From the heart: The stranger who gave me the gift of life
Desperate for help, Angela Shannon, 44, turned to social media...
Opening up a Facebook message on my phone, I tried to work out who had sent it. I didn’t recognise the woman’s name – and clicking on her profile, I realised she was a complete stranger. Reading the words, a lump formed in my throat. ‘The kidney is yours,’ she’d written. It was August 2016 and I’d known for two years that I’d need a new kidney to survive, but now a stranger was offering to give me hers. I felt like I was dreaming.
For as long as I could remember, my life had been defined by my poor health. I was born with a congenital defect in my urinary tract. My right kidney failed when I was a baby, and my left kidney had low function. My earliest memories are of staying on the children’s ward at Dundee Royal Infirmary, listening out for the familiar clack, clack, clack of my mum Irene’s high heels as she came to visit me in between her own shifts as a nurse.
It wasn’t until I reached my teen years when I truly started to realise how different I was. My condition meant I needed a catheter and I was worried it would put boys off – but when I was 15, I met Paul, who was the same age, and he wasn’t fazed. We moved in together in February 1994, when I was 19, but by then my kidney function was lower than ever, at just 25%, and doctors told me I would need a transplant.
‘I’m your donor,’ Mum, then 43, said every time the word transplant was mentioned. I was so grateful to her, but I still dreaded the day when that would become my only option. Not long after, I realised I was pregnant. Doctors were worried about the strain a pregnancy would put on my kidney, but, although I picked up a couple of infections, I managed. Paul and I got married in June 1994, and six months later our daughter, Taylor, was born. Then, when Taylor was two, I realised I was expecting again. Robert was born in August 1997, then Andrew in June 2000. By the time Andrew was born, my health was at an all-time low. The
pregnancies had taken their toll and I had to be put on weekly dialysis. I was permanently exhausted and watching Taylor, then six, making Robert his breakfast while I struggled to get up, my heart broke. ‘My health is stealing their childhood,’ I sobbed to Paul.
Energy boost
In October 2002, Mum and I were admitted to the Royal Infirmary of Edinburgh for the transplant operation. Leaving 10 days later, I was filled with an energy I’d never had before. The colour flooded my face, and I was able to play with the children without getting tired. But the sacrifice Mum had made wasn’t lost on me, and I thanked her constantly, unsure how I’d ever be able to repay her.
After the operation, there were a few complications, but for a decade life was mostly good. Then, in 2012, I started picking up infections again, and a biopsy confirmed my worst fear. My body had slowly started rejecting Mum’s kidney, and I sobbed as I realised I’d have to go back on dialysis. ‘You’re going to need another transplant,’ the consultant told me in 2014. I felt so guilty my body had rejected Mum’s kidney, but all she wanted was to see me healthy again.
‘I’ll donate,’ Paul told me, but tests revealed he had kidney stones, so he was ruled out, and although Taylor, then 19, Robert, 16, and Andrew, 14, all offered to get tested, there was no way I could let them go through such a big operation, and Robert and Andrew were too young, anyway.
Some nights, I’d cry myself to sleep wondering if I’d get the chance to watch my children grow up – and, by August 2016, I was desperate. Through tears, I typed out a Facebook status begging for help. I didn’t think anything would come of it – but, a few days later, the status had been shared all over the country, and that’s how I found myself reading the message from a woman called Michelle Sweeting, from Newcastle, who was offering me one of her kidneys.
‘It can’t be real,’ I said to Paul. But it was. Michelle had contacted my transplant coordinator and an assessment meeting was arranged.
Seeing Michelle for the first time at our appointment, I couldn’t find the words to thank her. Michelle told me she was already an approved donor, and she’d been drawn to my Facebook profile after seeing photos of me and Taylor at Harry Potter World. ‘I realised we had something in common,’ Michelle grinned, telling me she was a Harry Potter fan, too.
Two operations
On 5 January 2017, Michelle and I had our operations. I was admitted to the Royal Infirmary of Edinburgh, while Michelle was at Newcastle’s Queen Elizabeth Hospital. Michelle’s kidney was transported via motorbike, where surgeons were waiting to give it to me. Waking up on the High Dependency Unit, the first person I thought about was Michelle. ‘Is she OK?’ I asked Paul. He rang Michelle, and I was relieved to know she’d got through the operation. Three years on, I’m still recovering, but my quality of life has improved drastically. Michelle and I are still in touch, and she’s since met Paul and the children. Since the transplant, I’ve watched Taylor get married, and celebrated Robert turning 21, and Andrew turning 18. Also, Paul and I renewed our vows with Michelle and her husband present. After the ceremony, I made a speech, and raised a toast to Michelle, and the whole room gave her a standing ovation. Just four years ago, I’d lie awake at night tortured by the thought of not being there for my children, but I’ve been able to celebrate so many special moments because of Michelle’s gift. I call her the perfect stranger – because that’s exactly what she was.
‘Would I see my children grow up?’