These are the little, innocent looking tablets I take three of every twelve hours. On the one hand they save my life (ta very much), on the other hand they shorten it (you bastards). They're immune suppressing drugs, one of two types that I take. Ultimately they dampen down my immune system so that my body doesn't reject my new organ (however much my brain loves my liver, my body's a cynical git and doesn't like change). But nothing is without side effects and these pills are pretty toxic. They stress out my heart and kidneys and increase my risk of diabetes enormously. They also do what they say on the tin and suppress my immune system, so colds, infections, and skin cancer (all the good stuff) have VIP entry to this party. On a more vain note they also make my hair thin, my skin somewhat manky, and my hands shake like I'm...well, on drugs. So if you're thinking of getting a liver transplant, it's not all glamour guys.
The reason I'm writing about my wonder drugs, is because this week we've had a bust up. We both said things we didn't mean, but ultimately the bastards are winning and I'm back on special measures by order of the hospital. What a pleasure. The levels of drug in my blood was measured at five times the required dose, so visits to hidden away parts of the hospital to ask for doctors I've never heard of has become a new, not all that welcome, daily routine. Although the sense of achievement when somebody wearing a stethoscope says "Eleanor Lacey? That rings a bell" is astonishing.
Although behind the scenes, I have little annoying health niggles like this fannying about, we all have rubbish going on. Sometimes I am blown away by how minor the things are that my friends complain about, and other times I'm absolutely speechless at what some people are living through and smiling in spite of. The latter are the people I aspire to be like and the face I try to present for organ donation.
Sometimes I don't do a very god job of this, for example, the current situation has left me feeling really out of control and, as much as I'm trying not to be, a bit angry. It came about because my previous blood tests weren't followed up for three months. So I can sit here and be miffed at the understaffed, underfunded NHS. Or I can remember the email I received two weeks ago when a lovely man got in touch to tell me his wife had been through exactly what I had when I needed my transplant, but she hadn't made it out the other side. And I can remember what I have got.
Wishing you all a very Happy Easter! Please click on the little heart (it makes lots of little baby hearts as a thank you) if you made it this far! Thank you x
Now I'm off for a run, just because I can :)