You need a good voice for the Transplant Games. There is a lot of talking to be done. Catching up. Sharing experiences. For many of us it’s been a year since we last met.
For others it’s a first-time place and there’s some navigating to do through unfamiliar experiences and new conversations. When the whole world of transplants is still brand new for a family there’s already been more than enough to take on board. Now finding themselves surrounded by hundreds of people of all ages who have their own stories of health adventures and misadventures can seem almost as daunting. It’s a dizzy height to reach, from which to look back on the path climbed to get there.
It can also be immensely reassuring. A place to relax from having to explain, asking for special understanding or particular allowances. A place to be, well, normal. One amongst others. Peers. Friends. Experts. Some as concerned, baffled, worried, fragile as themselves. Some as inspiring and encouraging and supportive as any human could ever be. (Sometimes they can be the same people…) Many consciously choose to live not in the future but in the moment. All glowing with gratitude, for the extra time given, and for those who make it possible. Just watch, listen, as the representatives of donors and their families walk into the Opening Ceremony.
Then there’s the shouting and cheering for individual athletes, at the poolside, trackside, any venue where the twenty or so different events are managed. And the cheering for teams. Cheering for medal winners. Even more noise for others who may never stand on a medal podium but stand just as high in the estimation of all around them as they persist and complete their race, their event, despite all the odds that life has stacked against them and with all the gratitude and determination to do themselves and their donors proud.
After the closing socials, when the Games are done, the following morning can mean a quiet breakfast as voices are lost and all the energy given is in need of replenishment. There’s more to say, of course. Farewells for now. “See you in Oxford, next year”.
“Hope all goes well next week with your procedure…”
Or with that second transplant; your exams; your holiday; your new job; whatever it may be…
“We’re around. Call, text, keep swimming. Keep dancing…”
It’s also about other conversations. The ones others have. The ones that may start, “I’ve been thinking. Did you hear about all those people in Nottingham a few weeks ago, a sort of Olympics for people who’ve had organ transplants? Did you know I ticked the box on my driving licence to say I’d be an organ donor if it ever became possible?”.
“I didn’t know that, but aren’t we all supposed to be donors now anyway, if we die in the right circumstances?”
“Yes we are, but we can’t be unless our families agree and support our decision. The hospitals won’t just remove an organ if my family don’t agree, even if it was my choice to be a donor. So, I just want you to know that, should it ever be possible, that is what I’d want to happen. I’d like to give someone else the chance to start again if I can’t. Are you OK with that? Can we chat about it? Or can you promise you’ll support my decision? It might even help you to think of me afterwards, knowing we’d done that for someone else. Maybe even someone who could be at the Transplant Games sometime.”
At last year’s Games, Doroti Polger performed a poem she had written about Justin. Justin had told his mum that he would like to be considered a potential donor, should the moment ever come. Unexpectedly, it did, and his mum, Angela, honoured Justin’s decision. Doroti’s brother, Kristof, is now excelling at the Games, and much more, because of Justin and Angela’s life-saving conversation. NHS Organ Donation invited Doroti to write another poem this year. We are privileged to offer Doroti’s link to her poem here