My names Harry, and I was born without any kidneys. In 1994, to go from birth, onto dialysis, and survive, was a rarity, and so getting to where I am today makes for one hell of a story.
For the first 18 months of my life, I was surviving solely from dialysis, as well as the love, care and hard work devoted by all those surrounding me at that time. When I finally had my first transplant, it was a kidney from a young man who had sadly been caught up in a hit and run incident. However, through this utter tragedy, new life was found.
At 18 months old, I had my first transplant, and my first major scar that would join me for the rest of my life.
As with all transplants though, they can’t last forever, and so, many years later, now 17 years old, it was time for another transplant.
My second lease of life came in the form of my mum, my incredible, kind, strong, perfect mum, who, with a touch of fate on our side, was a good match for myself, and she became my next donor.
As if she hadn’t given enough to me, by raising, loving, and caring for me throughout my life. She then went and made the ultimate sacrifice, and gave a part of herself to me, to allow for my story to continue.
Jump forward 7 years, and here we are now, at the age of 24, with currently two transplants down, and I imagine many more to come, we reach the conclusion to my story, for now.
So, when people ask me about my scars, I can’t help but smile, because these scars tell the story of just how spectacular and how resilient the human endeavor can be.
They tell the story of how humans can overcome insurmountable odds in the face of adversity.
They tell the story of love, life and loss.
They tell… my story.