My Left Kidney...

Over 3 years ago, my first cousin’s husband and a very close friend of mine, had a minor car shunt in New Jersey, America. He went to hospital for routine checks and once there, the nurses had discovered some abnormalities with his kidney, and needed to do some further testing. A few weeks later he discovered that he was suffering from kidney failure….

Most of our txt chats were football related, so when he mentioned this to me, I was shocked. My natural reaction was to offer my kidney if he needed it. I still remember jokingly saying that I didn’t know what state they were in but if you needed one, these bad boys were here for you.

He still tells me to this day that I was the only person he never asked, about donating.

To me, it seemed like a natural choice. I know everyone has their own personal circumstances, and I fully understand and appreciate that, but at the time, that single moment in time, I felt it was a decision that all of us would have made. Call me optimistic, but I thought anyone in the same position would do the same.

More tests were performed on him, our mainly footballing chit chat continued. He was a massive Liverpool fan, so banter was the main ingredient of our discussions. He and his young family got a transfer to Los Angeles, believing that the medical help, was a higher standard and more testing was duly performed.

Months passed and I hadn’t heard many updates. Within the next year it seemed that things were beginning to get serious black. Talk of donors had become primary concern.

Eventually due to promised extra family support he made the decision to return to the UK. 2 years had gone by and thankfully the good ol’ NHS were actively taking charge. Things started to gather pace. Late 2018 and I asked what the situation was, and he was telling me that a donor would be needed otherwise it was a lifetime of dialysis and/or death. He had received a few people willing to go through with the matching process and I once again said I was willing to step forward, no problem.

Not long after, I received some paperwork that I had to fill out and quickly as most of us welcomed the new year, I was arranging times for my first check-up as part of the matching process. Upon arriving at Hammersmith hospital, I was asked by the nurse to wait, where the rest of the willing donor people were to be, I didn’t have a clue who they are. My recipient had turned up and after a few hellos and hugs, had to tell our friendly nurse Honey the gut-wrenching news, that everyone else he had asked had backed out.

Again, it’s not my place to say, but in that moment, I did feel rather peeved off with those said people. One of my mantras in life has always been: -

“Kind thoughts…….and Kind Words………. are nothing without Kind deeds.”

I had felt these people had revelled in some sort of self-adoration when it suited them, but when it came to action, shying away from the difficult decisions that had to be made in the future. One character had proclaimed himself as saviour on Facebook no less, to much applause, but had then slunk cowardly off into the background when the time came. A so called best friend, didn’t even have the guts to pull out face-to-face, or over a phone call. She got her dad to tell him…..no, she got her dad tell to his dad……..shameful.

One thing I will never get used to is needles. There’s a lot of people who say it’s just a tiny sting, but that anticipation of knowing what is coming, never gets easier. I was due to have many…….I mean a lot, more jabs than Frodo has taken on this blog. Some basic weight, pressure checks were complete and then I had to give a lot of blood for the matching process. This was followed up by over a couple of hours of talks by the nurses, consultants and a surgeon, to make sure I knew was I was getting involved in.

I can’t say it was easy. Speaking to the consultants, added realism of what was going to happen. Diagrams were shown, the process was thoroughly explained. But I still came out of it with my resolve holding firm.

It was a waiting process now. A long one……

Several months had passed at this point and I called a few times asking for an update. My recipient was none the wiser, given patient confidentiality etc.

Then I peered into my inbox, waded through the latest offers from a multitude of footy sites and the odd Russian asking for my hand in marriage. None from Odeya Rush, it was only a matter of time!

And there it was………I had matched!

The whole process rapidly stepped up now. I booked a follow up appointment and every couple of weeks I had several tests booked in and a full day of organ tests was followed up too. Because I was a living donor now, with nothing wrong with me health-wise, the onus was on making sure my body was 100% able to follow through and deliver when it came to the operation.

I must admit the process was tiring and quite a strain. The travelling to and from the hospital, they aren’t the best places to sit and wait around in, other people are there primarily because something bad has happened. But the tests were having an impact on me too. Sore arms, being prodded and being lectured was something I hadn’t prepared for. But I had to concentrate on the bigger picture here. “Remain focussed” I told myself every day, religiously. And it was a daily process, life doesn’t go on like I naively had hoped for and even when I wasn’t in hospital, the operation and what was at stake was always in the back of my mind.

It was just a couple of months earlier that we had learnt of the tragic news of Luca’s passing, the whole impetus for this blog. That had given me further strength, if anything, I was beginning to learn the true value of the often-used statement; “Life is Short”.

Loads more tests went by, evermore prodding, loads more visits to hospital and finally a date was set in stone for the operation. October the 14th, it seemed a long way off on a balmy summer’s day having a beer with work mates. By now I had start letting people know. Part of it was offloading all the pressure, sharing my story, I’d be lying if I didn’t feel slightly proud of what I was doing. And why shouldn’t I? I had stepped up to the plate when others didn’t.

Incidentally it’s amazing how many people tell you how brave you are, while always explaining to you why they didn’t step forward……you don’t need to justify anything to me. If you are all comfortable with your consciences, then, you shouldn’t need to say anything. You learn a lot about certain people during such a lengthy process……..these people definitely a small minority.

My parents were fully behind me, after initial fear and apprehension. I was their son at the end of the day. I had been told several times about the risk of death during and after the operation. I had been told in minute details the odds of survival, and the many ways I could end up 6 ft under. We had 1 last test from the Ministry of Health to pass…….to prove we knew each other, standard practise, to stop any forced coercion or dodgy black-market deals occurring. It took a 2-hour grilling though so no small matter.

