From me to you
When Walter Storey underwent a kidney transplant he found it a demanding, yet spiritual, experience. Here he shares his story
When do you think you are going to die? Well, you don’t know and neither do I but I have had some of the best medical brains in the North of England look me over and they decided that I stood a good chance of living another fifteen years, so a transplant was worthwhile. My transplant was an ‘elective’ operation. In my son’s case, the donor, his was the gift and to have an operation to remove a kidney was elective. If you are having an elective operation you are made aware, several times, that you might die. Though the possibility of me or my son dying on the operating table was remote, being reminded of the possibility focuses your mind.
I have had progressive kidney failure for some time so the idea of dying was something I had to come to terms with, without being specific. When I learned the date of the operation four weeks before it happened, those four weeks gave me time to think. What happens when I die? Does anything carry on?
What do I believe?
I believe there is a God. We can have a long discussion about the nature and name of this ‘presence’ but I tend to go along with St Augustine: if I could understand God, he/she wouldn’t be God. The opening of the prayer of the Friends of York Minister says it for me: ‘Eternal and infinite God, whose nature is beyond our understanding and whose beauty we can neither imagine nor express’.
Throughout history there have been those who have had a special relationship with God and, because of their special relationship, can guide others to a better understanding of God. For me, such a man was Jesus. If you accept this premise, the important thing about Jesus is his teaching. Jesus teaches us about God. His teachings were so radical that the religious authorities of his day needed to shut him up. Authority is still trying to shut him up. I am not getting entangled with the virgin birth or the resurrection; it is the teaching that matters.
Human invention
What about the rest – the creeds and the different manner of worship? Individuals find creeds and church worship helpful, and that is for them. I go along with Don Cupitt, that they are a human invention. An invention that, at its best, helps individuals to come near to God; at its worst separates people from the true purpose of God.
When I was being wheeled down to the theatre, I ‘went to Meeting’ and found a calmness, an awareness of Friends and loved ones thinking about me; it was welcome, thank you Friends.
I was brought up an Anglican. When I was laid on the table waiting for the anaesthetist to do his job, I commended myself to God’s care and crossed myself in the Anglican manner. A human invention but it helped. I have connections with a small Catholic school. The children lit a candle for me. That mattered to me. Candles are a ‘human invention’ but it helped.
Goodwill
So what happens when I die? I have no idea. I’m fortunate, I am surrounded by love. When I was getting married, I remember praying fervently that this marriage would be happy and would last (there is a history of failed marriages in my family). It has been happy and lasted. I have a son, a daughter, and five grandchildren – all girls. I am surrounded by love.
At the very beginning of the gospels is the statement ‘Peace on Earth, goodwill to all men,’ I like to think that the ‘goodwill’ that surrounds me will continue when I die, and that part of me called the soul, that is part of this ‘goodwill’, will continue. We will see. There have been a lot of people thinking about me, praying for me, interceding on my behalf. What is intercession? I like to think it means ‘walking alongside’ and there has been a real sense of people ‘walking alongside’. Sometimes this means you can help in a practical way, but sometimes all you can do is commend someone to God’s care. When my son went to the theatre to have a kidney removed, the kidney that is now in me, all I could do was pray.
Fifteen years
My wife first offered me one of her kidneys, but much to my amusement, we were judged to be ‘incompatible’. Then my son offered one of his. I wasn’t happy about this. He took himself off for an assessment and was told he had to lose five stone. (He’s a big fellow!) I thought that was it, he would never lose five stone. But he did!
Now I have an obligation to my son to live for at least another fifteen years. If I do I will be in my mid‑eighties, which for a Quaker isn’t very old, but much better than I would have managed without the transplant. Eighty‑six isn’t bad.
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