Alexander James Morrison possesses a wit as sharp as any, delivered with effortless timing. When asked how he prefers to be addressed – Alex or A.J. – his response is instant: “Call me what you want, Mike, just don’t call me late for dinner.”
That playful spirit is remarkable considering A.J. was born without a cerebellum, the brain’s control center for movement, cognition, and so much more. He jokes about it, suggesting it might be “hidden in my left buttock,” a testament to his incredible resilience and humor.
A.J.’s brain has remarkably rewired itself to compensate, but the challenges remain significant. Cerebral palsy impacts his motor skills, delaying his first steps and words until age three. He underwent grueling surgery at twelve to stabilize his legs, and continues with physiotherapy, relying on a wheelchair or walker for mobility, his speech sometimes mirroring the effort of his gait.
But recently, a new and urgent concern has eclipsed even these long-standing struggles. A.J. has learned his mother, Mary Jo Vradis, needs a second kidney transplant.
The revelation was a shock, compounded by the fact that A.J. is only now discovering his mother received her *first* transplant years ago. “My mom did a pretty good job of hiding it from me,” he admits, understanding her desire to shield him, but now feeling ready to face the truth.
Mary Jo confirms, “I can’t hide it this time.” The reality is stark: her first kidney is failing, and the prospect of returning to dialysis feels like a slow decline.
Nineteen years ago, Mary Jo gave birth to A.J. while undergoing dialysis herself, a scene mirrored by her mother and brother connected to machines nearby. Kidney failure runs in the family, though A.J. has thankfully tested clear. She endured years of nightly dialysis, concealing the machine from her young son, determined to protect him from worry.
When a donor kidney became available, Mary Jo ensured A.J. never even saw the scar, shielding him from another burden. Now, fifteen years later, she’s facing the same ordeal again, and is actively seeking a live donor.
A.J. immediately offered to donate, a selfless impulse quickly dismissed by his mother. She wouldn’t even consider compatibility testing, knowing he’s already faced enough physical battles. His dedication to swimming, training, and simply navigating life with a walker has built a surprising strength.
He remembers being so small as a baby, his mother bathed him in a salad bowl – “a little olive oil, lettuce, tomatoes, cucumbers,” he quips – fearing he’d be lost in a regular tub. That fragile infant has transformed into a remarkably fit young man.
“Sure, I’m ripped,” he concedes with a self-deprecating smile, “but it’s not like I found a cure for cancer or split the atom.” Yet, his strength and determination are undeniable.
A.J. is an “ambassador” at Variety Village, a sports center for children with disabilities, and is currently completing a work placement there, leading tours and sharing his experiences. He uses humor as a shield, a way to deflect attention from his own pain and his mother’s suffering.
“I just really want to do everything I can to help her. I love her so much. I don’t want to lose her,” he says, his voice cracking with emotion. For the first time, the clown prince of Variety Village breaks down, tears streaming down his face, revealing the depth of his fear and love.
He’s already begun researching kidneys online, driven by a need to understand and help. “Mom, this is an important point in your life and I just want to know more about it,” he explained, demonstrating a maturity beyond his years.
