Nothing to see here …

Truly.  Life is fairly bliss.  Blokey had a clinic appointment at Hospital on Wednesday and we waited impatiently for the phone to ring to inform us that there was an issue with Our Kidney and he must whizz to Hospital post-haste.

There was no phone call.


As it stands he was told that his labs back in April had been perfect and his creatinine at 160 (which they’re happy with).  He has put on weight, but he was aware of that.  I’m not privy to how much, which means it must have been bad.  He doesn’t really look too much bigger to me, but hey-ho.

We joined the gym this week and were inducted today.

Please stop laughing.

(Day 642, NO DIALYSIS!!!)

Making me look silly

Blokey went to Hospital for a clinic appointment a couple of weeks ago.  A few days later he turned to me and we had the following conversation:

Blokey: Oh, I told the neph that you sometimes say you feel your kidney even though it isn’t there any more.

[i have no idea what he’s talking about; i think i said it once or twice, way back when.]

KatieF: Which neph did you have?

[i feared the worst]

Blokey: Delectable Dr. Neph, Phwoar!

KatieF: Oh good.

[fear came true]

Blokey: He said you’re a banana.

[i can’t remember the real words so i’ve paraphrased]

Ho-hum. We’re assuming Blokey’s labs are all fine because Hospital haven’t contacted us to say otherwise. Still, that could just be because Delectable Dr. Neph, Phwoar! is still laughing at me. Humpf.

(Day 577, NO DIALYSIS!!!)

and the results are in …

I wrote the following back on the 6th January. I didn’t post it, not because I didn’t want to but because I thought I had.

“Yesterday I finally received the results of my Hospital check-up (only two months and a couple of days after the Event itself.)  I am pleased to report that having Googled all the results I *think* I’m pretty much the perfect specimen of Human Being-ness, with my remaining kidney behaving as it should.

*takes a[-nother] bow*

(Day 346, NO DIALYSIS!!!)”

I *think* that I toddled off to check that my results were good before I posted what they were and looked a complete plonker when some wise person pointed out that actually they were a tad skewy.

These were my results:

Blood Pressure 120/76
MSU – normal
Hb 12.1g/dl
WBC 7.0
Plt 209
Na 140mmol/l
K 4.7mmol/l
ACR <0.6mg/mmol
Urea 5.3mmol/l
Creatinine 76umol/l (equates to 0.86 in AmeriSpeak)
eGFR 79mis/min

I was a trifle worried about the eGFR but it transpires that I don’t really need to be.  My creatinine is near perfect (I think) and they tend to go by this more (I think, again … I’m full of thinking today).

I go back for the second anniversary in October and then I’ll just have to pop to my GP and request renal function tests for years three and four.  Year five I’ll be back at Hospital to see the living donor team again.  I have no idea what happens at year 6 …

I also have no idea what most of those results above mean, but hey-ho.  Life goes on.

We’ve been away this weekend, sampling the delights of the Norfolk coastline and the joy (ha) of spending time together. I realised that I still worry about Blokey’s peeing ability.  I went copious amounts of time and he went once (during the day). I expect I’ll always worry about it, which is just another sign that we’ll never be completely free of this; we’ll always be expecting the worst to happen because one day it will happen.  We can’t escape that. But won’t it be lovely if it doesn’t happen for thirty years and by the time it does happen some new-fangled research has made life with no kidney function to be a doddle?

*fingers very crossed*

(Day 474, NO DIALYSIS!!!)

Shush, now.

As far as I know there is nobody at work who knows that I’ve donated a kidney to Blokey other than the two bosses who interviewed me and under whose supportive role umbrella I fall. Oh, and the nurse.

This isn’t intentionally deliberate; I haven’t added anyone at work as a friend on Fb – which is where I tend to occasionally brag, but not really – and it’s not the sort of thing that comes up in conversation, even the sort of conversation where people are discussing their ill spouses/children. I feel that it’s a private matter and besides, I never know how to respond to the gushing and the hero worshipping that it all entails.


Yesterday we had some Mental Health training and one of my colleagues (she’s not yet a friend as I’ve only known her for a few weeks and rarely see her) needed a pen.  I dug around in my bag, found one lurking in the bottom amongst crumbs and packets of sweeteners and handed it to her.

This is the conversation which followed:

Her: *notices logo on pen* Oh, how do you know <insert company name here/>?
KatieF: Oh, my husband works there.
Her: *laughs* So does mine!
KatieF: *cringes*
Her: What’s your husband’s name?
KatieF: *tells her*
Her: Oh, I’ve heard my husband mention him.
KatieF: *says something random about how he’s the longest serving member of staff*
Her: Probably, I don’t really remember.

I expect she’s gone home, mentioned me and now knows. This irks me.  I doubt she’ll say anything, but it still irks me. Actually if she doesn’t say anything it will irk me even more because I won’t know if she knows.


This is the conversation I had with Blokey later, whilst we were waiting for the GasMan to fix the heating:

KatieF: Do you know <insert name of colleague’s husband here/>?
Blokey: Yes, he’s the chap who I keep on the right side of because I’m convinced that one day he’ll go postal.
KatieF: Oh. His wife is quite sweet.

Blokey had his clinic last week. We haven’t heard anything so all must be good.  He’ll go back in February and then may even go down to three-monthly visits rather than two.

Huzzah! Life is splendid.

