Practice makes perfect It's Wednesday night, so obviously I am sitting on my sofa attempting to aspirate liquid iron into a syringe whilst watching One Born Every Minute (it's a sad one, be warned). I am comically awful at administering my weekly dose of iron so the nurses have sent me home with some vials, some needles and a set of syringes so that I can practice, because as of the end of next week I'm on my own (horraay-slash-eep). In my defence, it is tricky to suck the iron into the syringe because the iron is in a vacuum-sealed chamber and the level of difficulty only increases when you attempt to do it one-and-a-half-handed. No, I'm not a Paralympic hopeful: technically I still have two functioning hands, but the iron must be administered when I am on the machine when my-left-hand's-connected-to-my-left-arm, and-my-left-arm's-connected-to-the-needles... Someone recently described training for home dialysis to me as like learning to drive, and it is...
Living, if not always loving, life on the UK transplant list.