My mate Michael and I are fooling around in the lounge, jumping on the settee, pushing and shoving, raucous laughter ringing through the house. It’s July 1976, the long hot summer, we’re 15 and full of life. My brother, David, storms, into the room “Will you both shut up, Mum’s upstairs in tears and you’re making this racket, do you not know that Dad’s dying?” Quiet, a look of incredulity on my face, “No, I didn’t know that.”

How could I not know? Dad had been ill for years with polycystic kidney disease; he’d been on dialysis at home, a huge hulking machine in a specially converted room, his blood flowing out of his arm, through the gauze and filters of the cleansing machinery and back into his body. A process, in later years, I came to associate with our visits to the catholic confessional. Recently he’d had a transplant at Manchester Royal and as far as I knew in my thoughtless, naïve way, he was on the mend.

A couple of hours after David’s shocking intervention, a call from the hospital. Dad had passed.

When I was 17 I met my first girlfriend, Yvonne. She had 2 sisters, Wendy, a couple of years older and Deborah, a surprise gift from God and 5 years old when I first met her. I was at their house a lot and, as I always liked kids, got on well with Deb, bedtime stories, lifting her so that she could touch the ceiling, playing games with her. I’d stop over and one time Deb was upset in the night, I went to comfort her until she fell into peaceful sleep. Another time she decided she was leaving home and I went down the road to retrieve her.

However my Dad’s passing had hit me quite hard and I developed a very pessimistic, fatalistic demeanour. Any ambition I’d had melted away. My ‘A’ level results suffered as I didn’t do any work, I was undeservedly squeezed into an accountancy degree course at Huddersfield Poly. I didn’t want to be there, I wasn’t there very long. My feeling of hopelessness was exacerbated when Manchester Royal called David and I in for tests to see if we too had polycystic kidneys, it being a hereditary disease. We both had it.

I applied for a job with Barclays Bank and was accepted. Naively I mentioned that I’d just been diagnosed with a disease that had killed my father. They sent me for a consultation with an eminent doctor in Manchester and the job offer was revoked.

I was still seeing Yvonne but my gloominess and lack of drive were unattractive. Like Hamlet, I wore suits of solemn black, a metaphorical ‘inky cloak’. The uses of this world seemed weary, stale, flat and unprofitable. Unsurprisingly Yvonne decided she’d prefer someone with a more positive outlook.

I played a lot of cricket with Wendy’s husband. Wendy kept the scorebook and thus I stayed in contact with the family. One hot afternoon I bowled 20 overs unchanged from the viaduct end. Steaming in off my long run and occasionally getting the ball to describe a perfect parabola, pitching, swinging away, drawing the snick and nestling in the safe hands of the slips. And at the end of that afternoon I remember thinking to myself, how can I do that? I’m ill.

Deborah, baptised when she was 14, asked me to be her godfather.

I’d found employment and somehow managed to progress in it. At my sister’s wedding I met my future wife, Rosemary. We’ve been blessed with a daughter and a son. There’s a 50/50 chance that my kids will have the disease.

Entering my 40’s and regular trips to the doctors confirmed that my kidney function was worsening. My brother David was now in need of a transplant and his wife generously donated to him. The operation was carried out at Guy’s and after some significant difficulties David resumed a normal life.

I was told that I needed a transplant and on a visit to Shropshire, where Yvonne and Wendy now lived and with Deborah also there I told them my situation. Deborah’s husband, Darren, volunteered and subsequently went through tests. He was compatible which meant that it was possible however further investigations showed that, due to a childhood illness, one of his kidneys had not developed properly so he couldn’t go through with it. Another friend, Paul, a GP, volunteered. He too was compatible but a health problem in his own family prevented progress on this front.

My wife had been tested and our blood wasn’t compatible. Deborah too was tested with the same outcome but there is a pairing scheme in place where kidney patients with incompatible donors can swop with couples in the same situation. Rosie and Deborah both put their names forward for this scheme. I started peritoneal dialysis in September 2011 and a week after starting it was confirmed that the hospital had found another couple who we could exchange kidneys with. Deborah would be my donor. In mid January Deborah and I were admitted to Manchester Royal 35 years after my father had died after the same procedure. Think how this must affect my mum. I was much more fortunate. My new kidney, ‘blue lighted’ from London to Manchester worked straight away. Deborah’s kidney driven to London has given a new lease of life to a stranger. With the help of a multi-national coalition of health professionals I can look forward to a reinvigorated life.

And I think back to those few small kindnesses I showed to a young child 30 years ago and how they have been repaid with overwhelming generosity.

to have something in my eye.

Hope things continue to get better Benny, and thanks for sharing. A wonderful antidote to the bitching and a perfect reason to give an up.

Bravery and unconditional love.

Good luck to all of you.

an amazing story. All the best to you, and thanks for sharing that.

in varying degrees of goodness. There are really not that many who won't even do the small kindnesses.
Some are really The Best, doing anything in their power to help anyone and we really should appreciate them.

The best of British to all concerned.

The most beautiful thing there is.

Long life and happiness to you and yours

If ever a post deserved an "up" this is it. Good luck with your continued recovery to you and your friend.

You all deserve it. Heartwarming stuff.

heartwarming story.

It's heartening to know that in a world that often seems permeated by so much selfishness that there is love and generosity to be found.

...feeling sorry for myself for a couple of days. Your post has given me the slap in the face that I definitely needed.

The humanity shining through here ought to humble us all. I hope all involved live long happy lives.

hope your dark days are finally over, and best wishes to Deborah and her lovely family.

beautifully told. Thank you for sharing that with us.

That is a fantastic story in every sense. Great good wishes to you and all featured.

Beautiful

I hope I would be brave enough to donate if I needed to. Best wishes to all involved.

That' a fabulous story beautifully told.

a lovely heartwarming tale. Hope everything goes well in the future. Kindness of this magnitude is a joy to behold.

Fair warms the cockles....
Thanks for posting and best of luck to you.

There is a lot of good in this world.

All the best to you all, Benny.

as I was crying so much I couldn't see.

Thank you so much for sharing your story, Benny. All the best to you, may your life always be filled with as much love.

Simply stunning. Admiration and respect to you and all concerned.

Thanks for telling us your story, and telling it so well.

Your use of the phrase 'blue-lighted' made me think of this song:

Video is Mazzy Star - Blue Light

- except: thank you for that lovely post. For various recent reasons, your story resonated.

Thank you.

As someone with a chronic, but medicated and still mild, kidney condition that story fills me with hope.

Thanks very much for all the good wishes - they're really much appreciated. I've now just got to make the most of this opportunity that's been given to me.

(and perhaps most of the world) needed. Thank you for sharing it.