Peter's p.o.v

Well, what can I say about the last two weeks? A whirlwind to say the very least. After suggesting to Dr. Smith that I should at the very least be screened to see if I was a match for Carla. Upon receiving such a positive response from Dr. Smith, I was scheduled for tests the following week. While they were rather rigorous, it proved my willingness to undergo just about anything in order to keep Carla in my life. I was acting from a place of desperation. Surely anyone else, were they put in the same situation, would do the same as me? And even when my mind was ever in any doubt, like it was last week, as I fiddled with my hands whilst I anxiously bounced my leg up and down, I just had to keep reminding myself why I was doing this. For Carla.

I was surprised how rapid the test results had been. More importantly, though, I couldn't quite fathom the results. I vividly remember holding the piece of paper that foretold Carla's prognosis, and inevitably her future. She has a future; I was a match!

There was no question that I would be undergoing the surgery. There was only one slight hitch – when I had mentioned to Carla previously about getting myself tested, she gave me a definitive no. Therefore, I had made it very clear to the surgeon and his medical team that Carla was not to know who her donor was. I was to remain anonymous. This became so difficult and extremely testing on my part, not to tell Carla, especially as her illness prolonged. During this she became more and more fatigued – predominantly from the dialysis – which was temporarily keeping her afloat. However, a kidney she needed and a kidney she would get. One of my healthy ones. It was the biggest and most extreme gesture of affection I had ever shown towards any of my previous partners. But then again, Carla wasn't like any of my previous partners: she is everything that the others were not. Undergoing surgery, in my opinion, was a symbol of the unconditional love I felt towards her. It was time for the most giving person to be given her long-awaited reward. Subsequently, it was about time I began to show her what she had meant to me before I obliterated our life and (what had then been) our ever-growing family. But it was equally an effective - albeit extreme - way in showing what what she means to me now. I saw my actions as a beacon of hope: for us, for love, for the future.

Before I knew where the last fourteen days had gone, most of them dedicated and stationed at Carla's bedside, I was getting gowned up and ready for surgery. It killed me not being allowed to be with Carla before she was whisked off to theatre, but I knew that I couldn't risk her refusing the lifesaving treatment which her body demanded. Despite this, I was safe in the knowledge that before the operation, she would be in the company of the ever trustworthy Roy Cropper.

I was lying on the hospital bed, being wheeled down, alone to theatre. I had omitted to my family, when revealing that Carla had been lucky enough to find a match for a kidney transplant; and they were none the wiser, not having clocked on that this miraculous donor was in fact me. I thought best not to tell them. I didn't want to cause any unnecessary distress for Simon or my dad; paired with the risk if big-gob Tracy blowing my cover to Carla. However, when on my way for surgery, I realised the severity of what I was doing and how I would've longed for someone to accompany me. Being alone, with only the company of my thoughts. There was a little voice inside my head which kept making me think of the worst case scenario… What if I didn't come round from the operation… what if I never got to see my son again… 'Don't think like that, Peter,' I thought to myself, as I tried to push these negative thoughts to the back of my mind. I had to concentrate and remind myself on why I was doing this. Carla. It was all for Carla. As my mind refocused on my intention for proceeding, I focused and noticed how the once crisp white hospital sheet absorbing and encasing my sweaty form. The surgeon was explaining the procedure to me, but I couldn't concentrate on the medical jargon being thrown at me. Instead I was anxious to be reunited with Carla. I knew she'd be criticising me for failing to be by her side when she needed me most.

'Now then Peter,' I vaguely heard the surgeon say, 'We're ready when you are.' To which I nodded, eager to get it over with. 'Right, to begin with we are going to apply the anaesthetic. We'll let you know once that's done with. Then, all we need you to do is start counting back from 100 and we'll do the rest of the work for you. Sound good?' Again, I merely nodded. 'Alright then. Debbie, anaesthetic please.' Very gently the medic inserted the needle I wouldn't have known had the surgeon stated this. 'Right Peter, ready to get counting.'

'One hundred… ninety-nine… ninety -'

Carla's p.o.v

'Where's Peter?' I wept as Roy awkwardly tried to comfort me, dabbing my hot and wet tears with a cotton handkerchief.

'I am quite sure he would be present if it were possible. Perhaps he is intending on being here post-operation.'

'Bu- bu- but, he promised.' My voice trembled, struggling to muster the words.

'Carla, you must remain calm,' Roy soothed.

'Easier said than done,' I whispered almost inaudibly just as the nurse entered my cubicle.

