I just paid a visit to the doctor. They take the 'laissez faire' approach here in France, so I just go in to hospital once a month. Turns out I have been blasting myself with immuno suppressants at 4 times the dose my body needed. That'd be why I can't carry a mug of tea without using two hands at the moment. (And yes, that does get very embarrassing when you're in Costa Coffee bringing a tray of grande café lattés over to your new boss...) Maybe France should be more 'laissez come into hospital more regularly'.
Anyway, apart from the minor overdose, all is great (relatively speaking that is!). I've lost a good 4 kilos somehow over the last month. They don't seem bothered. My skinny jeans are coming back out from the back of the cupboard. If only I didn't have the plague, I could feasibly get away with a crop top right now. My white blood cells have been eradicated, possibly by the shingles, so I should expect to feel feverish fairly soon. They've cut out my 'let all viruses run wild' pill (cellcept) for a week in the hope that maybe my shingles will get got and I'll start reproducing some whities out of my bone marrow. If I don't, they'll give me some for free in the shape of an injection. God dammit they're generous.
And the kid conversation (not my substitute kid (the kidney), but the real deal) looks like it's going to be a tough one if it's going to exist at all. And this is where the prioritisation of the organs come in.
You have a kidney. It's spluttering along. Conversation today went like this:
'You're not about to have kidney failure, you know' she said (my doc)
'How long have I got?' I tentatively ask. I know this is naughty. How the hell is she to know.
'How long is long?' she says. I like that. (My dad's a philosopher).
'Ten years?' I tried. That sounds an age away. An entire 'decade'.
'It's very rare', she said. 'It's possible but...'
'Five?' I interrupt to try again. This was starting not to be so fun.
She wobbled her head. I think that meant a 'yeaaaaah'. And then: 'But everyone's different...blah...blah....some people have awful biopsies.....say never going to make it.... still going on after years and years..... blah.....blah'.
So. Conclusion: I'll be stretched out on that table again in my mid-30s. And that's not that far away.
Package up that neat little summary, and then swallow the understanding that you could try to have a kid - who/how are they to 'stop me' after all (see image of possible method) - but it's going to be risky. My five years of kidney function might turn into a couple of months. And it's a guessing game to know for sure what levels of risk we're talking. 50%? 30%? 80%? It's those blasted statistics again, determining my every thought.
In a month I get to meet the best risk analyser. She's like a gambling champion. She's so quick at weighing up probabilities, she could take most people down over a couple of stumpies, but she's chosen to rumble around in the risks of life-endangering fertility issues instead. And here's the problem. I know she won't give me a real answer. She can't. She's not really allowed. I found out a month ago that there's going to be 'A' risk of sorts. How much, our poker champion here is going to help me figure out. But then the real gambling and the (work with me here) actual placing of the chips is up to me.
So, can you see the dilemma?
A. I have a kidney. I try for a kid and I lose my kidney so I have to ask someone else to give me a kidney. I might not get to keep the kid either as I'd likely have kidney failure/moved onto dialysis while trying to grow a baby inside of me.
B. Perfect world. I have a kidney. I try for a kid and keep the kid and the kidney. Everyone feels very kiddy.
C. I pay someone else to have a kid and I keep my kidney, but I've used their womb/ovaries.
Seriously. I hate this next abbreviation, but it probably fits right now: WTF?
Also, why are someone else's ovaries less important than my (first) transplanted kidney? Or, seen another way, I surely can't ask for someone else's kidney because I put my own ovaries before them? Then we're no longer talking about a transplant to save my life, but are talking about one so I can try for a kid. That's quite a different issue. Again, I'm being quite gourmand even thinking about it.
But, seriously, what percentage risk isn't too high, then, for me to do it? And how the F am I meant to make that call.
Anyway, I just have to wait a month - 4 more weeks - till I find out more. ahh. So. What shall I do tomorrow?
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