A Liver To Live

Today I received an email from a lovely young mum, and she told me about how, just a few months ago, she saved her little boy.

I have read all the NHS information, Liver Transplant packs and all the Statistics I can get my hands on, but none of them compare to talking to someone who has experienced what I'm about to go through. Having someone to tell you how they felt, what obstacles they came across, and how they overcame their hurdles is invaluable, and one of the reasons I write about my own experiences. It's so important to be given the benefit of a human account rather than figures and explanations churned out by the Government, so I tracked down someone who had been through a transplant themselves, and I asked her to tell me her story.

Not long ago her little boy was dying, his liver function was deteriorating so rapidly, he had only a matter of days to live. The doctors told her and her husband that a transplant was the only way of saving him, but they had to be quick. There was no time to wait for a liver from a deceased donor, so they made arrangements for the family to be tested to see if there was a match amongst them for the little boy, so that a 'live transplant' (meaning both patient and donor are alive), could be carried out. The doctors would need to take about 25% of the liver from the donor to transplant into her son and she sat and prayed for a match to be found as, one by one, members of the little one's immediate family were tested. She grew increasingly desperate for her baby as each test come back negative, until it was her turn to give a blood sample. She had hoped another member of the family would be a match, allowing her to look after her little boy and help him recover, but as the possibilities of donors dwindled in front of her, she began to have the tests done herself and as the results were rushed through, to her unimaginable relief, they showed she was a match. The next day surgeons performed the operation; it took them 5 hours to remove part of her liver to be donated, while her son was on the operating table for twice as long as they replaced his failing organ. Her act of selflessness and pure love had saved him, she gave him a liver to live.

Now mum and son are recovering really well, and as she told me how much stronger he gets day by day, a flood of admiration overwhelmed me. She described what her little boy had to go through during and after the operation, the tubes he had inserted, down his throat and inside his nose. She listed the medication he needed during the procedure and the medication he'll be on for the rest of his life, and the check ups and hospital visits he'll never be free from. But nowhere in her email was there a hint of negativity, or exhaustion, -only joy. He has been given a second chance, and not only that, she has given him that second chance. Now they'll share a bond like no other, a bond that no one could ever break.

How do we lose sight of such appreciation for life?

Treading Water...

When you live with Cancer some days are much harder than others. It is much harder to get up in the  morning, much harder to stay positive, much harder to even make conversation with people you love. Some days you just want to stay in bed with the covers up over your head, wishing it would all go away. Some days it's hard to keep going. The past week has been full of days like these.

It's bad enough being in remission, the low days are hard, however, they're often few and far between. But knowing that this poison is inside me, growing everyday, threatening to strangle the life from my rose bud often makes it difficult to concentrate on anything else.

Although my latest scans have been encouraging, indicating that the disease isn't spreading, and is growing extremely slowly, I still get very frustrated at the amount of time I have been kept waiting by the hospital. My doctors are still on holiday, still keeping me hanging on for a decision on a transplant, and I feel I have been left to tread water, trying to keep my head above the surface until they are ready to throw me a float.

But this is juxtaposed with a longing to maintain a normal lifestyle, to continue going to work, seeing my friends, swimming, dancing - living. I don't want to be restricted by surgery, transplants, and medication. And this is what brings me down, this confusion as to whether I want the doctors to hurry up and make a decision, or to leave me alone altogether.

And so, still, I wait. But I'm strong, and I know that for every tough day I have, there are many more brighter ones. I know how lucky I am to even have the chance to fight this, so many others are robbed of the chance to do so too young, too soon.

Today was much harder than others, but tomorrow might be a little brighter.

The Launch Party

Hope you enjoy the little film we have put together with footage and interviews from the launch party!

Kiss From A Rose - The Launch