How would you feel if you had to fight for your life every single day? How would you live your life if you are suffering from an incurable disease? Please take a minute to consider these statistics.
In a day, your kidneys filter around 150 litres of blood and produce roughly 1.5 litres of urine. But not everybody has kidneys which work clockwork. Thousands, in Malta, suffer from renal diseases. You wouldn't know if the person queuing next to you at the bank is a sufferer. There is no clear evident physical indication. These people go about their lives like you and me. But it's one hell of a struggle.
Imagine if you had to spend your life on a strict diet. Not to keep a trim figure but to ease the burden on the kidneys, because a sudden overload of potassium can be fatal. Imagine if you lived a life where even a single banana, which is potassium loaded, can be fatal.
Imagine if your kidney stops cleaning the blood and you had to stick yourself to a machine to do the filtering work of the kidneys. So that all the blood in your body goes through it and removes the waste products and then it returns the blood to the body. Three times a week, for four hours. In hospital. Imagine if after the session you have to go back to work, because you somehow still have to earn a living. But the procedure is so exhausting that you are devoid of energy, dizzy, suffering from cramps and itchiness, your blood pressure prone to sudden acute drops.
Imagine if you don't do this, you die.
Imagine seeing a five-year-old in the bed next to you, undergoing the same procedure.
Imagine not being able to go on holiday because you can't be away from a dialysis machine. Imagine spending the weekend sleeping because a little shopping trip to the supermarket leaves you exhausted.
Imagine you can only drink half litre of water in a day. Even in the height of summer. Because all the water you drink goes to your blood and if you drink too much it ends up in your lungs. Imagine waking up thirsty in the middle of the night and not being able to drink a glass of water because you've already had your quota of liquid intake.
Imagine fluid-filled cysts developing in the kidneys and gradually these cysts start sprouting all over the kidneys, making them grow and grow and making them less and less able to function normally. Imagine if they become so enormous that they start pressing on your lungs and you start suffering from acute asthma. That you can't even play football, you can't fool around in a snow fight, you can't go horse riding, because the simplest bump will burst a cyst and you'll start peeing blood.
Imagine if when removed the cyst-ridden kidneys weigh six kilos each.
Imagine if when planning a family you are told that you have an abnormal gene on chromosome 16 which causes the polycystic kidney disease and that it needs only one parent to pass on the abnormal gene, giving your child a one-in-two chance of developing the disease later in life.
Imagine seeing all your friends getting pregnant and enjoying family life.
Imagine hoping that one day it is all going to end because you'll be getting a kidney transplant and you can live a relatively normal life but you know that there are more people needing kidneys than donor kidneys available.
Imagine asking a member of your family to donate a kidney. Imagine waiting with trepidation to see if their kidney matches yours, if it is possible for them to actually do it. Imagine if after the transplant you have a rejection and you have to wait all over again for a donor.
Imagine if your future depended on someone else's death.
Imagine if you are a carer of a renal disease sufferer. Imagine having the disease, however much controlled, always looming in the background, knowing you're always three in the relationship: your partner is forever a patient, you forever a carer. You can never plan a holiday. You can't even plan a future.
This is the life of a renal disease sufferer. I've had the privilege for two years to live close to friend whose life revolved around his failing kidneys. I say privileged because despite this, he is one of the most optimistic and sunny people I know. He has none of the slow-fade greyness of the perennially grumbling healthy people. His partner is bright and smiley, funny and empathising as no other girlfriend can ever be. They are both an inspiration. To me. To life.
But you don't need to know a renal sufferer to feel motivated to help. Next weekend 40 cyclists will be setting off for this year's 10-day HSBC Lifecycle Challenge. It's called Strait To Africa, because for their 10th anniversary, the 2,200-km route will span over two continents, from Lourdes in France to Casablanca in Morocco. They will be covering a gruelling 200km a day in the blazing temperatures. Ten hours on a bike saddle every day for 10 days. They'll be struggling uphill on their mountain bikes to cross four mountain ranges. Every night they'll be roughing it in makeshift school classroom accommodations. The oldest is 55. The youngest, 20.
While we have been lazing away on the beach, these cyclists - some having only taken to the bike this year - have been training in extreme heat conditions for more than 30 hours a week, after or before work. Their aim is not only to raise funds for the expenses at the Renal Unit at Mater Dei - each renal patient has treatment worthy of Lm10,000 in a year - but to use these funds to increase the quality of life of renal patients by allowing them access to cutting-edge levels of care.
In order to take part each cyclist had to fundraise at least €700. This year the amount fundraised so far has been lower than usual. What with the economy being what it is, donations have been pouring in at a slower pace. Let's do our share in this fight for life.
• Donations to Lifecycle can be made by SMS on 5061 7378 for €2.33 (Lm1); 5061 8927 for €6.99 (Lm3); or 5061 9210 for €11.65 (Lm5) or online: www.ecommercemalta.com/merchants/lifecycle/lifecycle.htm
Cheques or postal orders can be sent to the Life Cycle Organisation, c/o Renal Unit, Mater Dei Hospital, Malta.
