It's been five months since my kidneys failed - five highly stress-filled months. I've had to learn to accept the fact that my life's changed radically and it will never be the same as it was before I became ill.

One thing I've struggled with is the idea of a transplant. During the first few months after the failure, I had four people (my father, brother, husband and husband's aunt) volunteer to be tested to see if they were a match. Unfortunately, all of them have different blood types, so they were no-gos.

Because I'm not close to the rest of my extended family, I then realized my only realistic hope of a kidney would be from a cadaver - and I'm really not all right with that. I've joked to my husband (although I'm not really sure it is a joke) that if I get a transplant as a result of somebody's death, I'll need therapy. Extensive therapy.

A transplant would make my life so much better - no more 15 hours per week at the dialysis center. No more constant nausea. No more exhaustion and spending ten/twelve hours a day in bed on the weekends. No more blood infections and blood transfusions.

I'd be able to work full-time again. Play with my kids without dropping out because I don't feel good. Eat chocolate.

And yet, the idea of wanting a kidney means that in a way, I'm wanting someone to die. And that just makes me feel evil.

My hubby has a more pragmatic opinion. It's his belief that people are going to die anyway, so it's a gift that will benefit me and should be accepted without concern. And yes, I understand his point of view, but I'm still struggling with the whole situation.

However, there is a bright spot, which I hope will turn out. Two of my first cousins have volunteered to be tested and I'm really hoping one of them will be a match, because I'm completely all right with the idea of a live donor. Keep your fingers crossed for me.