Today:

This whole blog thing is all very new to me (apart from some compulsory blogging at uni to pass my Illustration degree in 2011), so while I'm feeling inspired, I shall continue to write, but moreover, as I saw something on Facebook today that said 'Write until you surprise yourself ', I definitely will keep popping these posts out until that happens!

Today, I woke up to receive a handful of letters; but as you can see, it's a sad state of affairs when the only mail one (I) receive(s) is from the hospital and Barnet council requiring money. Today I have been sent three new appointments ranging from Diabetes to Neurology and dating from this Friday all the way through to September. This is one reason why I need a very sturdy mid-year diary. Not because I am now qualified to work in a school- but because of all my upcoming medical appointments!

My fan mail...not so much

This week I only have 2 appointments at the hospital- so this is considered a quiet week. Next week however is a very different story. I have one hell of a bitch of a week appointment wise. Tuesday to be precise. Tuesday the fucking 4th July- 

I literally will be spending the day at the Royal Free- so if you fancy a coffee, you'll either find me on the third floor or in the M&S coffee shop on the ground floor by the pharmacy.  Next Tuesday seemed so far away when the appointments got scheduled and now it's only next Tuesday. I have the Low Clearance Nurse, the Renal Consultant (who is amazing), the Renal Psychologist (a required must-have, 'voluntarily' opt-in required 'service' for all those having a transplant) and the Transplant Coordinator. Anyone around for a drink in the evening to celebrate surviving? It's the psychologist I can't bear. He's a nice chap. A bit bland to be honest and also totally useless. I sit in his appointments almost looking forward to the next one. At least I know the next one will be slightly beneficial or informative at the least. I thought the psychologist would be there to offer advice and strategies (like CBT) for when things get too much or when I have a break down about the current situation or about the lack of healthy genes I have inherited or when I get faced with another hospital admission- but NO. He sits there and asks me where I see myself in 5 years time?  ERRR, HELLO MR. PSYCHOLOGIST. To be alive might be a good fucking start. I can't really plan to move to the USA and adopt 3 horses and 2 dogs and launch a global illustration company and foster 4 children if I don't have working kidneys. G-d damn idiot. Seriously, did he really need a degree to ask me that. 

Today I am excited at the prospect of this new writing phase I appear to be in. For those of you that don't know me, you tend to see me with a black pen and a bunch of Washi tapes rather than a biro and notepad. Anyway, while I'm enjoying it, I'll keep at it. The issue is maintaining it and hoping that you all enjoy the content on the 78th post as much as you did on the first.

While I moan about all my appointments, I just want to take the time to pay tribute to my BEYOND AMAZING TEAM of doctors. I have no words to express my complete admiration, respect and gratitude to them all at the RFH- from my Diabetic nurses Jill, Hellena and Sharon to Dr Woolfson, Dr Rosenthal and Dr Negus.  I'm a broken mess with them all, so goodness knows where I'd be without them! My team of doctors are just beyond brilliant and no amount of praise, money, gifts or bottles of wine will ever demonstrate my feelings towards them. I know a lot of people criticise the NHS, but seriously, the NHS has saved my life on more than one occasion.

So, today I think has been a good day. I have seen three close friends for three separate cups of coffee; I am excited that this new found hobby may lead me to the morning couch of Piers Morgon (one day), and apart from the kidneys making me tired nearly the whole fucking time, I actually feel quite positive. At this precise moment anyway. 

NB: Side note: Why is the plural of Kidney 'Kidneys' and not 'Kidnies'? Just a thought...

Where I'm At. The Story So Far.

As mentioned in the previous post, I'm a pretty normal 29 year old.
I have 2 arms, 2 legs, a little pet, lots of incredible friends, great family etc. I worked hard at school, went to university, went to art college, worked for a few years before heading to the USA. I returned home having decided that I wanted and needed a career change... Into teaching.

So, last June I made the decision to apply for college to qualify as a Specialist Support Teacher. I currently work in a small primary school a few days a week, attend college one day a week and spend the rest of the time on the third floor at the Royal Free Hospital (RFH).

Although I totally stick with my decision to go back to college, the past year has been a drooling one. In some aspects, my life has never been better and I'm the happiest and most settled I've been in a long time- but in other ways, (fucking health ways) it's the worst it's ever been. For the last 5 or so years, as my birthday approaches, my dad and I have a conversation that generally goes...

Dad: 'That was a tough year.'
Me:   'Yeah, you could say that. Glad it's over. On to the next.'
Dad:  'This year year will be better. I just know it.'

Well, guess what? For the last 5 years we've had this conversation and I'm still waiting for it to get better.

