“You need to prepare for dialysis”
The words exploded in the room. The silence that followed was deafening – not the kind that soothes, but the kind that follows devastating news.
It was September 2009. I felt the ground collapse beneath me. Just months earlier, I had been diagnosed with end-stage kidney failure.
My daughter was just five. Would I be there for her birthdays? Her college years? Her future?
Then came a fragile thread of hope: a kidney transplant. Amidst my fear of dialysis, this felt like life itself. My family rallied. Without hesitation, my mother said, “Take mine.” Calm, unwavering, unconditional.
But instead of relief, I was gripped with a different kind of fear. What if something happened to her? For months, I hesitated, torn between the will to survive and the guilt of causing her harm.
In 2010, after an agonising period of indecision, I underwent a successful transplant. As I emerged from anaesthesia, groggy and aching, my first words were, “How’s Mummy?” A nurse drew back the curtain in the recovery room. There she was – barely awake, turning her head towards me. Our eyes met in a moment of silent love, relief and overwhelming gratitude.
She had given me life – again.
Looking back, I now realise, we had never truly…
Source: First person: Why India needs a policy to ensure that organ donors protected – and respected
