Kidney donation: back at home

OK, the final part of my adventures with kidney donation. After this I’ll shut up about it and get back to books, music and hills.

I arrived home. It felt colder than normal, not just because the first of many snowfalls was icing the moor. My lie about constipation ending became true, less than an hour after taking some Ducalease. That, and the stomach ache it caused, was never a problem again. After some real (as opposed to hospital) food I was ready for bed. I tried to sleep in my normal bed. However, it wasn’t adjustable so I had to lie flat and just couldn’t stretch out at all, it seemed that lying flat was stretching the wound too much. Neither could I sleep for long on either side, the pain from my stomach muscles was too much. Indeed, lying on my left side gave me a feeling that my insides were falling. I slept for an hour or so on my right, with my knees tucked up to stop my stomach stretching. Then I decided to get up. It took ages and was very painful. Luckily we have a reclining chair and for the next few weeks I slept in that. Sleep wasn’t a problem after that as I could sleep at an angle which didn’t stretch my stomach and the chair arms stopped me from turning on my side.

I had been told not to do anything, not even the dishes - it sounds ridiculous but when I tried a week or so later, stretching to put plates in cupboards hurt! But I felt that I needed to improve gradually.

Five days later I walked to the end of the drive. 

Again, it sounds ridiculous. I’d walked as much as I could in hospital but snow was everywhere outside and if I fell I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get up again. Still, it felt good to be out. For these first few days, all I could do most of the time was sit and sleep. At certain times I would try to stand up and wander about downstairs.

My son came home the following weekend. He seemed fine, his old colour and energy slowly returning. We spent the next few days together but his recovery was quicker than mine and he was able to drive and get about quite quickly. We didn’t talk much about what happened, I’m not sure we have even now. Firstly, neither of us talk very much. Secondly, what had happened was almost too serious for conversation. And thirdly, I hope, we didn’t need to talk about it: we knew.

For six weeks I visited the North Staffs hospital every Friday. Both Birmingham and North Staffs hospitals are new buildings. Birmingham is much bigger and cleaner and seems better equipped. North Staffs manages to smell, strange for a new building, and often had dirty floors. The entrance to North Staffs is crowded with smokers, both patients and visitors. Is the council seriously building smoking shelters? North Staffs staff are friendlier and more caring. Those were my impressions anyway.

After a few more days I tried a walk “around the block”. For those of you who know Biddulph Moor this is up Rudyard Road, along Top Road, down Leek Lane and back. For those of you who don’t, it’s about 2 miles, with some of the finest views in England. It only involved a 100 feet or so of ascent but it was very tiring, I could only walk bent over. The walk took a long time but at least I had done it and it was another step forward. I slept for hours the moment I got back.

So I gradually established a routine of a quick stroll, sleep, try to do something like read or work, sleep. Trying to do something almost always failed. Faced with 6 weeks off work I had all sorts of ideas - read lots of books, prepare some great resources for teaching, get used to my new laptop. None of this happened, I simply didn’t have the energy. I could just about reply to texts and emails in the morning. All I did apart from that was watch tv. That would be enough to make anyone ill but luckily, my dad brought me a boxed set of the Sopranos, so I watched all six and a half series.

I tried a longer walk, from Baslow to Bakewell via Chatsworth. It was going quite well, although any ascent made me get out of breath. But descending a muddy path through some woods I slipped, only a foot or so. This opened my wound a little so I had to go back to doing very little and seeing a nurse 3 times a week to stuff the newly-formed hole - an inch wide and an inch deep - with seaweed. It was somehow distressing to see red, shiny flesh and liquid oozing out. It set me back and made me feel more tired.

I was surrounded by caring people supporting me. Firstly my wonderful wife, running rings around me, doing everything for me, never complaining. My parents, always there. Teachers at school emailing and texting, offering books and dvds, pupils emailing me their work and saying hurry up back but make sure you’re better first. Friends near and far emailing and texting. Almost everyone I knew helped me to recover.

About a month after the operation I was able to drive again. Turning around to see while reversing might have hurt my stomach, but I always use the mirrors instead anyway! At this point I still needed to sleep for 3 or 4 hours during the day. I was able to walk upright and on uneven ground.

I returned to work after 6 weeks. My school was kind enough to suggest a phased return, so I taught older, examination classes and avoided the younger, more boisterous ones. All students were kind, thoughtful, supportive and helpful. I did 2 weeks full time and then it was Easter. Now I’m back to my usual routine, cycling to work as normal.

Most people ask 2 things: would you do it again? Yes, for a close family member it’s a simple choice to make. Did it hurt? This needs a longer answer:

• the cystoscopy was agonising for a short time, but not everyone will need this test
• the lack of a kidney does not hurt, I don’t feel any different
• after the operation I had pain through constipation and a soreness in the main wound
• the leakage of the wound didn’t hurt
• from the operation onwards I had pain in my stomach muscles. This culminated in a day of feeling as if I had “pulled” them all, fairly severe pain. This disappeared, but I still have a small amount of muscle pain, so I haven’t tried running yet, as I think this would jiggle the muscles up and down too much.

On the 9th of April, my son’s birthday, we were in Scotland, climbing A’Chralaig. Any route out of Glen Shiel is steep but short. I took my time, my son was far ahead of me, as he used to be. In time, delayed by snowfields, we reached the summit. Gusts of wind blew snow over us but the sun shone. It was clear. We could see hills we had completed and plenty that we still need to climb. It’s not often that life is as simple as hillwalking, but for once it was.