Kelly feared it would be her last Christmas — then she got a phone call on the big day…
Sitting at the laptop, I typed out a message on Facebook.
So excited for our family holiday tomorrow, I wrote.
I was going camping in Edinburgh with my brother Steven, his partner and their two young kids.
My bags were already packed, and I snuggled up in bed happily.
Trips away with my loved ones brought me such joy.
And my nieces and nephews meant everything to me.
I called them my little sunshines and always sang You Are My Sunshine to them.
I drifted off to sleep with a smile, counting down the hours until the holiday…
It was the last thing I remembered.
Two weeks later, I woke up in hospital after being in a coma.
‘What happened?’ I croaked.
Steven explained how he’d come to pick me up for our holiday, but found me blue and unresponsive.
He’d resuscitated me while he waited for the ambulance to arrive.
‘You were basically dead,’ he said.
My brother had saved my life.
But I was still in real danger.
The doctor delivered the crushing blow.
‘You need a new heart and two lungs,’ he said. ‘If they don’t become available, you may not survive five years.’
I looked at him, petrified, desperate to stay alive.
Then, the realisation hit me.
Someone had to die so that I could live…
I knew I’d been born with a rare heart defect called pulmonary hypertension, causing incredibly high blood pressure.
But I never expected to need three new organs!
'You need a new heart and two lungs'
I was placed on the transplant list, but steadily grew weaker and weaker.
Slowly, I was dying, despite only being in my late-20s.
I became addicted to my phone and couldn’t go anywhere without it.
Sometimes, I’d stare at it, pleading with it to ring, until it became torture.
Please call to say the organs are available, I kept thinking, desperate to see my nieces and nephews grow up.
My body began giving up on me and I had to use a wheelchair.
But I still decided to do a childcare course to give me something to focus on, other than my phone.
And two years later, I met the love of my life, Richard.
We became inseparable and he helped me cope with the threat of an early death hanging over me.
But three years after my coma, the lifesaving call still hadn’t come.
I was in constant pain and then Christmas arrived.
This could be my last one, I feared.
I kept my worries to myself, not wanting to frighten my family. But deep down, I knew my time was coming to an end.
Christmas was my favourite time of the year, and I wanted to enjoy it, no matter what the future held.
I decided on sentimental presents — I wanted to give my loved ones something to remember me by.
I bought my nieces and nephews sunshine photo frames with a picture of us together inside each one.
On Christmas morning, I took in the heart-warming scene as the little ones ripped their presents open excitedly. I smiled, not wanting the moment to ever end.
‘Thank you, Auntie Kelly,’ they giggled, giving me a hug in their colourful festive pyjamas.
Richard was working offshore, and Steven was hosting Christmas dinner.
The smell of the turkey cooking, and the sight of my little sunshines playing under the tree was magical.
It was a special day.
‘I’m stuffed,’ I said to Steven after the meal.
Darkness fell and I knew it was time to leave. I’d left my German shepherd puppy, Ruaridh, with Scott, Richard’s brother.
I got to Scott’s just before 7pm to pick my dog up. Suddenly, my phone rang.
‘Hey, Gemma,’ I answered to my cousin.
She was crying hysterically.
‘What’s wrong?’ I gasped, instantly worried. ‘Has something happened to you?’
Gemma was out of breath and could barely respond.
‘You need to calm down,’ I urged her, trying my utmost not to panic.
‘Kelly,’ she stammered. ‘The hospital has been trying to call you urgently.’
‘Whaaat?’ I replied, my hands starting to shake.
‘Quick, get home now, the ambulance is on its way there, and then you’re going up in the sky,’ she said.
The call ended.
A split-second later my phone rang again.
‘A new heart and two lungs have become available, the ambulance is on the way,’ the voice said down the phone.
I collapsed into Scott’s arms.
Is this really happening, I thought, shocked.
‘Can you look after Ruaridh?’ I asked Scott, who insisted I needed to go.
My cousin Henry quickly came to take me home.
I was crouched in the corner cuddling Ruaridh, in disbelief that the phone call I’d waited three years for had actually arrived.
‘Kelly, we need to leave now,’ he pushed, immediately snapping me into action.
Not long after, I was in a helicopter being flown to the Freeman Hospital in Newcastle.
It was all a little surreal.
I looked down and gazed at the beautiful Christmas lights emanating from the hundreds of homes below.
My nieces and nephews would have loved it — it was the same view Santa Claus would have seen hours earlier. It was the most spectacular sight ever.
Was this to be my real-life Christmas miracle?
Despite knowing the operation could be fatal, I wasn’t nervous.
But there was still one thing I had to do.
I phoned up each member of my family. I wanted to tell them I loved them one more time.
It could be my last chance.
I thought about Richard, working offshore, and unable to be there for me. I hoped I’d see him again.
When I arrived at the hospital, I was rushed to the theatre.
‘Wait!’ I heard Gemma shout.
I saw her sprinting down the corridor.
She’d arrived just in time.
We held hands, and she told me everything was going to be all right. I closed my eyes, praying that I would get to open them again...
The huge operation took eight hours.
After regaining consciousness, I couldn’t talk or walk for months.
Every day was an almost unbearable struggle.
At times, I was in so much pain I truly thought I couldn’t go on.
It’s OK, I told myself. You’ve fought hard, just let go now.
But then a memory hit me.
I recalled playing with my niece Caitlin, on the beach.
We were having fun, building sand castles together.
And when I remembered that, I knew I had to keep fighting.
I’d always been particularly close to Caitlin.
She was born exactly one year after my mum had died of heart failure. I wanted to keep being there for her.
We deserved to celebrate many more Christmases together.
The operation was a success, and I slowly began to recover.
In March, I was finally allowed home.
Caitlin burst into tears when she came to visit.
I hugged her tight — without her, I might not have got through it all.
Every day, I think about the 54-year-old woman who died to give me life.
It broke my heart that it had to happen this way.
But I couldn’t be more grateful to her and the kindness of her family.
I will never be able to fully articulate what it meant to me that she decided to donate her organs.
One thing is for sure, going through this journey has made me appreciate just how precious life is.
I still have bad days, but that’s OK.
Sometimes, I get angry and frustrated and wish I was able to fulfil my dream of having children of my own.
I would be lying if I said everything was perfect for me.
Because, despite the double transplant being lifesaving, it wasn’t a cure, and I still take one day at a time.
However, I’m alive, and that is the most important thing.
This Christmas, I want readers to spare a moment to appreciate everything they have.
Enjoy spending time with your loved ones, and if you are in good health, please, don’t take it for granted.
Life can be cruel, but it can also be very beautiful.
So on Christmas Day, relish every second of it.
You never know when a miracle might come along and surprise you too.
Kelly Watson, 33, Aberdeenshire