(Day 423, NO DIALYSIS!!!)

getting jiggy with it

The best thing about Blokey having Our Kidney is that we have sex.

In fact, we’ve had more sex in the last few months than we had in the first five years of marriage.  CKD can play havoc with the libido of some folk, Blokey included.  I wasn’t so fussed; I like and enjoy sex (Blokey’s nickname for me when we first met was Insatiable), but my relationship with him isn’t defined by sex alone. Plus, we both have (magical) fingers.

I just felt the need to share that with you.

(Day 332, NO DIALYSIS!!!)

nothing to see here

Not literally, silly.

Blokey’s post-transplant clinic appointment last Wednesday went so smoothly that they told him they don’t want to see his ugly mug again till the 4th October.  This is Good News.  However, the idea of having no check-up in the meantime fills me with dread, because I’m a worrier and the glass is only ever half-empty.  I know he’ll be fine but I will always worry.  I was programmed for it at birth.

I’m feeling redundant again … anybody need a part of my liver?

(Day 301, NO DIALYSIS!!!)


Things have been plodding along quite nicely in the last few weeks, giving me nothing to snarl and whinge about. Oh, it has been hot the last few days (it makes a change from rain, but I would rather be too cold than too hot) which has resulted in me nagging Blokey about his fluid intake, or lack thereof.  He insists that he’s drinking enough, I don’t think he is … Still, his funeral, eh?  That’s the only way I can look at it; I can’t force him to do anything so any consequences will be his fault.  We’ve even managed a long weekend away on the south coast with the only worry being whether or not we packed those damn tablets.

We have a new monster bundle of fun fur.  He’s teeny (twelve weeks) and quite scratchy (what are these? claws? oooh, do they make you yelp?  i like-y making you yelp!) and so now I’m convinced that at Blokey’s next Hospital appointment (they offered him two months, he respectfully declined and asked for a month … two months with no Hospital? Yikes!) they’ll discover he has nasty cat disease in his blood.

I think I’m wary about writing here when things are going well.  I do have a tendancy to tempt Fate (as proven by my last two posts) and I’d rather not be the reason Blokey starts having any issues.  But – having said that – I do want to let you in on a little secret.  I’m amazed (truly amazed) that the transplant worked.  I gave Blokey Our Kidney even though I was sure something would go wrong.  I see and read of so many donors (oh, and do I have an irky post lined up about non-directed altruistic donors, but that’s by-the-by and won’t be written until I don’t sound like a complete b!tch) who are full of positivity and yay! look at me, I’m so wonderful, everything is going to be brill! vibes, whilst I went into it quite negatively. That’s how sure I was about Blokey’s Fate.  And yet, I still did it … Go Me!?

Of course, being a glass half-empty kind of human being does tend to help somewhat in these situations.

I would like to take this opportunity to thank the NHS for the free sunscreen lotion.  I ♥ you, NHS.

(Day 282, NO DIALYSIS!!!)

on feeling useful

Blokey is happy.  He is so happy that I even remarked upon it last night.  This was a mistake; less than an hour later he was snarling and swearing at the little people on his computer monitor because his Star Wars: The Old Republic game was going wrong.


I’m wary of writing this (Fate does enjoy being tempted, I’m sure) but it’s a trifle odd.  At the moment Blokey takes his plethora of pills every morning and every evening.  He’s now down to monthly visits to the transplant clinic.  On the face of it, he’s doing remarkably well. Oh, and he can now drink! I don’t just mean alcoholic beverages, but also ANY fluid without us having to worry about fluid retention and toxic overloads.  It’s taken a while to get to the ‘I can drink whatever I want [except cranberry juice – not because of the transplant, but because of the warfarin] whenever I want’ frame of mind, but we have got there.  We’ve been to two weddings in the space of two weeks and he didn’t get sleepy, I didn’t have to prod him awake or nag him about fluid.  We were an ordinary couple enjoying ordinary days out.

He even popped off into work on Tuesday evening (a Bank Holiday over here due to the Jubilee) without grumbling about the forty mile round trip, because he needed to sort out the servers for the folk who are based in other countries.

He will always be ill.  A transplant is only another form of treatment and not a cure; we will always live with the knowledge that his body will eventually reject Our Kidney (although let’s hope Fate doesn’t want this to happen for a good number of years yet) and we are prepared for that as much as we can be.  I will never let his mother proclaim that he’s a) cured and b) no iller than she is ever again.  I will only allow her to say that when she has something terminal, which she no doubt will have, one day (you can’t smoke that many cigarettes and have that sedantry a lifestyle without becoming terminally ill, surely?  Although we all know how unfair Fate can be …)

I suppose I feel a tad redundant.  I’m not having to worry as much as I used to and instead of consoling Blokey in his woeful-ness I’m now having to keep up with the energetic man he’s become.  It feels – essentially – that he’s getting on with his life; he’s continuing with his OU degree, has a potential promotion in the offering at work and looks amazingly healthy compared to this time last year. I need to find my niche in this new dynamic. I’ve spent so many years worrying about Blokey that now I don’t have to worry as much I feel as though I’m floundering around.

See that lion pacing in his cage at the zoo?  That’s me, that is.  I know I want more out of life but I’m not yet sure how to get it, or even if Fate will deem me worthy of having it.

I feel a little bit lost right now.

(Day 233, NO DIALYSIS!!!)