When I was two, my mum was told that I had a rare kidney disease. My kidneys were leaking proteins, the doctor said, and in the next few years I would require a transplant.
Contrary to most medical knowledge, and to the utter bafflement of my consultant, I remained stubbornly well for years. I never showed any symptoms, my levels were bang-on normal, and you would never have known my kidneys were persistently and ominously leaking protein. Unfortunately, my life as a medical miracle couldn't last forever. Last summer, at the age of 23, my dear wee kidneys ceremoniously and spectacularly failed.
These latter days, however, are not the point. When I think about how I managed to stay persistently well throughout childhood, there is only one thing I can attribute it to: my ignorance.
When I was growing up my mum wouldn't tell me what the hell was wrong with me. She absolutely, point-blank refused. For years - until I was almost 14 - I just had a 'funny tummy'. How vague, child-friendly and incredibly annoying of her. Although her adamant silence caused some friction between us in later years - my interrogations almost always ended in nothing - I strongly believe that this approach secured me a free childhood.
I was always treated as if nothing was wrong with me; I didn't have a specific ailment or bodily area to focus on, so I couldn't manifest or worry an illness into being. I honestly think that because for so many years I was happily oblivious of exactly why it was I was going to hospital twice a year, I never gave my body the chance to act upon it. I thought I was well, and so I was.
This might sound far-fetched and fanciful - and of course, it isn't universally applicable - but I would argue that the mind and the body are far more linked than is currently commonly accepted. My mum's approach wasn't necessarily flawless - I wouldn't recommend withholding information if asked, for example - but I know I didn't need to know anything more than I was told, at least when I was very small.
I remember when I was first told that one day I would need a transplant - the very idea of it seemed so preposterous I scoffed it off and actually forgot about the words until years later. I was 18 and was moving from my consultant at the children's hospital to someone in an adult ward. A senior consultant pulled me aside and asked if I knew what was going to happen in a few years' time. I said no, and he said that one day I would need a transplant. I left upset and a bit bemused, but largely thinking he was mad. Although I see the merit in what he did, had I spent the next few years worrying, rather than ignoring (and in fact, forgetting) him, I think I would have seen those years as wasted. You can't hold back the tide, and all that, so why worry about it?
Even now, on dialysis, I still do not regard myself as 'ill'. I believe that if you label yourself as something, you are psychologically more susceptible to embodying it - and putting inverted commas around the word is my way of making sure it isn't free to stamp all over my writing, or all over my life. Maintaining this control is incredibly important as a child. Being the only one singled out for regular hospital trips can make you something of an 'other'.
As adults, we're easily burdened with worries, dreams and plans for the future, whereas children have the innate luxury of living in the moment. They are incredibly stoical, and have the amazing ability to just 'get on' with things. As a result I do not have any bad memories relating to my 'illness' - in fact, it was all rather fleeting and unimportant. I had my bed, I had my family, and my moments in hospital were routine and unremarkable.
A childhood illness needn't define someone, and shouldn't. We are all more than our bodies and those who experience life in hospital early on are only made all the more resilient for it. Life on dialysis has its difficult moments, but I wouldn't trade a lifetime's bill of good health for the stupendous perspective that I have gained through this journey.
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Guest post: "My mother didn't tell me I had a rare kidney disease"
MumsnetGuestPosts · 15/12/2015 12:32
This has reminded me of a friend I had at school who had a heart defect. She knew absolutely nothing about it, even though she had been to the hospital and had ECG etc. She was just young enough not to question. And then one summer she had to have surgery, and she just calmly announced that she'd. Had a heart operation over the summer. 
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Obviously if a child is symptomatic and already seriously ill/receiving treatment then it isn't possible to keep these kinds of things from them. But similarly I can see why a parent would choose not to tell their child that they had a life threatening condition if they weren't showing symptoms at that stage.
While I wouldn't necessarily say that mind over matter keeps someone well if they have a serious illness, I do think that it can make someone. Ill if they have the chance to dwell on the possibilities.
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