Radioactive Woman

Today I had to go to the Nuclear Medicine department at the Leicester Royal Infirmary to have my Glomerular filtration rate (GFR) tested. Basically a very nice man called Ross pumped me full of gamma and left me for 4 and a half hours to see how fast my kidneys filter my blood. If it's good then I can give one away.

As Ross took my fourth blood sample he said that kidneys were his favourite organ in the body. When I asked him why he said, quite simply 'it's good to have a spare'. He has a point. If Tara had a failing heart or failing lungs I wouldn't be able to help. I would have to watch, stand passively by as Doctors and specialists performed their greatest magic tricks. Fortunately for us I can help, if the tests show that mine are in tip top condition I can give my permission for a surgeon to go in and take one out and stitch it into her groin. Yay.

Hospitals are sad places. They smell ill. There are depressing corridors and even more depressing cafes. People are wheeled by you on trollies half asleep after operations, wrapped in hospital blue. It always makes me want to shout something rude or do knee slides along the polished floors. We don't though do we because the other thing hospitals are is dreadfully polite. They are the sort of places where people receive the worst news about themselves or their loved ones but we all shuffle around each other not making eye contact and asking if anyone minds if we have the last egg sandwich from the cafe. I have huge admiration for the people who work in these places. I couldn't do it. One afternoon of those corridors and I don't want to go back for a while.

We should get the results in the next few weeks. If it's a thumbs up we should start to talk dates. If it's not then this will be the shortest blog in history.

Perhaps the gamma rays ate the apostrophe?

#Kidneys #IGA #Hospital #Radioactive