming that the call will come any time soon. I have been known to do such reckless things as LEAVE MY PHONE AT HOME when I go to the gym. I used to imagine that when the call finally did come, I would rush into the street in whatever I happened to be wearing (pyjamas, towel, nurse's outfit) and hail the first passing taxi by hysterically flailing my arms and screaming "STOOOPPPP! ITS AN EMEEEERGENCY!". I would then instruct the driver to get to the hospital as fast as he could ("because it's an emeeergency!") and pay whatever ridiculous fare he demanded without a thought. Now, however...I can't imagine doing anything more dramatic then hopping into my car and driving within the speed limit, having first applied some mascara and ensuring I have set the BT Vision to record the next episode of The Apprentice. After all, getting the call is no guarantee of actually getting a kidney: often patients arrive in a flustered mess at the hospital only to be told the kidney is not viable, or some other complication means they should bugger off back home and carry on waiting.
I am not a patient person by nature, which perhaps explains why I rarely eat anything that takes longer to prepare than a Pot Noodle. I have had to learn to be. I have had to resign myself to the fact the transplant is in the lap of the Gods and that a watched pot...etc etc. One day my phone will ring and hopefully I won't be in the shower when it does.
It used to be the case that I would not go anywhere without my phone. I'd take it to the gym, to the toilet; I set it on a loud profile and placed it on my pillow when I slept and I recklessly refused to turn it off in the cinema, because that is just how far I am prepared to go. I was so anxious not to miss the Kidney Call that I would not let my phone out of my sight. The battery dying was enough to give me a stroke: the Call would obviously absolutely definitely come in those three minutes it took me to locate my charger from amongst the detritus on my bedroom floor and plug the damn thing in. A fellow patient once told me that she missed the call because she was upstairs and her phone downstairs. She had to wait another 18 months before the next one came.
The longer I have waited on the list, however, the more things have changed. When you first go on the list, you are convinced the call will come any minute. Your life revolves around your phone and I even had a bag of toiletries and pyjamas packed, like an expectant mother, so that I would be prepared to make a mad dash to the hospital as soon as I hung up. When the hospital calls, the number appears on the display as "unknown". I once heard my phone ringing as I was teaching my Year 10s and a sneaky peak revealed a missed call from an "unknown" number. I FREAKED OUT, sure that I had just missed my one chance for a brand new kidney and a brand new life. I was barely able to teach the rest of the lesson - I stuck on a DVD of "Great Expectations" and fretted, mute with worry...
...it turned out it was my bank, wondering if I was interested in opening a new savings account.
Now, I am miles past the hysteria that being on the list induces. The average wait for a transplant is 18 months, but in my case, for various reasons, it is likely to be closer to 2 years. Having been on the list for a year, almost to the day, I am roughly half way through and I have long since stopped willing my phone to ring or assuming that the call will come any time soon. I have been known to do such reckless things as LEAVE MY PHONE AT HOME when I go to the gym. I used to imagine that when the call finally did come, I would rush into the street in whatever I happened to be wearing (pyjamas, towel, nurse's outfit) and hail the first passing taxi by hysterically flailing my arms and screaming "STOOOPPPP! ITS AN EMEEEERGENCY!". I would then instruct the driver to get to the hospital as fast as he could ("because it's an emeeergency!") and pay whatever ridiculous fare he demanded without a thought. Now, however...I can't imagine doing anything more dramatic then hopping into my car and driving within the speed limit, having first applied some mascara and ensuring I have set the BT Vision to record the next episode of The Apprentice. After all, getting the call is no guarantee of actually getting a kidney: often patients arrive in a flustered mess at the hospital only to be told the kidney is not viable, or some other complication means they should bugger off back home and carry on waiting.
I am not a patient person by nature, which perhaps explains why I rarely eat anything that takes longer to prepare than a Pot Noodle. I have had to learn to be. I have had to resign myself to the fact the transplant is in the lap of the Gods and that a watched pot...etc etc. One day my phone will ring and hopefully I won't be in the shower when it does.
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