Life on the list

As she removed my needles at the end of today's session, Nurse Josie confirmed with me that I knew what do should my fistula start bleeding again. "Put pressure on it," I said (I've seen Casualty). "That's right," she said. "Or ring 999, if it won't stop." I smiled. "I don't think it will ever get quite that bad." "Oh, you'd be surprised - we've had patients who's fistulas have blown when they rolled on their arm in their sleep and they've just bled all night. Not to scare you or anything," she added. I rolled down my sleeve. Carefully. This alarming conversation served to: 1. Freak the bejeezus out of me and 2. Make me very grateful that my fistula has given me a pretty easy ride. It's mammoth proportions are certainly an issue, but it has worked well for two and a half years I have used it and even performed admirably a mere day after surgery last year. Ah, but there's always a B...

Pammy needn't worry So far, 2011 is going well. It got off to a good start: I was dressed as Pamela Anderson, under the influence of various toxins and surrounded by friends - surely all the components necessary to ring in the new year. After Party No. 1, I jumped in a taxi and sped over to Party No. 2 which made me feel frightfully hardcore. The latter was hosted by an old flame and I was intrigued to find the embers still a'glow, though by 3 am my only interest was in getting back home to eat Kettle Chips and fall into (my own) bed. Yesterday was spent on Joanne's sofa watching Harry Potter and eating pizza and today Maisy and I have been taking down the Christmas decorations and compounding our melancholy by gorging on leftover mince pies. Last year may have been the Year of the Tiger, but I very much hope that 2011 will be the Year of the Kidney even if it does leave the Chinese disgruntled and confused. As we counted down to midnight on Friday, I was quietly awa...