tits n’ pricks #1

I have expressed a desire to give Blokey my spare kidney. 

I read all the gumpf, skipped the DVD watching and read various websites.  And then I contacted the Living Donor Coordinator at the hospital where Blokey receives most of his kidney-related treatment. 

This past Wednesday saw us toddling off to the hospital to meet with her.  

She led us down long corridors to the strikingly bright and very uncluttered transplant ward, where she spoke briefly to us in a little room before telling Blokey to bugger off to the Day Room.

Have you ever had this, that and the other?,  she asked, before continuing with the Baby Talk and the Worst Case Scenario Talk.  You can withdraw from the process right up until the moment the anaesthetic is about to be administered, she explained. 

I signed bits of paper, and then began the testing.

the pricks

I gave up an armful of blood.  I didn’t look, but it was only a little prick and not as bad as I was expecting.  But there were a lot of vials of blood, and it was mine, and hopefully it won’t reveal any nasty surprises.

the pressure

My BP is near-perfect (120/78).  Phew!

the peeing

This was done in a big sterile pot.  Don’t put your fingers in the pot, she warned.  I complied, wrapping it back up in its plastic bag.  Was I supposed to pee in it so that it was nearly full?!  She went away with it and came back to tell me that it was okay; I have no protein in my urine. Huzzah!

being radiated

Take all your upstairs clothing off and change into this (*holds up blue tent*), and then have a seat and wait for your name to be called, said the x-ray receptionist when I went for my chest x-ray.  The chap didn’t ask me if I was pregnant, but did know where I’d come from.  I’m convinced he left me standing like a lemon for longer than need be after the deed was done.  I’m also sure that I moved and this made me ponder whether bones go blurry.

the tits

Take your upstairs clothing off and lie down, she said.  What, and my bra? I asked.  Yes, I’m afraid so, she responded.  After sticking things to me (which involved having to lift my sagging bosom) she covered my modesty for a smattering of seconds whilst the ECG did its thing.  Take this, and off you go, she barked, handing me a printout.  Miserable bint.

So, I have to go back on Tuesday just to offer a very small amount of blood to the God of Phlobotomy and from there we have a wait of a few weeks whilst they do all the tissue-typing malarky. 

And we’ll go from there …

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