Life on the list

"Sooo...if you stopped dialysis, how long would it take you to die?" Katie asked me over juice and Bourbons yesterday. It sounds like a morbid topic of conversation for a sunny Thursday afternoon, but fortunately it is not something I am squeamish about. Unfortunately, for 5 renal failure patients a day, this disease proves fatal, but the extreme potential of kidney failure is something I came to terms with a long time ago; yes, I might die from kidney failure, but you might get hit by a bus tomorrow. And then maybe I'd get your kidney. Katie's blunt question came as part of a larger discussion we were having about the general societal attitude towards donation. The fact that only around 25% of the population are currently willing to donate their organs suggests that most people have a very negative perception of the process - if only this were true. Whilst there are those who do have a strong moral, physical or religious objection to donating (and have a clear and

I have two settings when it comes to clothes: ultra-smart secretary sex kitten and ASBO casual. The latter is what could be described as "hospital wear", which is to say, anything that facilitates sitting still for four hours and provides easy access to my left arm. A fashion show on Bostock ward would include a startling array of hospital gowns and old men without much clothing at all, so even in my battered jeans-and-t-shirt-combo, sartorially speaking, I fare quite well. The former, however, is the look I adopted for work in order to feel authoritative and efficient and I chose my outfits according to the classes I was teaching that day. For my sweet Year 7s, leggings and a long cardigan sufficed; my Year 9s needed sleek black and power shoulders. Yesterday, I took the first step in going back to work. I had an interview with the lovely Ellie at a recruitment agency that specialises in, amongst other things, placing teaching assistants in London schools. To look the part