So I’m in hospital then. The Royal Liverpool to be specific.
It must have been some time around 2017 when a nephrologist called Matthew first mentioned the idea of a pre-emptive kidney transplant. Pre-empting dialysis that is. It’s pretty insane that I’ve managed to avoid dialysis in the five years since then. In that respect I’m very fortunate even though I don’t feel it right now, sitting here in a room that they clearly haven’t prepared for human inhabitance. There are holes in the wall as if somebody has fired a gun at it. There is a dialysis machine next to my bed, whirring away and taking up space. I’m not connected to it but despite repeated attempts to get them to move it, it remains. What part of ‘I’m not on dialysis’ do they not understand? But I’m here and I’m lucky to be.
This should have happened in the first half of 2020. Unfortunately Covid put paid to that. We were just waiting for theatre space when everything got locked down. Since then the restrictions have led to more and more delays. There was also a period when we couldn’t even think about it when we lost my dad. All of this would have been just too much for either me or my mum at that time. My mum is my donor. She’s in a different room just across the way. She was in here with me and Emma but she’s had to leave. She couldn’t put up with my anger when within five minutes of our arrival a rubbish nurse tried and failed to take blood from me. She did manage to bruise me so that’s something. Another nurse has just been in to have another go and she did it straight away. Taking blood that is, not bruising me. They have successfully taken blood on the 472 occasions I have visited the blood room recently. It’s remarkably easy.
There is a window open in my room. On the 9th floor. It wasn’t fully open, just a bit loose and flappy, until the nurse who has just taken my blood just tried to properly close it. Well, you can’t be good at everything. She told me that they use a spoon to lock it. She left 15 minutes ago to get a spoon but she hasn’t been seen since.
It’s a shitty room but unlike my mum’s it is my own room. It even has it’s own toilet which will be handy for sparing me the indignity of having to share those facilities when my incision reduces my mobility to that of Han Solo when he gets captured by the Empire in The Empire Strikes Back. On the toilet door is a sign that rather rudely and unnecessarily asks ‘is your poo loose?’. It also has a sign above that says ‘snacks available on request’. These two things seem somehow incompatible, like they don’t belong in the same space.
The surgeon has been to see me. There were two of them actually, but I’ve only ever met one of them. He examined my pelvis again. For someone who doesn’t think my biffy shape will be a problem he seems slightly hung up on it. He seemed happy with what he found. He’s just about the only person in here that I trust. He went on to explain the plan for tomorrow in great detail, what drugs I’m going to be on and why. His confidence is a comfort. One of very few in this Hell hole. I asked him how long I’m likely to be stuck here in Guest House Paradiso (I didn’t call it that). He explained that the main barrier to patients going home is that a new kidney makes you pass too much water or something like that. So I can go home when I’m pissing normally. He didn’t put a figure on it.
Update. The transplant co-ordinator, Anne, has just been in to lock the open window. She did not use a spoon. Nor did she remove the whirring dialysis machine, however. She told me that it can’t be moved because it is ‘on a clean’. Essentially, the Royal is a place where equipment has to undergo noisy maintenance within the private room of a patient about to undergo life changing surgery. Next time you’re encouraged to go out on your doorstep to clap or bash your frying pan in appreciation of the NHS do so by all means. But don’t forget also to never vote Tory as long as you live. The state of this hospital is their legacy. The only good thing about this hospital room is that when the clouds part I can see Anfield out of the window.
I realise you may not all appreciate the value in that.
