Life on the list

I realise it has been a very long time since I last blogged: six months to be a little more exact. In this time, I have started a relationship; signed up for a half marathon; gone blonde and turned twenty-five. Not exactly life changing stuff. It is depressing, in fact, just how little has changed and the more time that I spend on dialysis, the more desperate I am for change to come. The last six months should have been the happiest of recent years, and there have certainly been numerous highlights. But the longer I spend on The List, the harder I am finding it to cope. The longer one waits, the more tangible a transplant becomes because us Veterans are given preference. But far from inspiring hope that I reaching my goal, I feel panic that I might not even be half way through. I might be a quarter way through. What if the call never comes? It doesn't help that I went back to work today after a week off for half term. I do not hate my job, but it makes me feel utterly worthless...

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...

1:27, too much to drink and just seen my penultimate friend out the door...the final one is upstairs nailing my housemate. I should really go to bed and get five hours sleep before I have to get up for my last day at work, pre-Christmas break; the mess from our raucous festive party can wait until tomorrow at least. But before I retire, just this to share: I collected my youngest brother from the airport today, and the relief that he was able to land on British soil before Christmas Day was the only present I require. As long as my father can arrive in a similar timely fashion my Yule will be perfect. The unconditional love I am endowed with by a selection of my friends and family has sustained me these last three years and it is only by having endured the hardship of kidney failure that I have understood the importance of it. Christmas is tricky because it is around this period that I began dialysis - for the second time in my life - three years ago. I am about to start my fourth ye...

It's only bloody Christmas AGAIN - it feels like it's only been a year since we were last celebrating, and then there was the one before that, and at least five before that one...and with every passing year Christmas starts that little bit earlier. This year, I'll be looking to get my Turkey in mid-August to beat the back-to-school rush. However, nothing can diminish the glee I take in Christmas I am particularly excited for this one. The last few Christmas's have been overshadowed by things like the collapse of my career, or the searing pain from a recently inserted catheter, but this Yuletide is going to be different. Obviously I'm still on dialysis, but at Christmas I 'forget' about my high potassium level and eat as much chocolate as I can cram into my mouth before I have a heart attack -  and by 'Christmas', I obviously mean 'December', so I am certain to start the New Year 1/2 stone heavier with shocking blood work, but the alarm on...

Sometimes, living with this condition feels like I am dragging a heavy suitcase behind me wherever I go. Tonight, tired after the day's session and run down by the dark evenings and cold weather (although I think that may apply to everyone) my luggage feels just that little bit more cumbersome. I am due to go to Stockholm this weekend to celebrate Anna's birthday and I am suffering from indecision, for I fear the metaphorical luggage I shall be bringing with me will exceed the plane's acceptable weight limit. I am not bemoaning my situation or whining about the injustice of it all - I do not feel it is unfair. Having renal failure does not negate me from being able to go on what will no doubt be a fun trip away; indeed, I am incredibly fortunate that I am healthy enough to consider the prospect; to have friends who want me there and that I can afford it (just)...yet, I am fretting. It's one weekend away, but leaving the country, even for 42 hours, is such a sheer depar...

I must have been the only teacher in Christendom (for "teacher" read: lowly teaching assistant) not forward to half term. I was kind of dreading it, in fact. Sure, I could sleep in until mid-morning and my clothes would be safe from paint and sticky hands for an entire week, but as the holiday approached, my anxiety grew: five days without (*dramatic pause*) routine. Routine. I cling to it like a leech because I've found I can just about manage dialysis as long as EVERYTHING STAYS EXACTLY THE SAME FOREVER. On Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, I wake up, I go to work, I go to hospital, I stagger home, I eat and I sleep; on Tuesdays and Thursdays, I wake and go to work, I arrive home and write, I go to the gym and get on with my live sex show on th...er, I have dinner and an early night. Without work, my carefully constructed regime is in tatters and all I have to orientate my week are the sessions at the hospital and, though I do enjoy my M and S sandwich, I don't re...