'Now then Carla, you all set for us to take you down to theatre?'

'Th-th-the donor…'

'Is completely fine. Surgery went well by all accounts, so you should have a brand spanking new kidney in a few hours.'

'Great,' I attempted to smile. While I knew it was something that needed to be done I couldn't think of going down to theatre and getting prepped without the support of Peter; he had become my crutch, propping me up whenever I had a wobble. A supportive and comforting kiss wouldn't have gone amiss. I couldn't help but think what was to happen if I didn't wake up. Just as life was starting to seem hopeful after a long bout of suffering, I wondered if I would ever see Peter again.

Peter's p.o.v

Hours later and I had come round. I was sitting propped up with pillows in my hospital bed, nervously awaiting news about how Carla's procedure went. As my mind focused on Carla, a nurse entered my cubicle to check up on me. 'How we doing?' she asked, closing the curtain behind her.

'Bit sore, but I'm alright. I was just wondering if you had any news on Carla? She's the one who was receiving my kidney. I'm her boyfriend, you see.'

'Oh, of course. You're the anonymous donor. I've been told of this. How romantic! What a wonderful surprise that'll be for her. She'll struggle to be able to repay you for your selflessness.'

'She owes me nothing. It's me whose long overdue trying to find a way of making it up to her. I've not always been the best boyfriend,' I reflected, thinking back to a not so long ago time. A time that could never be erased. 'So…' I said, redirecting the conversation. 'How is she? Has she come round?'

'Yes, and yes. She's still a bit groggy though.'

'Can I go to her?' I begged.

'Hmm, I'll go see if there's been a wheelchair freed up. I'll also check up on your wound, I wouldn't want you moving too soon; wouldn't be very pleasant if you burst your stitches. We can't be too careful,' she said as she slipped on a pair of disposable gloves. As she assessed the tender area of skin which had be cut into, she distracted me from the pain when she said, 'I'll see if she's a bit more alert and ask if she's up to visitors. How does that sound?'

'Thanks.'

Carla's p.o.v

'Hi Carla, how you feeling now?'

'Like I've been hit by a bus and then its reversed on top of me… Other than that I'm doing just fine,' I smirked.

'That's the spirit,' the nurse joked. 'Anyway, I've got a visitor who's asked to see you. You up for it?' I nodded.

Curious as to who it may be, I asked, 'Is it Roy?'

'I'll let you see for yourself,' she said as she briefly went behind the curtain before returning with the mysterious visitor, who in fact was…. Peter.

'Peter, what the –' I exclaimed, dumbfounded as I saw him being wheeled into the cubicle, dressed in hospital attire.

'Hey, it's not every day she's this speechless,' he joked with the nurse as he released a deep guttural laugh. 'Surprise,' he spoke softly as he directed his attention to me as his hand met mine; our fingers interlocking. I was not letting him go anytime soon. 'Think I'm going to need an explanation.'

'Well, think you can maybe guess where I've been and what I've been up to,' he said as he pressed his lips to the same hand he had clutched in his. 'So… Let's just say this for now: you're carrying a part of me in there,' he said, pointing at the area in which a new kidney had been deposited. 'Wherever you go, from now on, is where I go.'

'Peter-' I emotionally wept.

'Don't. Not now, eh? Don't want to burst those stitches – well that's what they keep telling me,' Peter joked, turning towards the nurse, cheekily winking at her.

'Anyway… where was I. Oh yeah, what I wanted to say was this: enjoy the moment. You've got a whole lifetime left for tears, not that I'm gonna allow that… Nope, not on my watch. If this has taught me anything, it's this: what were we doing when we were together all those years ago? It was all so…. Superficial, wasn't it? We lost sight of why we got together in the first place, why I risked my cosy little life with Leanne and Simon. Towards the end, we weren't really living. Not how we wanted to. We were just versions of ourselves. So let's live. Properly. This is our chance to live fully; do things right. Let love rule our lives; not materialistic crap. We've both changed since then anyway. We've learnt from our past mistakes. We've been given a second chance at life together for a reason. You'll call me soppy, I know, but I really believe it.' I wasn't able to properly respond to Peter's elaborate speech. All I managed to summon up was a smile despite thick tears which decorated my cheeks. As intuitive as ever towards my oxymoronic emotions, Peter understood that words were failing me at that precise moment. I was still trying to comprehend the events of the day.

As a companionable silence dominated my hospital cubicle, between Peter and I, the silence was broken in classic Peter humour, 'Good job it was my kidney you were after; you would've been screwed if you'd wanted my liver.'