So for two months I had kidney disease and all that implies.
I was already sorting out what books I could read whilst having dialysis and secretly eyeing up unsuspecting, but totally suitable, donors and wondering just how one goes about asking for one.
Could you just bring it up over coffee perhaps?
Like, So hey, you look like you’ve got a couple of healthy kidneys packed away in there. Do you think you’d be up for sharing one?
I mean seriously, how hard could it be.
But then lo, all this became a moot point as, on my next trip to the doctor, as I sat in the bright, sterile, completely unfriendly room wondering if there was a hidden camera checking up that I wasn’t poking around with the ultrasound machine, I didn’t have it any more…
He didn’t know why.
He was sat so close to me as he showed me all the lab results, like I actually knew what it all meant, that when he came out with the good news I actually smacked his arm as I told him that I’d had a really fun couple of months wondering how long I’d got left on the planet.
Just to keep the anxiety above the extreme level I also had to have the old ovaries looked at.
Let me tell you… I was on the edge.
Not to waste a good ultrasound I had the sweet tech girl have a quick look at my kidneys just to make sure that they were actually in there and, for good measure I had her check out my liver also.
I think she enjoyed it as she doesn’t often get a chance to rummage around looking for all the other stuff when usually her clients are only interested in those tiny baby things growing inside.
Although to be honest my right kidney did actually look like a baby.
It had that hunched over, floating around look that they have – only in the wrong place.
Of course as she’s not allowed to tell me anything and as I didn’t know what the hell I was looking at, it was all a bit of a futile exercise, but at least I got to make sure that I had them and that they were right where they were supposed to be.
How the hell they can see anything, let alone make out what’s going on in there, is beyond me. It’s like when the doctor pushes around on your outsides and tells you that he can actually feel your organs.
I go home and have a go and they’ve all disappeared.
Crawled back into the murky abyss I suppose.
So what with that on my mind and the trip home I was completely off going into the studio.
It was enough to drag myself out of bed.
But that’s over now and for the past two or three days P has been well out of luck with any dinner being presented to him on his return from the big outdoors.
I mean how hungry can you get sitting behind a desk all day.
I did feel a little guilty yesterday though, but as I sat finishing up one of my new pieces, it didn’t quite stop me from texting him that the chicken just did not want to get into the oven.
Not my fault…
Here’s what I’ve been working on.
And before I could actually bother to even look at the jewelry table here’s what I tried to get back into the mood with.
A little colour.
Now I’m working on this,
Which was the cause of the chicken protest.
And I leave you with one of the reasons my life is so complicated.
A note from P.
I get them sometimes.
He leaves them for me so that I don’t forget that sometimes there are important things that need to be done.
Like cooking I suppose.
What the hell does it mean?