Donations from the dead

Sunday, 21st June 2009
Donations from the dead

Kristina Chetcuti

A few weeks ago my mother and I met up with a lovely gentleman who, for the past 10 years, has been suffering from a terrible illness which left him with depleted kidneys. For the last four years he has been living practically chained to a dialysis machine.

For the uninitiated: when the kidney stops working properly, it can't do its primary job - that of cleaning the blood - and the dialysis machine has to do all the filtering work.

This means that three times a week, for about six hours, all the blood in this man's body went through the machine, to remove the waste products. The procedure is so exhausting that he was devoid of energy, dizzy, suffering from cramps and itchiness. But he had no choice; if he didn't do this, he would have died.

He could only drink half a litre of water everyday - a quota of liquid intake which he had to stick to even in the height of summer, because if he drank too much it would end up in his lungs.

For four long years he was stuck on the kidney transplant waiting-list, always hoping that one day he would be able to live a relatively normal life but knowing that there are more people who need kidneys than donor kidneys available.

Finally, however, life has stopped being one hell of a struggle for this man. He is celebrating Father's Day today as a loving husband and a doting father of two girls without having to think of dialysis again. Last August, his life took a turn for the better.

He is now freed from the misery of living life as a patient and he wanted to meet us - the relatives of the man whose kidney he now carries - my father's.

It takes an unusual rationality to accept the idea that your eye might one day see, or your heart beat, within the body of another.

It might once have been in the realm of science fiction, but it is now a reality: to free loved ones from the chains of unfunctioning organs.

For my mother, my sister and myself there was never any hesitation.

Grief-stricken, we wanted whatever could be saved of my father's organs to be transplanted. My father was donor registered - we all are.

This is a very private subject for us and the last thing I would want is for anyone to think we have done something heroic, because it's not. However, I have been driven to write about it because, increasingly, the pool of donors in Malta is shrinking.

Understandably, perhaps, it is sometimes a leap too far for the recently bereaved, but so many organs are going to waste, and people are living in misery while they wait. Some die before their turn comes.

Yes, the generosity of living donors, such as siblings and parents, is extraordinary. Often, however, the offer cannot always be taken up: differences in blood or tissues mean a transplant is impossible.

The way to achieve that is - as crude as it may sound - to increase donations from the dead.

We chatted for long with the man who now harbours my father's kidney. At one point he shyly asked us if my father was a reader. My mother and I chuckled. "Of course. He was a total bookworm. Why?"

"Well I never had the patience to even read through the daily paper, and now, since the operation, I just want to read all the time - especially the Sunday papers."

That for me is proof that my father is still alive and kicking. Registering as a donor makes a big difference. Visit http://www.transplantsupport.com.mt

http://www.timesofmalta.com/articles/view/20090621/opinion/donations-from-the-dead