A Letter To My Livvy
I had my liver transplant on the 5th of October 2021. It was a very emotional day for me, for various reasons.
I woke on the day of the surgery feeling excited, scared, nervous and unsure of what lay ahead for me. But I’m proud to say that I am here writing this now and still kicking butt at life.
One of the biggest and hardest goodbyes of that day for me was saying goodbye to my old liver, my Livvy. On the day of my transplant, I was 31 years old. I was diagnosed with my liver condition just after I turned one and my parents were told I probably wouldn’t live to the age of five. Waiting on the transplant list taught me more about hope, inner strength and the people in my life.
I lay in my hospital gown the morning of my surgery, with my hand over the place where my Livvy was and said thank you and goodbye to her. Not only did my outlook and mentality keep me strong and resilient to that day, but my Livvy was an incredible fighter. She kept me alive and as healthy as she could. She slowly deteriorated more as the day of the transplant grew near, this I understood with all of my hospital stints from infections that she was unable to fight with as much gusto as she could in the past.
I used to speak to her all the time. I would tell Livvy how strong she is, how brave she is and how much she endured in her lifetime. She was an amazing liver, and despite how ill I was at times she fought every time with me to make sure I got through it all. Saying goodbye was hard because I created a bond with my liver — positive and loving communication to keep us both sane.
I am so proud of how strong I was going into that surgery and, despite how emotional I was, I was ready for a new shiny liver and all that it entailed.
I was shown a picture of my liver after the surgery. It looks like pork crackling and was incredibly small for how long it lasted in my body. Livvy really was on her last legs and was on her way out, but I would not have gotten to where I was without her.
I love you, Livvy. Thank you for everything.