By Colleen Adkins

Before I tell you what my story is all about, I would like you to know that I am your average 14 year-old girl with a father, mother and an older brother. I also have two cats and a dog who I love equally. I go to Junior High School, play the sax, love sports and love to hang around with my friends.

My Dad (the one who I am writing about) has kidney disease. My Dad first found out about his kidney disease about 15 years ago. My Dad said when he was told about the disease he didn’t know what to feel, but knew that he had to go on with life like he has always done.

I don’t really know what my Dad has gone through or what he has felt, but I do know he has gone to so many doctors since I was born that I have now lost count.

The first time I went to the Vancouver hospital with my Dad to learn about what was going on was about a year and a half ago. It was a warm and sunny day, just like any other weekend, the traffic wasn’t too bad, and there didn’t seem to be a cloud in the sky. When we were in the hospital I remember that it seemed forever, watching my Mum and Dad go from room to room, watching the doctors go in and out from various places. I didn’t quite know what was in store for my family or what would happen in the coming year.

Finally, my parents came up to my brother and me and told us a lady would like to talk to us. So I got up and out of the small chair that I was sitting in and went into a small gray office that had only one window and five chairs in it. I don’t really remember what she said to us, all I remember was sitting there looking confused and worried. She asked me at the end of the conversation if I was O.K. with everything. I didn’t know what to say except for, “yes.”

Within a month my Dad had been asked to participate in a study where he would take injections called ‘EPO’ shots. I was told the shots would make more red blood cells, giving my Dad more energy. My dad agreed to it and now injects it in his leg every month or so. It has given him more energy. I remember the times he would come home from work (before EPO) and go to sleep. Now, with the shots, he has more energy and is in better moods and can do a lot more activities because he feels (over all) better.

Don’t get me wrong, before EPO my Dad and I did things together. Like the one time we woke up at five in the morning just to go fishing. Even though it was freezing cold and we didn’t catch any fish, I will always remember that day.

If you are in my situation (or have been) you will know that things can get difficult. So many nights I have stayed awake wondering what’s going to happen, wondering why my Dad has to go through all of this, all the doctor’s visits, the worrying, the EPO shots and the stress. It has been hard for me to realize that what my Dad is going through will affect the rest of his life, my family’s, and of course mine. The thing that bothers me the most is when people come up to you (doctors, relatives and friends) and tell you, “don’t worry, everything’s going to be fine.” While they are saying that, I have many thoughts going through my mind that I would like to say back such as, “What do you know” You’re not me!” They don’t understand all the pain and stress I’m going through. One thing I have learned is the only reason they say those things is because they care about me, they want to find out what I’m going through, and most of them want to help. You really have to try and take in all the, “I feel so sorry for you” looks as something good. If you do, you will realize it keeps your hopes up, and keeps you strong.

There have been times when I just couldn’t do that anymore, I couldn’t just take their comments as good. It got too hard. I was stressed out, filled with worries and stress. I went to school one day last year and broke down. One of my best friends was with me that morning and something inside of me snapped. I waited in the washroom while she went and told the counselor that I really needed to talk. After the bell rang, we went downstairs into her office where I “unloaded” all my tears and pain. While my good friend sat beside me, I told the counselor what was going on and why I was worried. I hadn’t been sleeping at night for about a week. When I was done talking (and the Kleenex™ was half gone) she phoned home and told my parents what had happened. My friend helped me get my stuff and walked me outside, said goodbye and watched me drive off toward home.

If it were not for my friends and family listening to what I felt and why, I probably wouldn’t get through this experience. It is a very big help to discuss everything with a good friend who might understand and comfort you. If you talk to someone about what you are going through when it happens, you have a better chance of getting through the problem, than you would if you kept it bottled up.

One Sunday morning in June, my Mum and Dad had just come back from one of their many doctor’s visits. I was sitting in the arm-chair in the living room when my Dad explained he had to go on hemodialysis. Dialysis meant my Dad would have to be hooked up to a machine every couple of days so his blood could be cleaned. It also meant he had to go in for surgery for his arm. I was told when they did the surgery (called fistula surgery) a tube would be placed in his left arm connecting an artery to a vein so he could be hooked up to the dialysis machine.

After this news, I was very confused. I didn’t know what was going to happen in my life, or to my Dad. How could I? It’s not like I had gone through this before, but sometimes I wish I had. Then I would know what was going to happen and I wouldn’t be so worried about my Dad. I don’t want anything bad to happen to him, he’s not only my Dad, he’s my true best friend.

In September of 1999, my Dad went to Vancouver for his fistula surgery. The day before, we went to the grocery store and then went home. That night we spent our supper eating and watching television together. When I was ready for bed I called my Dad into my room and gave him a bag of stuff to take with him to the hospital. I also wrote him two notes, one for before his surgery and one for after. It still hadn’t hit me that my Dad was going in for surgery the following day.

When I woke up the next morning I realized that something was different, I then remembered my Dad had left at 3 a.m. to go to Vancouver. I opened my eyes, stretched, to get out of bed and walked around my house wondering what I should do next. I don’t know why I did that, it was like I was in a daze. I decided to wash my hair. When I finished, I went to my room to get ready for school and then it hit me. It was like someone had pushed a huge heavy brick into my stomach and hit me in the head. I sat on my bed and broke down into tears. I wasn’t crying just because my Dad was gone, but because he was going in for surgery and I was scared for him. I didn’t know what he was going through, I couldn’t understand.

Eventually I got myself together and headed out the door with my brother to walk to school. It was a very foggy morning, almost like a dream, you couldn’t even see the end of the street. My brother and I walked to school in silence. I knew we were both thinking about Dad. Before I knew it, we were at my brother’s school. I stopped and watched him walk off into the fog. I stood there looking around, wondering if I should go to my school. Unaware of what I was doing, I began walking back home through the dense fog.

I knew where I was going, but yet I didn’t go the same way I usually do. Mostly stumbling my way, I got to my door and rang the bell. My Mum opened the door and I walked upstairs crying, dropped my stuff by the telephone table and told my Mum I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t go to school.

My Mum comforted me for a while in my room and told me I should get some sleep. When I woke up it was around lunch time, I got out of bed and watched some television. Around 2 p.m. the hospital phoned and amazingly said my Dad could come home, but only if someone else drove. My Mum phoned one of my Dad’s good friends and told him what was happening. He agreed to pick my Dad up from Vancouver.

Around 7 p.m. my Dad finally came home. First thing, I went outside and hugged him. When we got upstairs we talked about what had happened and looked at his left arm. That is the arm they worked on, and it had a huge white Band-Aid™ over the stitches. My Dad told me to place my hand over his vein. I did and strangely it was buzzing, you could actually feel it buzzing.

Now that the surgery is all over, most of the stress is gone. I know there is only one more hurdle for us to jump: trying to get a kidney transplant for my Dad. I’ve been talking to my Dad for a while about giving him one of my own, and finally he has agreed. If my blood type matches and I am an eligible candidate for it, I can give him a kidney. That is my dream, my one wish, and my goal, to give my Dad a kidney of mine. Hopefully my wish will come true.

And to all of you who think that life is hard, here’s a reality check, IT IS HARD! But you will get through your problems in life, no matter how little or big they are, with the help of good friends and family, you will get through it, you will survive.

I would like to thank my family for all the hope and strength they have given me, and all my wonderful friends who have stuck by me. Mostly I would like to thank my Dad, for without him I wouldn’t be me. It makes me proud just to be his daughter.

Keep strong and have faith.  

This article originally appeared in the November 1999 issue of aakpRENALIFE, Vol. 15, No. 3.

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