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Showing posts from June, 2010

The Cold War

I'm ill, but if that seems like a self-evident statement on a blog about living with renal failure, note that I am not alluding to the fact I have no kidneys; kidney failure doesn't count as ill until I want to park in a disabled parking space. What I mean is, I have a cold.

I have not had a cold for ages. Ironically enough, before I started dialysis - when I still had a functioning transplanted kidney and was ostensibly healthy - I used to get colds all the damn time. In order to stop my immune system identifying my new kidney as a foreign body and attacking it, I was taking a handful of immunosuppressant drugs, and whilst they provided a certain level of protection to the kidney, they also meant that I was at the mercy of whatever germs happened to be filtering through the nearest AC vent at any given time. Colds really went to town on me back then: the worst ones were closer to flu, put me out of action for days and took weeks to work their way out of my system. However, si…

The winds of change

I did it: I turned twenty-four. Actually, all I did was wake up and assume the role of a twenty-four year old, but I have now been living at this age for almost five days. The fact was cemented by twenty-eight five year olds signing Happy Birthday to me as I stood at the edge of the circle-time carpet grinning like the village idiot. Regular readers might have noted that previously I have mentioned the thirty children that comprise my class, and hence might be perplexed as to why only twenty-eight joined in the chorus: in explanation, Samira is away with chicken pox and Arif wasn't singing because he doesn't like me.

My birthday itself was delightful and even Friday dialysis was exponentially brightened by surprise cameo appearances from both my Mum and Maisy. By the time my father and his partner joined the fray it was practically standing room only. Sitting in my garden on a warm summer's evening, eating food from Marks and Spencer's and drinking Kopperberg with my…

Happy Returns

As landmarks go, I'm fairly certain that a 24th birthday does not rank very highly. When I reach that grand old age tomorrow, I won't be able to do anything legally that I couldn't today and neither will I begin to fret that I haven't had a wedding/baby/botox consultation. In truth, I doubt I'll feel much different at all. However, as beige as the Big Two-Four is, to me, it still carries a certain heft, because it will be my third birthday on dialysis.

Fuck - downer, huh? Just when you thought this blog entry was going to be about the exciting things I'm going to do for my birthday (steel yourselves, they're coming). Like most people, I anticipate my birthday with an almost orgasmic fervor and feel it very much to be the most important day of the year. The only other event I get (nearly) as excited about is Christmas. Now, for those of you graduates out there, you may have noticed that my birthday falls in June, the sixth month of - and precisely half way …