Today marks twelve months since the first day of the first lockdown here in the UK. I don’t think many of us were particularly shocked by the official announcement, but it still seemed a bit surreal. I remember sitting on my bed in the houseshare I lived in at the time wondering what on earth I was going to do now. I’d already learnt a few days previously that I was deemed to be “Clinically
There’s a reason I waited and published this section second; it was much harder to write than the post about practical aspects, and part of me worries it might be harder to read too. I know both from personal experience and from the work I’m involved in, that there are so many misconceptions about what going through a kidney transplant is like, and how recipients “should” feel before, during and after this completely life-changing experience.
The kidney transplant assessment process involves a lot of information. A LOT of information. Written notes and leaflets, referrals to websites and external organisations, numerous conversations with health professionals, all of which are intended to go as far as possible towards preparing potential transplant recipients for what they’re about to experience. But what about the things that aren’t in the booklets, or that never come up in clinic; the kinds of things you only get
2020 has been the strangest year of my life. I’m sure I’m far from alone in this. Due to my kidney transplant and suppressed immune system, I’ve probably spent more time on my own this year than I ever have before. I’ve also been less lonely than I expected. Back in March, when it was first clear that Covid was very serious and those of us labelled “Clinically Extremely Vulnerable” were advised to shield ourselves
In my thirty-three years on this planet, I’ve realised that alongside simply being Holly, I’m quite a lot of other things too. In no particular order I am; a daughter, a friend, an introvert, a Kiwi, a blogger and a committed lover of absolutely anything glittery. All of those things are hats I’m happy to wear, either because they represent something innate, or something I’ve chosen to become. They’re all little bits of what makes
I’m Holly. I’m a writer, speaker and kidney patient advocate currently living in northern England.
