I am the patient.

I am the patient.

I am the sixteen year old boy - no, man - no, teenager - whose school life is suddenly disrupted by the fact that however hard he works in the classroom and sits behind the desk, trying to conjugate the verb 'to succeed', his kidneys decide they want to fail.

I am the patient.

I am the young woman who has watched her father go through doctor's appointment, after doctor's appointment, through prescription bill, after prescription bill; only for the same first doctor to tell him that his eighteen year old daughter - with her whole life ahead of her - has exactly same condition and she watches as he feels the terrible guilt of passing it on.

I am the patient.

I am the six week old baby who is taken to hospital for something completely unrelated, only for his mother to be told that her baby will die from this disease if he is not seen to right away; and where her beautiful bouncing baby boy was (not five seconds ago), she now cradles a bundle of fear and uncertainty.

I am the patient.

I am the young man, trying to establish himself in the world, in something he loves and has dreamt of since he was a little lad, only to be told that - because of his condition - his dream now lies in pieces on the consultant's office floor; and he will have to find safe, more suitable career options.

I am the patient.

I am the six year old boy, who understands that he has to take his medicine every single day or he will get sick again, but does not quite understand, yet, that this medicine-taking will never end; pill, after pill, after pill.

I am the patient.

I am the young man who stuggles every day to find the energy to get to his degree work placement, only to be told "Sorry, no, you look terrible, please go home, our insurance policy doesn't cover you"; and he can't decide what hurtst more: the fact that he wants so much to learn at his trade and is falling further behind; or the fact that he is a good person, and he never asked for any of this.

None of us did.

Not the sixteen year old, the young woman, the baby or the child, or the young men, trying to carve a life where the wood is simply too soft.

Not now. Not when we've barely started.

We mostly get by. We do okay. We're still alive.

But there are times when we could really do just to know that someone in the same boat as us is having trouble handling the oars.

The will is strong but the strength is weak.

Is there anyone out there? Someone, my age, that I can talk to? Just to know that it isn't the end of the world.

That it is, simply, a world with a few extra doors to find and go through.

Hey.

You there.

Are you going through this door too?

Do you want to go through together?

Great! What's your name?

That's funny.

I'm the patient too
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