Dear Dairy I Pray You Keep Restoring My Faith

Writing is my new outlet but each time I write I realise how much I hold on to, as I started the blog it became something I wanted to do to just share my story. I’ve now found that it is something I need to do with each blog more tears stream down my face, emotions I feel I can’t express in any other way. I don’t know my path or what is meant to come from me writing these blogs, I hope it helps someone. But I know know that it is helping me, to sit and think about what has gone on in the last 6 months.

This journey has brought me closer to family and friends I have been able to see things differently and take life as it is and be thankful for what I have and who I have around me. Life is short as hell, and we are all seeing that within this crazy time we are all living in.

I usually sit up at early hours in the mornings writing these blogs because I just can’t seem to sleep anymore, it's been like this since I went into the hospital. It is said that when someone else's organ is put into another body you sometimes take on the traits of that person, perhaps the person whose liver this was worked night shifts, maybe he was more confident than me I will never know but I know that some things in my personality have changed whether its because of what I have gone through or the fact that I have taken traits from the new liver.

I think about that person and their family all the time, I have been given the option of writing to the family of the deceased with them only knowing I am the person who the liver went to, but every-time I go to write I have no idea what to say, I feel guilty that someone had to die for me to receive a new liver. Before having the surgery I spoke to a transplant coordinator who told me that its a new opportunity from God that I can take it and have faith that I can live my life. But I can’t, whatever I do I don’t want to be a failure I feel I’m now living for two people I don’t want the liver I have been given to be wasted.

I realise that I have always put on a front to show that I am ok, but truly I am lost, I look at the things that I have gone through and think how lucky I am to be alive, how fortunate I am to have people that love me. I am always comparing myself to others knowing that there is always someone going through worse situations. “There's a light at the end of the tunnel.” But I can’t see it are things better or are they worse I’ve been given a second chance but what if I fail.

I was discharged from hospital a few days after Christmas, I was able to spend Christmas Day with my family for the day but I had to go back to the hospital. I was pleased but it didn’t feel the same I still felt like a burden, my mum collected me and made Christmas as special as she could, my Dad joined us for Christmas dinner which was nice as I don’t think he had ever done this before, I was tired from the medication I was taking. I thought of Christmas the previous year where things were different.

When I was discharged I was happy to be home in my bed, but it felt surreal as if I was going to be called back again I didn’t feel comfortable for a few days I couldn’t sleep and I didn’t know what to do with myself. I had to take it easy but I wanted to do things normally I got frustrated as even simple tasks like walking up the stairs, bending down or sitting down for too long was painful, I wasn’t Keiran anymore. Amongst everything that was going on for me people around me were going through grief and loss, I felt I couldn’t be there for them as much as I wanted too I wanted to do more I felt trapped and alienated.

When I left the hospital I had weekly appointments for the first month I was discharged. I started to experience symptoms I hadn’t gone through before I felt as if I was losing my sight, everything became blurry, I know I had a perfect vision as before the surgery I had just gone for an eye test and was said to have 20/20 vision, I had like a nervous shake and couldn’t stop fidgeting. On the second week of January, I had an appointment with the liver team where I began to explain these symptoms, the consultant advised it was likely the amount of medication that I was taking and that things would calm down, I was sent to have a blood test which I usually do after these appointments and went home. My mum had worship evening that night, but whilst she was out I received a call from the hospital telling me that they had received the results from the blood test I had just done. The doctor told me that I needed to go to the A&E there as my potassium and magnesium levels were low and they were concerned. I began to become agitated on the phone as I didn’t want to go back to the hospital, they had told me that I was experiencing symptoms of being overactive and ‘jumpy’ I argued that I wasn’t feeling any of these symptoms and that I don’t want to go, I asked if I didn’t go to A&E what is the worst thing that would happen, they explained that if whatever they thought was happening that if I didn’t go and find out I may go into a coma. I told her that I would wait until my mum to come home. I was in two minds of whether I should go or not, or whether I should even tell my mum, I just didn’t want to go back to the hospital. Shortly after that phone call my Auntie and cousin came round to visit, I told them the phone call that I received and explained my argument. Looking back now my actions that evening was out of character although I argued that I wasn’t overactive or jumpy it seemed I was. Mum returned home and after being told to by auntie and cousin, I explained the situation to her. This was a major set back again I felt bad because I knew that my mum had to go to work the next day the time was already late and I knew that if we were going to A&E we would likely be there for ages. We got to A&E and explained the situation we were told that a consultant from the ward I was previously on would be coming down to see me.

That night/morning was very long, I wasn’t seen by any consultant until early hours of the morning, my mum stayed with me until I was seen, I was put into like and A&E side bed until a bed on the ward came available, A&E was very busy that night, and I was irritated to be back in the hospital, but felt at ease as I was going back to the ward that had previously looked after me so well. Whilst I was in A&E I had blood tests and a urine sample was taken. The results that came back showed that my blood glucose levels were excessively high and they had to find a way to control it. I was urinating a lot also it was my body way of trying to get rid of all the extra glucose that was in my body.

When I arrived on the ward I spoke to another consultant who explained that the tests that I had whilst in A&E came back and indicated that I now had diabetes. I let out a laugh because I didn’t believe what they were saying, they explained that it is common in transplant patients to have diabetes after surgery, similar to some women when they give birth. They said that I would need to have Reuther tests to confirm, but usually, diabetes in these kinds of patients go after some months. I had no words I just sat and listened, I was frustrated I thought “what is going on, just about to get myself back together and now this is going on.” My mum called but I didn’t want to tell her what they had just told me over the phone, I felt stressed but waited until my mum came to let her know.

My mum was shocked, she’s often said to me that that was the last straw for her she didn’t want to believe what was being said, and she was upset at the new diagnoses. I was in the hospital for another two weeks whilst I was there they were trying different treatments two get my blood sugar levels in the correct margins which are between 4-10. I was hooked up to an IV machine which was giving me water and insulin. I was then asked to learn how to administer insulin through an injection.

Things for me just seemed to be getting worse I didn’t know how to take the new diagnoses I spent the days in the hospital just counting the minutes on the clock as the days went on, I didn’t want to be there, the other times that I was in hospital I knew I needed to be but this time I had lost my smile and faith I questioned what was going on, it was surreal I felt as if it was a joke and somehow I was being pranked. “Another illness I have to deal with” I had many frustrations I felt as if the ground was going to come to swallow me whole. Was I being punished for something I truly didn’t understand? I was slowly going into a deep depression whilst I was in hospital it was another set back that I needed to get over.

Thank you for reading all the posts, thank you for all the kind comments on previous blogs.

Love & Guidance

Keiran x