What makes you smile?

We all have our pet hates and things that drive us mad but since my last couple of blogs have been a bit moany, I thought I'd do one about the little things that make us smile. We all have something that is guaranteed to cheer us up on a down day whether it's a cuddle with your pet, snaffling a favourite chocolate bar or receiving a funny text from your best friend. These are my instant happiness triggers.

Seagulls. Nope, I've not gone mad, I absolutely love the noise they make. Hearing them lets me know that I'm near the sea and brings a cheer to my heart. I wouldn't go to the beach let alone step foot in the sea if you paid me but for some reason I need to be near it. I missed it so much when I moved back to London and whenever I'd visit Bournemouth I would always make time to park my car near the seafront in Southbourne so I could take in the sea air without having to come into contact with any sand. I also watched a baby seagull grow up on a roof next to my office window one summer. I named him Jonathan Livingstone and his progression was fascinating. Every time I hear one shriek I can't help but smile.

Being able to drink a whole glass of water/cola/juice without feeling guilty. I've spoken about how hard it is to live on 1 litre a fluid day whilst on dialysis and now that I'm healthy I can drink as much as I want whenever I want. I really struggled with guilt after the transplant whenever I had a drink because it's drilled into you how important it is to stay dry. I'd even gone as far as washing off all the sauce from a tin of spaghetti hoops before eating so I didn't go above my fluid restrictions and suddenly being able to glug down pints of ice cold water was quite strange. Also, Pepsi Max is my all time favourite drink but because of the brown colouring it was banned while I was ill. After getting used to being able to have fluid again, my house has always contained at least one bottle of the stuff and I'm still not bored of it. 

I am obsessed with the colour purple. I've got purple clothes, purple make up, had a purple phone etc. The only thing stopping me painting my car purple is the cost. I will only give The Avengers 9.5 out of 10 because Hawkeye wasn't purple. Not out of fandom for the character but out of love for the colour. I can't understand why it isn't more peoples favourite colour. It's the only colour of clothing that suits every single skin tone so you should all go out and purchase some purple clothes. Immediately. 

Pygmy hippos. If you can look at a picture of one of these and not feel the need to the smile then you must be a monster. Look at his little face! It's just too cute. Obviously I love miniature dachshunds more, I have to stay loyal to Monty, but these are a close second. A friend bought me an adoption kit for the ones at London Zoo and it's one of the best presents I've ever been given. 

Whenever I've got a cold, a headache or I'm feeling a bit sickly this stuff is my ultimate cure. It's impossible to feel sorry for yourself when you've got a piping hot bowl of pure comfort in front of you. It was yet another food item that I wasn't allowed when I was on dialysis and it was the first meal I had when I got out of hospital from my transplant. It always has to be Heinz though, no other kind cuts it and there must always be a slice of buttered bread involved. 

So, what are the things that make you smile?

Welcome to Hell, I'll be your tour guide.

Last month I wrote a blog about my kidney transplant being 9 months old. I got some really great feedback on Twitter about it with people saying they didn't realise how invasive and distressing dialysis was. Thing is, I actually held back because it upsets me to think about it and I find it hard to process those emotions. When I do look back on the bad times I get very panicky and end up crying. I just sit there and sob for a few minutes until my brain snaps me back to reality. I do wonder if I'll ever address this but the answer is probably no.

I've decided to expand on that blog a bit in the hope that just one of you joins the Organ Donor Register. I'm going to include a couple of gnarly photos so if you're squeamish, look away now.

As I sit here having finished work until Wednesday with a gloriously fun packed four days ahead of me involving friends, Mexican food, movies, driving through the countryside and a visit to the Sealife Centre, I remember where I was a year ago today. I was in Dorchester Hospital having Roger the kidney removed. I'd had Lionel removed in at the end of April the previous year. Those of you that know me will probably realise that this meant I spent mine and Rich's 2 year anniversary in hospital.

I was diagnosed with kidney problems when I was 19. From then on I survived on a cocktail of codeine, morphine and tramadol to deal with the pain. I regularly suffered Renal Colic which is proven to be more painful than being shot, surgery and child birth. Don't believe me? Look it up. My kidneys were the size of rugby balls and covered in cysts. Twice I had procedures to drain the cysts. This meant lying on my side while a doctor repeatedly inserted a huge needle through my skin and into my kidneys.

Don't for one second think I'm saying I've had a terrible life. Despite the health issues I've enjoyed holidays, gigs up and down the country and I've lost whole weekends to a bottle of tequila. Yes, the pain sometimes meant I had to stay at home or in hospital but I made the most of the times I felt normal. I can think of plenty of people who've had it worse.

When I was 24 it became obvious that the only way forward was to remove my kidneys. Thanks to this I have two 14 inch scars on my abdomen. They start where my ribs meet in the middle and sweep down in a curved line. I hate looking at them. They are disgusting. I am disgusting.

I've already gone into the adverse affects that dialysis has on a persons life. What I didn't include was that my hair started falling out because of the Heparin used during treatment to thin the blood and stop it clotting in the machine. It fell out in clumps and I was scared every time I washed it. I once got so close to dying that my hair started growing blonde rather than my natural dark brown because my body didn't have the resources to make the pigment.

I also didn't mention that kidneys are responsible for telling your bone marrow to make red blood cells, they regulate the phosphate, calcium and potassium inside your body as well as controlling your blood pressure.

Oh, and without kidneys you can't produce urine. So you stop weeing. Completely.

