I have gone back to work which means summer is officially over, although you probably already know that if you have been outside recently or seen the mince pies in Sainsbury's. But hell, what a summer it has been. More has happened in the last six weeks than in the last six months and my associated emotions have been more up and down than Jordan's knickers.
It started horrifically, with the news about my chances of getting a kidney from The List - this I received on the very first day of my summer holiday. Darkness followed. Then, from out of the gloom, emerged the Olympic flame and slowly, slowly, I found my way back to the light. My God, the Olympics were amazing; I loved every track-burning, high-jumping, triple-piking moment and it proved my salvation. I was overwhelmed by pride in our athletes, as well as the sensational atmosphere in London, but nothing takes the mind off one's dismal transplant prospects quite like three solid hours of handball.
The sun came out. I spent lots of time with my lovely friends. My hideous housemate moved out, I found a shiny new one and made my house feel like a home. Gradually, I have come to terms with the fact that dialysis is going to be my reality for longer than I had once hoped and I have found it almost...emancipating. Rather than living my in suspension, waiting for a transplant to cure all my ills, I have started to just live - and it turns out I am actually quite happy. I feel braver, more confident; two weeks ago I took a spontaneous trip to Newcastle for Joanne's birthday weekend, something I would never have considered even weeks previously.
The seasons may be beginning to turn but my tumultuous summer is not over yet, it would seem. My journey towards home dialysis continues apace and on Monday I met Molly*: twenty-eight, gorgeous and working for an investment bank, who has been on dialysis since she was thirteen and has no prospect of having a transplant. Talking to her was just as inspirational as watching Jess Ennis win gold: Molly has kicked the shit out of kidney failure and is living a life she described as, "the closest you can get to not being a dialysis patient, if you are a dialysis patient". I glimpsed what my life could be and Reader, it could be awesome...it could be practically normal. So I have something phenomenal to work towards...
...especially if my father is unable to donate.
In the depths of my despair after getting my dire prognosis, I asked my Dad whether he would ever consider getting tested. Being the practical and generous sort that he is, within days he was on the phone to the hospital, demanding in his inimitable style that they compress a four month work-up into a fortnight. It is a long shot. It is far more likely that he won't be able to donate than that he will; tomorrow our blood will be mingled to reveal whether we share antibodies and on Monday the lab will test to see whether we are a match. I have found it impossible not to get my hopes up; even though the outlook is not favourable, I have resigned myself to working through the inevitable disappointment rather than trying to pre-empt it.
As Autumn draws in there is much to look forward to. Things are going to get harder before they get easier, especially as my Masters kicks back in and going to work loses its novelty, but it is tough to complain when The Great British Bake-Off makes Tuesday nights sweeter and the new Bond film is out in October. This summer has tested my resilience but ultimately has shown me how resilient I am - how resilient we can ALL be. If the Olympics has taught us anything - beyond how delightful Tom Daley looks in Speedos - it is that perseverance is everything, and if you're prepared to work for them, your dreams can come true.
It started horrifically, with the news about my chances of getting a kidney from The List - this I received on the very first day of my summer holiday. Darkness followed. Then, from out of the gloom, emerged the Olympic flame and slowly, slowly, I found my way back to the light. My God, the Olympics were amazing; I loved every track-burning, high-jumping, triple-piking moment and it proved my salvation. I was overwhelmed by pride in our athletes, as well as the sensational atmosphere in London, but nothing takes the mind off one's dismal transplant prospects quite like three solid hours of handball.
The sun came out. I spent lots of time with my lovely friends. My hideous housemate moved out, I found a shiny new one and made my house feel like a home. Gradually, I have come to terms with the fact that dialysis is going to be my reality for longer than I had once hoped and I have found it almost...emancipating. Rather than living my in suspension, waiting for a transplant to cure all my ills, I have started to just live - and it turns out I am actually quite happy. I feel braver, more confident; two weeks ago I took a spontaneous trip to Newcastle for Joanne's birthday weekend, something I would never have considered even weeks previously.
The seasons may be beginning to turn but my tumultuous summer is not over yet, it would seem. My journey towards home dialysis continues apace and on Monday I met Molly*: twenty-eight, gorgeous and working for an investment bank, who has been on dialysis since she was thirteen and has no prospect of having a transplant. Talking to her was just as inspirational as watching Jess Ennis win gold: Molly has kicked the shit out of kidney failure and is living a life she described as, "the closest you can get to not being a dialysis patient, if you are a dialysis patient". I glimpsed what my life could be and Reader, it could be awesome...it could be practically normal. So I have something phenomenal to work towards...
...especially if my father is unable to donate.
In the depths of my despair after getting my dire prognosis, I asked my Dad whether he would ever consider getting tested. Being the practical and generous sort that he is, within days he was on the phone to the hospital, demanding in his inimitable style that they compress a four month work-up into a fortnight. It is a long shot. It is far more likely that he won't be able to donate than that he will; tomorrow our blood will be mingled to reveal whether we share antibodies and on Monday the lab will test to see whether we are a match. I have found it impossible not to get my hopes up; even though the outlook is not favourable, I have resigned myself to working through the inevitable disappointment rather than trying to pre-empt it.
As Autumn draws in there is much to look forward to. Things are going to get harder before they get easier, especially as my Masters kicks back in and going to work loses its novelty, but it is tough to complain when The Great British Bake-Off makes Tuesday nights sweeter and the new Bond film is out in October. This summer has tested my resilience but ultimately has shown me how resilient I am - how resilient we can ALL be. If the Olympics has taught us anything - beyond how delightful Tom Daley looks in Speedos - it is that perseverance is everything, and if you're prepared to work for them, your dreams can come true.
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