On Donating a Kidney

Before and After

Before

I am unable to express the depth of my loss of faith in humanity in the face of our collective response – or lack of response – to the genocide of the people of Gaza. While I have witnessed many examples of courage amongst the Palestinians and the Houthis of Yemen, in the West heroic individuals like Aaron Bushnell or Matt Nelson have too often stood alone. Far, far too many of us have been unwilling to say uncomfortable things or take difficult actions, staying within our comfort zones of signing petitions or marching in protests or donating money. While some few hundred protestors for Palestine Action have been willing to face arrest, it is notably far less than the number of us who were willing to do so for Extinction Rebellion or Just Stop Oil.

I imagine many people (maybe some of you reading) felt the same during the invasions of Iraq and Afghanistan, maybe even earlier, during the bombing of Vietnam. There were larger, more disruptive protests then... and I can’t help wonder if we have been effectively conditioned into passivity – and a feeling that we have no power to prevent or alter the terrible deeds of governments and armies.

Trying to take the mantra of being the change you want to see in the world to heart – and wanting to make a clear, concrete, positive contribution to the world – I have embarked on a journey to donate a kidney. I know the recipient passingly and so have a sense of the difference this will make to their life. While close friends and family members have been (understandably) concerned about the potential risk to myself, I have been assured by a kidney specialist in London that my kidney function (currently above average) should be around average after my operation. While the immediate recovery will be somewhat arduous and painful, after six weeks I should not notice any major differences in my day-to-day life.

Since I happen to have type O negative blood, I am a universal donor. This makes it much easier for me to donate an organ without complications. Plus, the period of rest and recovery should give me lots of time to read!

While it is better to donate a kidney (or, indeed, part of one’s liver) while young, potentially it can be done at any age. It is a major procedure, but it is not a highly dangerous one and can be an example of concrete good in a world that often seems to reward our most selfish impulses. While I think I have been selfish in not confronting some of the abuses of this world with full determination and courage, doing something charitable can help restore one’s faith in humanity, starting with oneself.

After

I am dog tired, but a little less spiritually diminished. My operation was more complicated than expected because, some time during the last decade, the mesh implanted into my umbilical region to hem in a hernia, had adhered in gristly strands of scar tissue to the surrounding flesh. Obviously I didn’t know about this at the time since I was under general anaesthetic. I was informed later in a breezy (though faintly critical, as though I had tried to scupper my own operation) fashion by the chief surgeon who told me he’d cut away what he could of the adhesions within an hour, but that some of them were still left. The odd, slightly impersonal way he explained this to me made me feel strange and uncomfortable, as though I was being reduced to a pair of ragged claws within my own bowel cavity. Still, pain can leave me a little uppity and stress almost always worstens my OCD, my brain immediately preying upon my own uncertainty about exactly what semi-organic material has been left deep within me and how much of it remains. I was biased against this surgeon due to his cheerful inquiry about “gas from [my] botty” or somesuch similar phrasing which made me feel patronised and squicky.

Also, I wonder if, on a subconscious level, I was reminded of a strange game a family friend used to play with/on me when I was little. He would narrate a story about my being in a car crash. I would have to lay on my back while listening to this story. In the crash lots of broken glass buried themselves deep in my belly. He would ask me if I could feel them jangling in there – the sharp edges pricking me – and I could. He said I was taken to the operating theatre, my belly cut open. He would run his finger down my chest and belly, describing the scalpel ripping me apart. The glass would be removed. I would be stitched back up, his finger tracing the stich, stich, stich. I was healed… except, not really. The surgeon had accidentally left something in my belly. Was it the scapel? Scissors? Shards of glass? Either way, he said that I could still feel the tingling and prickling – and I swear I could.

As a child I often hated being tickled. Sloppy kisses from relatives. Being made to play spin-the-bottle by a (to be charitable) deeply misguided form teacher. When you are young and defenceless bodily autonomy is perhaps even more vitally important than it is as an adult because as a child you have so, so little freedom or power. I think being ill or otherwise in hospital can return you to that experience of vulnerability.

It was only a small thing, but in the hospital I was hurt by a minor interaction – a tiny incident of unprofessionalism. I noticed that in one of my tubes (possibly the IV drip) there was a small bubble. I’ve often been scared of the notion of getting a bubble in my blood stream and while I suspected I had nothing to worry about, I thought I would notify a nurse just in case. I pressed the call button and a nurse came over. Straightforwardly I expressed my concern. She told me there was, indeed, nothing to worry about, withdrew and closed my curtain. All fine. However, a minute later I heard her making fun of how ridiculous my concern was, laughing over the size of the bubble with her colleagues.

Having worked in secondary schools, I appreciate how a stressful work environment makes a person need to let off steam through humour and a bit of venting. I’ve certainly complained about difficult children before (or customers, when I worked in retail). But keep it to the staff room away from where your students/customers/clients can hear!

Anyway, other than that, I was treated very well by the staff at Guy’s Hospital and am healing up nicely. I’m exhausted, but my pain is surprisingly minimal some two weeks after having an organ removed. It really wasn’t that arduous! Plus, most importantly, the recipient is doing well and the operation has been a success. I feel deeply thankful that I’ve been able to give such a remarkable gift – basically the gift of life without bringing another human into this troubled world. Sounds like a pretty easy win to me (accomplished through skilled professionals and remarkable medical advancements).

I will also add that my minor indignities on the N.H.S. pale strikingly in comparison to the wretched experience the (genius) composer Jessica Curry suffered at a private hospital back in 2022. One of the many reasons I hope that Farage and Reform do not win the next General Election, is that it will almost certainly spell the end of the one of the notable achievements of the British welfare state.

If you are here in the UK (and have access to the N.H.S.) and are at least relatively healthy, do consider donating a kidney. I’m a neurotic mess of a man who doesn’t like pain or hospitals and I’m managing okay!