Direct transfers can be made to HSBC (Malta) account number 061 198 792 050 or Bank of Valletta account number 148 14 52 1017.
In a day, your kidneys filter around 150 litres of blood and produce roughly 1.5 litres of urine. But not everybody has kidneys which work clockwork. Thousands, in Malta, suffer from renal diseases. You wouldn't know if the person queuing next to you at the bank is a sufferer. There is no clear evident physical indication. These people go about their lives like you and me. But it's one hell of a struggle.
Imagine if you had to spend your life on a strict diet. Not to keep a trim figure but to ease the burden on the kidneys, because a sudden overload of potassium can be fatal. Imagine if you lived a life where even a single banana, which is potassium loaded, can be fatal.
Imagine if your kidney stops cleaning the blood and you had to stick yourself to a machine to do the filtering work of the kidneys. So that all the blood in your body goes through it and removes the waste products and then it returns the blood to the body. Three times a week, for four hours. In hospital. Imagine if after the session you have to go back to work, because you somehow still have to earn a living. But the procedure is so exhausting that you are devoid of energy, dizzy, suffering from cramps and itchiness, your blood pressure prone to sudden acute drops.
Imagine if you don't do this, you die.
Imagine seeing a five-year-old in the bed next to you, undergoing the same procedure.
Imagine not being able to go on holiday because you can't be away from a dialysis machine. Imagine spending the weekend sleeping because a little shopping trip to the supermarket leaves you exhausted.
Imagine you can only drink half litre of water in a day. Even in the height of summer. Because all the water you drink goes to your blood and if you drink too much it ends up in your lungs. Imagine waking up thirsty in the middle of the night and not being able to drink a glass of water because you've already had your quota of liquid intake.
Imagine fluid-filled cysts developing in the kidneys and gradually these cysts start sprouting all over the kidneys, making them grow and grow and making them less and less able to function normally. Imagine if they become so enormous that they start pressing on your lungs and you start suffering from acute asthma. That you can't even play football, you can't fool around in a snow fight, you can't go horse riding, because the simplest bump will burst a cyst and you'll start peeing blood.
Imagine if when removed the cyst-ridden kidneys weigh six kilos each.
Imagine if when planning a family you are told that you have an abnormal gene on chromosome 16 which causes the polycystic kidney disease and that it needs only one parent to pass on the abnormal gene, giving your child a one-in-two chance of developing the disease later in life.
Imagine seeing all your friends getting pregnant and enjoying family life.
Imagine hoping that one day it is all going to end because you'll be getting a kidney transplant and you can live a relatively normal life but you know that there are more people needing kidneys than donor kidneys available.
Imagine asking a member of your family to donate a kidney. Imagine waiting with trepidation to see if their kidney matches yours, if it is possible for them to actually do it. Imagine if after the transplant you have a rejection and you have to wait all over again for a donor.
Imagine if your future depended on someone else's death.
Imagine if you are a carer of a renal disease sufferer. Imagine having the disease, however much controlled, always looming in the background, knowing you're always three in the relationship: your partner is forever a patient, you forever a carer. You can never plan a holiday. You can't even plan a future.
This is the life of a renal disease sufferer. I've had the privilege for two years to live close to friend whose life revolved around his failing kidneys. I say privileged because despite this, he is one of the most optimistic and sunny people I know. He has none of the slow-fade greyness of the perennially grumbling healthy people. His partner is bright and smiley, funny and empathising as no other girlfriend can ever be. They are both an inspiration. To me. To life.
But you don't need to know a renal sufferer to feel motivated to help. Next weekend 40 cyclists will be setting off for this year's 10-day HSBC Lifecycle Challenge. It's called Strait To Africa, because for their 10th anniversary, the 2,200-km route will span over two continents, from Lourdes in France to Casablanca in Morocco. They will be covering a gruelling 200km a day in the blazing temperatures. Ten hours on a bike saddle every day for 10 days. They'll be struggling uphill on their mountain bikes to cross four mountain ranges. Every night they'll be roughing it in makeshift school classroom accommodations. The oldest is 55. The youngest, 20.
While we have been lazing away on the beach, these cyclists - some having only taken to the bike this year - have been training in extreme heat conditions for more than 30 hours a week, after or before work. Their aim is not only to raise funds for the expenses at the Renal Unit at Mater Dei - each renal patient has treatment worthy of Lm10,000 in a year - but to use these funds to increase the quality of life of renal patients by allowing them access to cutting-edge levels of care.
In order to take part each cyclist had to fundraise at least €700. This year the amount fundraised so far has been lower than usual. What with the economy being what it is, donations have been pouring in at a slower pace. Let's do our share in this fight for life.
• Donations to Lifecycle can be made by SMS on 5061 7378 for €2.33 (Lm1); 5061 8927 for €6.99 (Lm3); or 5061 9210 for €11.65 (Lm5) or online: www.ecommercemalta.com/merchants/lifecycle/lifecycle.htm
Cheques or postal orders can be sent to the Life Cycle Organisation, c/o Renal Unit, Mater Dei Hospital, Malta.
Direct transfers can be made to HSBC (Malta) account number 061 198 792 050 or Bank of Valletta account number 148 14 52 1017.