Remember the Time

So the late Mr Jackson warbled in 1992, until the time when he was;

a) Administered the wrong drugs by his doctor, neglecting the Hippocratic Oath.

b) Self administered the same wrong drugs in an attempt to gain some much needed beauty sleep

c) Victim of a drug overdose administered by a bitter and neglected Bubbles.

d) Bumped off by his family and record company to enhance the sales of his back catalogue.

The courtroom drama alone is turning out to be quite a thriller.

But enough of the mad, bad, and deceased, and let us truly remember the time....

It came as a surprise to realise that it has been three months since the day of transformational wonderment unexpectedly visited our family, like a celestial intervention from Zeus on Mount Olympus, in the affairs of mankind.

Three months ago I had just had my transplant and was about to set sail on the good ship Recuperation. At the outset I was strictly limited in what tasks I could perform, foods I could eat, positions I could maintain, and of course the ever present spectre of wobblyitis due to low blood pressure. As I look back at the beginning of the voyage, when I was confined to a reclining chair, wrapped up in a blanket, and unable even to make myself a cup of comforting English Tea or lift anything weightier than a chocolate macaroon, even I am surprised at how well it has all gone. This genre of transplant can be fraught with problems, notably the fear of rejection and infection. None of this happened and I have made a textbook recovery. I am truly appreciative for the care and attention that has been showered on me by the renal team and the rest of my family, notably my partner for performing the role of dedicated driver and chef!

Food intake was limited to copious glassfuls of Complan Meal Replacement, Milkshakes, and oodles of cup a soup, the blander the better! Slowly we progressed to bread and biscuits and after a while I was able to tolerate salad.

Now, whilst still struggling with anything too rich or spicy (Bye bye curry! Bye bye casserole), I get through mountains of Marmite with cheese and crisp sandwiches, fish, pasta and my current favourite; Crawfords Bourbons from the UK food shop.

My blood pressure appears to have stabilised as my renal consultants tinker with the medications in order to find a balance that is acceptable to my metabolism, my gaping surgical wound has all but healed (most attractive, for a while it resembled the gaping chasm stretching across Mt Tarawera after the eruption of 1886.) but now looks like a slightly odd scar, if not a little large.

I am now fully mobile, but noticeably a little porkier around the waist. This I am reliably informed is due to steroids, and not, as my partner keeps insisting, due to crisps and Mars bars!

At the three month stage it is normal procedure for a biopsy to be taken from the transplanted kidney to ensure that there is nothing amiss that has failed to manifest itself in my regular blood tests.

I have of course looked this up on the interweb, and frankly scared myself witless. A large needle gets inserted twice to the new kidney through the front of my body and small samples are taken for analysis. With only local anaesthetic! Oh dear.... the perils of reading Wikipedia......I have this joy to look forward to next week.

Hopefully it wont be too uncomfortable, as they take Another Part of Me (cue Michael..) and that it

wont make me Scream and left feeling Bad.