On the first day of Christmas.

My transplant gave to me.....

Hot Summer Nights...

No not filled with Olivia and Johnny, wella wella wella. Tell me more. Tell me more.

Indeedy. I've been spending some much needed "family time" over the Christmas holidays, in the Coromandel; Auckland's backyard water playground.

Of course it is now well into Summer in the "other" hemisphere, and we are replete with sun lotions, bug repellents, shorts a plenty and of course enough pills to stock a small regional health facility. (bloghoppers will remember the 'pill forgetting' fiasco of last year.

Everything has been packed, checked and rechecked and the long hot summer days are consequently stress free and enjoyable........albeit a tad warm.

The 94% humidity is a bit too much for a wee Brit sweltering in the colonies...made much worse by my Prednisone tablets. Essential to prevent organ rejection, they have the undesired effect of raising body temperature. Any sign of rejection presumably would be boiled away!!!

So here we are on holiday; bowling in the arcade, drinking lemonade, splashing around....

With all this extra heat these traditional Kiwi holiday activities just sound like a drag.....

 

We built this city...

Proclaimed Starship (ex Jefferson Starship) in the lovely summer of 1985, a huge hit the world over. Indeed it made such an impression that it has been regularly voted the worst hit of all time by MTV viewers. Ahhh.....altogether now....

"Someone always playing corporation games
Who cares they're always changing corporation names"

Became the mantra of the era, as companies merged and were swallowed up in aggesive takeovers. I remember when the beastly Burtons made a successful bid for poor little old Debenhams in 1985. The "Hands off Debenhams" badge I wore was the closest I came to the shoulder padded corporate takeover world...

With this came the the age of the corporate art, where "approved" work was displayed for the benefit of  staff and customers alike. Baaahhh what a pretty picture....Baaaaahh

One such example still in existence in 2012 can be found at the Labtests blood collection centres across this fair city of Auckland:

I know it is their "corporate choice" for I have visited several clinics, and it is there on every wall..

I find it odd that Labtests went for a depiction of  Tibetan families, a scattering of assorted Asian/Oriental  abodes, a man in a green parker, a MOD scooter, a container space ship house,  and several wabbits.
Perhaps it represents the wealth of cultures that we have in our fair burg, or the many different conditions that they test for, or just their corporate art consultant had eaten yak burgers the day before.

Every time I go for my blood harvesting I am drawn deeper into the mural, so much that I shall soon require a passport to visit it. It has become quite a favourite of mine, better than the offerings on display in several global chains the world over.
I particularly enjoy the architecture involved.

We built this city? Especially if the city may be Lhasa or Ulan Bator

Like Jesus to a Child....

A suitably melancholic rendition by George Michael  from  1996 as he climbed back atop the UK chart once more. The proceeds of this record sale (when we used to have records) went to charity, and the song was dedicated to the memory of George’s erstwhile lover who passed away quietly.

Which sets the tone this week...

My  outlook is generally upbeat  in nature but this week I am left felling a bit sad.

One of the blogs I regularly follow and which gave me  the creative muse for starting my own self penned weblog  is called Amaorican….

It details the experiences of a girl in New Zealand, married to an American, Larry.. He is on haemo-dialysis, having problems with immigration, adjusting to life in a new country, getting to experience new foods, new healthcare, new family… a very similar story to my life down under.

Except that 7 days ago he died.

 From a dialysis related problem:

 Unfortunately Larry became heavily overloaded with fluid and his organs were struggling to cope. 15 hours of dialysis was urgently prescribed to alleviate the pressure on his heart, but he passed away during the marathon session..

Rather bravely his partner, Camilla continues with her blog which is at times uncomfortable to read, but is a real tribute to her love and respect for her partner.

Amaorican.....

I cast my mind back to the many occasions during my two years on dialysis, remembering those times I was overloaded with fluid and considerably above my target weight.  This can be caused be drinking too much fluid, forgetting to take certain types of medicine, or it can be a sign of  something more serious.

Thankfully the 4 hour sessions of dialysis brought it down again, and this became routine.

So often we just laugh off the precautionary tales from the doctors as mere anecdotes, or indulge  in “that won’t happen to me” syndrome.  Alas this approach does not always play out well, and I am mindful of the sacrifices that have been made by so many people to help end my dependence on the dialysis regime, which although crucial in keeping some renal patients alive can be as damaging to long term prospects.

So Camilla ,I will miss your witty updates about Larry and your on-going sagas of life on dialysis in a far flung land, and dealing with the unknown, but hopefully you will continue to write and allow other people to see what some people have to endure without a word of complaint.