Chapter VII: 18 missed calls; and a tram.

I arrived at the hotel in Blackpool feeling mightily impressed with myself for having lugged the cycler on the train on my own (well, almost on my own, the station staff helped!). I checked in and then went for dinner with some friends, both of whom are transplant recipients. After dinner we went for a walk to look at the Illuminations and have a drink. While we were walking we spotted a tram with a

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Chapter VI: Life in a box fort.

I’ll never forget looking out the window while the Baxter courier delivered my first two weeks of PD supplies. When he left, I was surrounded by a mountain of cardboard boxes. I could have built an epic fort, had I been so inclined. Sadly for the cat, I wasn’t. I remember a lot of my friends saying that this was when they properly realised this was their life for the foreseeable future. That was why

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Chapter V: Dialysis – A paper tiger?

On the 4th of August 2016, I went to have some routine bloods before a scheduled clinic appointment a few days later. I felt fine and went and wandered around the supermarket afterwards. But that evening, our landline rang. It almost never rings. On the other end was a registrar from the hospital. He explained that my bloods had shown a huge deterioration in my remaining renal function. My eGFR was down to 8, and

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A lot has happened in my life since I last wrote.

Water under the bridge

I haven’t written for almost eighteen months. No, I’m not dead. Yes, I’m still in the UK. No, I’m not on dialysis. Yes, I’ve started writing about what’s happened to me…

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