Needless to say, the dialysis diet is terrible. You're limited to 1 litre of fluid a day because whatever you drink stays inside your body in your blood stream and puts pressure on your heart. This includes anything you drink and fluid in food like sauces, gravy or soups. Due to the potassium problem you're advised not to eat lots of fruit and veg and to have a maximum of 2 portions a day. This also rules out potatoes and chocolate. You can't have milk, cheese or yogurt because of the calcium and phosphates. In short, you live a life of perpetual thirst on a diet of boring food. I pretty much existed on plain bagels. If you don't stick to the diet or fluid restrictions, you die. Simple as that.

Along with fluid the main toxin removed by the dialysis machine is creatine. This is the waste product your body produces in every day life and would usually be filtered out by the kidneys. A new born baby would have a level of 60 and a body builder would be around 150. Mine regularly topped 900. The fatigue you feel is like nothing I've ever experienced. If the worst hangover and cold you ever had got together and had a hellish love child, you'd be 50% of the way there. I felt like this every single day. There was no reprieve.

In the end, I had no choice but to send my mum under the carving knife. From day one she'd been keen to donate but I'd refused, convinced I could cope and hold out until one came up from a dead donor but after all the complications, it wasn't likely I'd last much longer without a kidney.

All over the country, right now, people like me are on dialysis simply because there aren't enough kidneys to go round. You do NOT need your organs when you die. What's the point of burying them in the ground or burning them. If you were in a position that you or your child needed a transplant of any kind, you'd take it right? If you answer yes to that question then you have no reason not to join the organ register. If you're not willing to give but you are willing to receive then, and sorry if this sounds harsh, you disgust me.

It costs the NHS in excess of £30,000 per YEAR to keep a person alive on dialysis and that's not including any hospital stays or complications. To keep a transplant patient alive it costs just £6,000 a year. The news is full of protest at NHS cuts but think how much money they'd save if every person offered their organs up. I have no idea what the costs are like for heart, liver and lung transplant patients but I assume they're similar. Think how many nurses, research projects and new machinery could be funded with these savings.

And now, as promised, the photos.

This is Lionel. He died on 28th April 2010. The green ruler in the middle is 9cm long.

This is Roger. He died on 4th May 2011. As you can see, he is being held by the surgeon. He was huge.

This is my poor arm during a dialysis session. Normally there would only be two needles but I regularly ended up with three like here because of complications. If you read my Kindle vs Books blog then maybe now you'll understand why there was no possible way of me holding a book in that hand.

The complications mentioned above would result in bruises like this.

Or this.

Remember, if you take your organs with you when you die, you take someone else with you.

Yo ho, yo ho, a pirates life for me?

There are several reasons why I go to the cinema. The first is obviously that I love watching films. The other reasons are wanting to view the movie the way the director and actors intended and to support the film industry.

I do not go to the cinema to stare at the back of someones head, have my chair kicked or listen to folk talking, eating and coughing. Nor do I go to the cinema so a person with a weak bladder can tread on my foot trying to get out of their seat to visit the loos and again on their way back. 

I know I'm not the only person who struggles with cretins at the cinema. Mark Kermode has bemoaned this subject for a long time and I'm always hearing people have the same complaints as me. 

I don't expect total silence during the film, there are things that can't be avoided. I'm guilty of accidentally slurping my drink. If you need to sneeze or cough then there's not a lot you can do about it but if you've got a cold or the flu, do everyone a favour and stay at home. I wouldn't want a food-free zone either, I have no issue with popcorn but if you're eating sweets that have individual wrappers then I hope you choke to death on one. 

I am really short - I'm only 5 foot 3 and I struggle seeing over people at the cinema. Invariably I'll end up sat behind someone who is 6 foot 5 and I'll have to swap with Rich. If you were born tall then good for you, I'm totally jealous. But please spare a tiny thought for the vertically challenged sat behind you. We went to see The Avengers on Saturday and, sure enough, a man with a giant head sat in front of me. He insisted on sitting bolt upright throughout the entire film so he was a full head and shoulders above the chair. Thankfully Rich had swapped so I was sat behind the man's son but not only was the man a contender for the Guinness world record for large craniums, he was also heavy. Rich had to sit with his legs to one side for the whole film because this guy weighed so much the chair was reclining half way into our aisle. The funny thing was that his wife told her son at the beginning of film to behave because he had to think about the people behind him but her husband was a complete dick. As it was, if I hadn't known there was a little boy sat in front of me, I'd have assumed the seat was empty. I can only assume he inherited his mothers consideration for others because he certainly didn't get it from his dad. 

It doesn't get any better at the theatre either. On Sunday we saw Stewart Francis at The Pavilion. I was seated next to a hideously obnoxious man who kept elbowing me quite hard every time he had a sip of his pint. He could obviously feel that he was elbowing me but he carried on doing it. During the interval I wedged my handbag between me and the arm rest just so he couldn't hurt me. We also had one of those people sat a row in front of us too. You know, the ones that constantly try and get noticed with a weird laugh or by heckling. Piss off love, I've paid to see Stewart Francis not Maureen from the chippy. Sit down and shut up. 

What the hell is wrong with people? What happened to a bit of common courtesy and self awareness? I have NEVER spent the duration of a film kicking the chair in front of me, elbowing my neighbour or texting on my phone and I'm sure the majority of people reading this haven't either. Why do a small amount of morons have to ruin it?

To date I've never purchased or downloaded a pirate movie. I'm not saying I've never watched one because I have, several in fact. But this is going to change, no doubt in the near future, because I don't know how much more I can take. Either I learn how to use a set of ninja shuriken starts so I can silently and efficiently end the lives of anyone talking at the cinema or I look into other methods of seeing the latest films. 

I guess it's time to invest in a parrot and get a diamante eye patch. Yaaar me hearties.