Chapter IX: Nothing that ends in a gift ends in nothing.

Mum arrived in the UK (again!) in mid-November, but until she did, my poor friends had to put up with me! My drugged, anxious, sick, tired, generally unstable self was certainly not the best company ever! Turns out, transplant recovery is not for wimps. It. Was. Hard.

Fortunately they understood why, and were brilliant at distracting me. As soon as I reached the point where I had more good hours in a day than bad ones, they merrily dragged me here, there and everywhere in an effort to stop me thinking about how ill I sometimes still felt. We went not only all around Manchester, but also to York, Liverpool and Edinburgh! This probably isn’t what most people would opt for in the first weeks after a kidney transplant, but it worked for me. It’s something I love to do, so it felt normal.

nothing that ends in a gift ends in nothing
nothing that ends in a gift ends in nothing; Exactly two months after my transplant, I was in Edinburgh visiting Laurie. While we were in the Botanic Gardens we stumbled upon the National Memorial for Organ and Tissue Donors in Scotland. In the middle of it was a stone circle with these words as a border.
My donor’s memorial candle in York Minster. I am the least religious person you will ever meet, but some things just feel right.

As painful, anxious and difficult as the first few weeks (months!) post-transplant were, I look back at them now and smile.