Life on the list

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...

I am now in possession of the most magnificent machine. It is going to change my life. It's benefits are as yet un-told, and the sheer joy it will bring to my existence will be profound; some may argue it looks a little un-gainly, but the more I stare at it the more I perceive it as a thing of a beauty. I am forced to wonder why I did not procure one years ago. I am talking, of course, about my brand new ice-crusher. My fluid restriction is up there as one of the most exquisitely difficult parts of my condition to endure and I have dedicated much time and energy to finding ways to alleviate my thirst without drinking very much. When at home, or at Mark's house, because he's thoughtful like that, I crunch my way through trays of ice cubes, but carrying ice cubes around with me has impractical implications for the world at large. Taking small sips of water can help, but sometimes when fluid hits my tongue it triggers some sort of thirst-induced mania and I can't help...

Ever since I was little (i.e. three centimetres littler than I am now) I have harboured a secret desire to be an actress. Having a job that involves kissing good looking men, wearing exotic clothes and earning a kerjilion pounds for pretending to be a nun / socialite / Virginia Wolfe for a few months seems like a pretty sweet deal to me. Unfortunately I am a touch too short and a shade too ugly to grace the silver screen, but this has just made it all the more exciting that in the last few months, my dream has come true. I am currently starring in my own one-woman show, entitled, “Home Dialysis is Amazing and the Answer to All My Problems”. If you missed my star (yet brief) turn as Dulcie in Cranbrook Grammar School’s 2003 production of “The Boyfriend” you might not be aware of my acting prowess, but my performance in “Dialysis….” has surely provided ample evidence that I am an excellent actress, on a par with all the greats: Streep, Mirren, Dench, Lohan. Not to blow my o...

My 1st post from my new digs! And I can't think of a better way to spend a fiver than on 24 hours worth of internet (so this might be the first and last post for a while...) As moves go - and I have done three now - it was incredibly straight-forward. With the help of Scottie (the Man who came with The Van), my brother (the older - younger had absconded to Birmingham for as yet unknown purposes) and Maisy (more on her later) I loaded up said Van in less than an hour then drove down to Clapham with ma bru (I have been watching Blood Diamond again) and un-pakced said Van in a remarkable twenty-minute burst, ably assisted by Adam and James who had no excuse as they can see my front door from theirs. I say "I" loaded The Van: I was actually summarily dismissed as too weakly to do more than shift boxes seven inches through the french windows. It was in fact Maisy who did most of the first-leg hard graft: she returned from her nineteenth trip to The Van to report that Scott...

Here are some Things That Scare Me: 1. Being eaten by a crocodile 2. Tea 3. Needles 4. The witch I saw in a dream twenty years-ago 5. Burglars 6. Paranormal Activity To mind my, all perfectly normal, rational things of which to be scared. But here is another list: Things of which I shouldn't be scared, and wasn't until recently, but that now freak the bejeezus out of me: 1. Moving house 2. Home dialysis Regular readers will know that Home Dialysis has represented a shining beacon of hope for me these last few months and I would have chewed my arm off (the right one - I need my left arm for all the dialysis) for the chance to perform my own treatment at home. Well....it looks like it might finally be happening. I have had an offer accepted on a dialysis-machine friendly flat, and as long as the landlord doesn't bend me over and take me from behind in the next couple of days, I should be moving in within a week or so. I start my formal home dialysis training ...

If I were to dispense two pieces of advice, they would be this: 1. Drink lots of water 2. Never move house If you have ever dabbled with kidney failure, you will understand the necessity of keeping your renal organs hydrated and urinal tract spick and spam with a voluble intake of water. If you have ever moved house, you will understand that you should never, ever move house. Even if your current house is tiny, or damp, or burnt to the ground, do not try and move house. Even if the balliffs are pounding on your front door as your read, give them your TV, or your child, or your virginity, but do not, on any account, let them force you to seek new accommodation. I have been trying to move house for approximately nine days now...at least I think its been nine days, time stopped around day five and then the theme tune to Catchphrase  started playing on a loop in my head in place of cogent thought. It probably doesn't help that the reason for my move - as I have now explained to...

Forget being the season to be jolly - apparently November through to January is the season for getting engaged. I have run out of fingers on which to count how many friends have recently announced their betrothal, although this figure is bolstered by people on Facebook I was at school with and haven't spoken to in seven years. They all count, ok? It is not surprising; Christmas fosters sentimentality and in the bleak, grey, January days that limp in its wake there is nothing like the prospect of a wedding to cheer the soul. My friends and I, now that we are waving goodbye to our mid-twenties, are also of age for this sort of thing: careers have been forged and homes made, so now it is time to get married and in a few years will shall no doubt be welcoming the first wave of babies, sticky, noisy little things that they are. The surprise has been my own reaction, for I have felt...happy. I have taken delight in every Facebook status, every text, every surprise birthday party tha...