dialysisorgan donationThe Story of Holly & Billy the Kid

Chapter VII: 18 missed calls; and a tram.

I arrived at the hotel in Blackpool feeling mightily impressed with myself for having lugged the cycler on the train on my own (well, almost on my own, the station staff helped!), checked in and went for dinner with some friends, both of whom are transplant recipients. After dinner we went for a walk to look at the Illuminations and have a drink. While we were walking along the prom, we spotted a tram with a big pink NHS “Donate Life” banner on the side of it, which we thought was pretty cool. It wasn’t until several days later that I saw this photo on Facebook. The tram is in the background.

I’m not superstitious, but the hair on my arms stands on end when I look at this picture. While we were taking it, my phone was ringing in my pocket…

After we’d walked as far as we could, we stopped for a drink and Sarah started talking about how it was coming up to the 10th anniversary of her transplant and what it was like when she got her call.

Sitting in the pub, I pulled my phone out to check the time. I saw 18 missed calls, text messages and Facebook posts. I knew.

I don’t remember what I said to Sarah and Tracey as I jumped up and ran outside onto the street to phone Emma back, but I remember thinking “Shit! My phone is on 5% battery for possibly the first time in it’s life and THIS is when it happens?!”

My friends pretty quickly figured out what was going on, and having both been through this themselves, they realised how big a deal it was. I’m so glad they were with me. By the time I’d spoken first to Emma and then to the transplant coordinator on the phone, we’d established that everything was ok time-wise (I ended up arriving at the hospital long before the kidney did anyway), and my next task was to get back to the hotel, pack, and then wait for a taxi to go to Manchester Royal Infirmary.

I remember being surprisingly un-panicky on the tram on the way back to the hotel. I don’t know why, usually I’m the first person to run around in circles in a situation like this, but not on that occasion, or not yet anyway!

Once we got back to the hotel, we discovered that the staff had made an absolutely mammoth effort to locate me! They had checked every bar, restaurant, the gym (HA!) and the smoking area, been up to my room multiple times hammering at the door and eventually ended up double-locking it so that when I did get back, I’d be forced to go to reception to see what was wrong with my key card.

When I had packed, we went down to Reception to wait for my taxi. And wait. And wait. The taxi took a ridiculously long time to get from Manchester to Blackpool – the reasons for this will probably be forever unknown, but by this point my stress level was certainly increasing!

Contrary to what I thought I would do, I didn’t tell very many people what was going on. I knew straight away I didn’t want anybody else at the conference to know where I’d gone, at least not yet. This was partly because some people get calls for transplants that don’t end up going ahead for various reasons, but also because of my parents. As luck would have it, they were on holiday in Tasmania at the time, driving through a remote area with very limited phone and internet access, and the last thing I wanted was for them to find out via social media!

Obviously Emma and Lindy already knew, as they’d spent several hours of their Friday night trying to get hold of me, and once the taxi finally arrived I sent text messages to two close friends in NZ, both of whom then talked to me the whole way there. As Jenny put it; “This must be one strange taxi ride!” I remember arriving into Manchester off the motorway and seeing all the cranes lit up, while Cyndi Lauper and Michael Jackson were on the radio. That’s a moment I won’t forget.

When I arrived at MRI, I went up to the ward and spoke with the nurse on duty. It was about 3:30am by this point, and as tired as I was, I had very little sleep as people were then in and out talking to me, taking bloods and checking I was fit for major surgery the next day.

Just some of the bloods I had drawn before my transplant. Now, I wish I’d taken more pictures of this moment in my life.

It was when I was sitting there on my own in the middle of the night that I started thinking. I realised that although I was there for an amazing reason, somewhere else in the UK, in another hospital, another family was also awake in the middle of the night, doing the hardest thing they’ve ever done, saying goodbye to somebody they loved. Somebody who could have been a son, a brother, a husband, a father and a friend. Somebody who, because of a choice he and his family made,  was about to become my donor. Only other transplant recipients can ever know what that’s like. I think of him every day.

At some point in the early hours of Saturday, I met the surgeon and he told me he’d seen the kidney and that it looked like a good match, but wasn’t perfect. I asked him whether, if it was one of his children or himself being offered this organ, he would accept it. He said he would, and that I shouldn’t be worried about anything because “today is a good day”.

Before I end this post, I want to share something I wrote on Facebook and Instagram a few days after my transplant. This is vitally important.

Lovely friends,

Thank you for all the amazing comments, messages and visits over the last few days. They have made me smile when I’ve been in pain, and laugh when I’ve felt like throwing up. They mean a lot.

In the midst of my excitement at getting another chance at a healthy life, I cannot forget the reason behind it. This kidney did not fall out of the sky by itself. I am sitting here writing this because somebody decided, at the very worst moment of their life, to honour the wishes of their loved one and donate their organs. This choice is why I now have hope.

Quite a few of you have asked if there’s anything I need, and if there’s anything you can do. In terms of practical help I have good support, so what I’d really love is for you to visit one of these sites, register as a donor and then TELL your family that this is what you’d like to happen when you die.

In the UK, three people die every day because they don’t get transplants in time. I presume statistics are similar in NZ. Because somebody said YES, I am not one of those three. Instead, I will be absolutely fine. When I have recovered, there will be very little I can’t do.

Please take the time to sign up to change a life the way mine has just changed. Everyone deserves hope like this, when you say yes, they can have it. Thank you so much. ❤

United Kingdom: https://www.organdonation.nhs.uk

New Zealand: http://www.donor.co.nz/about-donation/how-to-become-a-donor

A post shared by Holly (@holly.loughton) on

2 Comment

  1. Gosh I remember this night so well and it still gives me goose bumps now reading it. It was like Everything was lined up. Conf, the tram, our conversation in the pub. Not a night I’ll forget either x

  2. hi holly
    i was on your table at the conference & have followed your post transplant life with personal interest….
    you are a great kidney person. x

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