While we're on this topic of how shit my life can be at times, I want to clarify that I am not writing this blog for pity, to play the victim or to moan  'why me? poor me...' etc. I just think through all this shit, lets try to make something positive out of it- IF I can. Lets document my journey, my experiences and see where we go/ end up. You never know, I may end up on Lorraine or the This Morning couch next to Holly and Philip! (Dream big)...

I've decided to share my story for a few reasons. Partly because on a serious note, I find writing my thoughts and feelings very therapeutic. I find that I can experience so many emotions relating to my health- everything from gratitude for the fact that my condition isn't life threatening (if well managed) to anger and frustration from the fact that I never get a day off. I can't just think...today I want to be a lazy slob and lie in bed eating pick n'mix with my chopstix left over from last night's take away. I have to get up to test my blood sugars no matter what 4-6 times a day; I need to eat regularly to avoid the highs* and the hypos (too low blood sugars); and I need to eat well. No fries for me. It's all this "posh" grub like quinoa and bulgur wheat with avocado and flax seeds etc etc. And don't get me wrong, I love eating well and eating healthy, but my point is, I have no option of a lazy day. My doting mother taught us the rights and wrongs of nutrition from a young age...I've always known to go for brown toast over white and poached eggs over fried. And when push comes to shove- it's sushi over Chinese any day of the week.

My second reason for writing this blog is as simple as I want people to share and read my story. Unfortunately Diabetes is an increasing issue for more and more people, and unless one is educated about the condition, it's so easy to end up on the wrong side of life and death. They do say that Diabetes is the silent killer disease as the consequences from it (if left unmanaged) can be serious, life shortening and life threatening. Diabetes is a manageable condition IF respected, managed and not feared. However, it can also lead to blindness, amputation and kidney failure if not well looked after.

This blog is not meant to scare you all away either. I've learned so many lessons throughout my 16.5 Diabetic years...but some have come too late and at a price. I'm not saying I could have avoided the mess I'm in now completely, but I definitely could have avoided some of the health disasters I've gotten myself into. Let's just say, as a teenager, Diabetes wasn't my priority...

It amazes me even now when I sit in the hospital waiting room, how many people have no clue about their own condition. A few weeks ago I overheard a woman telling her partner off for drinking a carton of apple juice. She asked why he bought juice and not water. He replied 'I was thirsty'. She said, 'why didn't you get water- you didn't need the sugar.' He answered...

'It's not sugar. It's a drink.'

My point exactly. There still needs to be loads done to educate people about Diabetes. If the people with the condition don't understand it, what hope is there for everyone else?

The Intro: Me, Myself and Kevin.

So, after much deliberation I have decided to take the plunge and purchase a domain name and begin this blog. Part of me wanders if there is any point in it; after all, there are millions of blogs online accessible to you all- so why read and follow mine?
I hope by writing regular updates, you'll be able to get an insight into my life. The ups and the downs, the highs and the horrendous lows, but also the accomplishments, the humour and some rather unique 'that moment when...' situations that I find myself in a little too regularly. You know those moments. They often make good Facebook posts!

I suppose before I progress any further, I should give you a little history about myself or at least a little bit of background as to why I've ended up paying for this domain name and what I hope to achieve with this new endeavour of mine.

So, for those of you that are reading this and don't know me personally, I'm Jess. I'm a proper North West London thoroughbred. I have always lived in London- mainly Hendon, except for the 9 months I spent in LA back in 2015. I have 2 younger brothers (Jay and Max*), a mum and a dad. Pretty boring stuff really. But this is where it gets slightly more interesting/different/complicated...I'm waiting for a transplant. And in my usual style, it's not a straight forward transplant either. It's a double whammy- TWO FLIPPING ORGANS. I need a new pancreas and a new kidney. I've decided to call the new kidney Kevin (or Kev for short) and I'm still deciding on a name for the pancreas. I'm thinking Peggy, Peta or Patricia perhaps... I think things seem less scary when they have a proper name. After all, we have a Clive, a Mickey and a Stanley at home and they're just the cars and my little plant that resides on my countertop.
*names changed for privacy

I was diagnosed with Type 1 Diabetes on 15th September 2000. Although I had been feeling pretty rough for near enough 8 months, and was suffering with all the common symptoms of Diabetes (such as extreme thirst and tiredness, muscle cramps and peeing a lot) the GP labelled me as fit each of the 4 times I went to him.  He managed to find a reason for all of my symptoms; 'it's just your age...you're loosing weight because you're growing; you're drinking more because it's hot; you're tired because you're busy etc. Fucking doctor. Needless to say I've not been back to him since and the Diabetes diagnosis came as a huge shock.
I was admitted to the Whittington Hospital immediately where I soon experienced hospital a la carte dining; the joys of earplugs; the necessity of flip flops and the added appreciation for peace, quiet and my own shower. Never in a million years did I envisage I'd be where I am today...countless hospital stays later, waiting on a transplant list.