The date, 14th October 2019, had arrived...

I’d already drawn up my will (like I had much to offer, but my prized white and solar Adidas Predators and Blood red Copa Gloros), had said my temporary goodbyes at work, and had the time all booked off as sick leave. I’d like to say how amazing work was btw, my manager, IT director, HR and friends had all been fully supportive. True stars. Wouldn’t have been able to do this without them. Jumbo stepped up as well as N-Dawgz, being there for me on a personal level.

Much like a game of footy, I had my kit packed and ready to go on Sunday night. At least a weeks’ stay in hospital was forecast. I was pretty nervous, it was classed as major surgery and as mentioned before, there was a very small chance of death.

I arrived at Hammersmith Hospital at 7.30am, a surgeon came in and drew a big arrow on the left-hand side of my slightly portly belly.

I got rolled into theatre, my mum and dad’s tears made me question whether I had made the right decision last minute. The anaesthetic starting to knock me out, I said a quick goodbye...

"See ya little fellow, you've done me proud, live long and prosper bro in your new home"

...to my kidney, as I heard the surgeons all laughing at my humour as the last seconds of my vision and hearing faded into blackness.

I woke up around midday, surprisingly, I was in good spirits.

Then the pain kicked in. WOW, it was painful.

The op was mainly keyhole. So I had three small incisions on the left part of my belly, 1 straight through my belly button………and then the big one. Basically, a caesarean section. Now that hurt! They all did, but that was gonna be a problem later on down the road to recovery.

Pumped myself with a bit of morphine and I was good. I pride myself on that being the first and last time I pressed the button. I was wheeled out of theatre, and was welcomed by my relieved folks, I’d survived so far. My recipient’s father was there to greet me which was nice but the man himself had been taken to surgery for prepping. Anxious times while I was painfully getting used to having 1 kidney left.

He came out a few hours later and was in immense pain, it felt bad watching him heavily drugged up but at the same time, I felt an immense feeling of pride, watching him come out fighting. Hopefully this was the 1st day of his new life. I omitted to mention at this point that he had 3 young kids to look forward to meeting. (the cap was a sweet gift from my recipient just after the op, I loved it)

)After a slow start, I was beginning to gain momentum and I was back at work within 3 weeks! I made a cameo appearance at our work Halloween Quiz night, to much applause from everyone (mainly the women wink wink)

PAINFUL!!! !!!

One of the side effects from the operation was that blood flow to the left side of my body was in short supply, it had to take time to plumb its way back around my innards in the absence of my renal artery (it had been stapled shut as part of the operation). So, I would feel a severe numbness to my left hand side. My arms would go dead and often my left leg too.

1 morning when getting ready for work, I looked down and my ankle had turned in on itself. Still stunned by the sight of it and not feeling it, I slipped and fully went over like a challenge from Roy Keane.

It felt bad straight away, I could hardly move on the floor. As the hours passed by it swelled and swelled, my ankle was in a bad way. Not to mention that some of my wounds from the op had reopened.

Strangely enough my operation wounds would heal, slowly but surely. I’d be lying if I said it was all plain sailing in that regards. But my ankle was well and truly trashed. The hospital confirmed there was no breaking of bone, but boy, some days it felt as if I had, and I even went for a follow up to be sure.

As with all injuries, the swelling went down, but the bone felt really bruised which needed even further to healing and the ligament seemed like it needed time to mend too. A long time. I had taken my fall in the middle of December and only now just before lockdown (with some incredibly helpful physiotherapy tips from our resident work medical font of knowledge, Dr Kim), so late March, was I beginning to feel full free movement in my ankle. I still feel twinges, most probably because of my below par Nike Cortez I use for running (I’m planning on getting some proper running trainers) but I’m nearly there.

Cool silver pin and letter I received from the NHS - you can't buy these on eBay

It’s painful now, in this Covid19 lockdown, to feel that I’m finally getting close to having a kickaround again but due to factors outside of my control, the time off continues……..till mid-July at the earliest in my particular situation.

But I don’t care, I’ve used the opportunity to create this blog. Now more than ever does our resolve have to remain steadfast. Football will never be defeated by Covid19. We have a structured plan in place now, to get people at work and beyond to take up the game. Giving people the opportunity to be part of something more than just a kickaround after work.

My recipient has recovered well too, he has a little way to go, and will be on medication for the rest of his life and there’s no guarantee that my kidney won’t reject, which can happen at any point in his life. But both of us, share similar outlooks on life now, we look to be grateful for what we have now, not the material things we don’t have, like so many of the people around us.

We have our health, are happy at the simple things in life, we don’t need anything or anyone else. Simples. When we all get to the end of road, only then will people realise what they have done with their lives. For us, there is always still much to be done, but we can be proud of what we have achieved so far. There are many still despite what I have done, quick to criticise and put me down. But unlike before, these hurtful words just flyover me now like butterflies. I’ll let them regret the time they spent spreading hate, being hypocritical while doing nothing to better the world on judgement day. Karma is a b*tch.

Let me sign off now, I just wanted to tell this story. It was intertwined with the sad Luca story and this life event made me think even more how much we should all value the little pleasures in life like football. It all dovetails nicely.

"Kind Thoughts and Kind words………. are nothing without Kind Deeds"

FC7 and this blog hope we are the kind deed I am talking about….

I’ve spoken about my journey; I hope you enjoy your own one.

Until the next time!

I'm ready for footy now though!!!!