...is also, at this moment in time, a major block to my getting a successful transplant.
Today, Tom and I attended an appointment with one of the doctors who spoke at the transplant seminar last year.
Tom wanted to understand exactly how antibodies stood in the way of a successful transplant so my specialist arranged an appointment to meet with this consultant.
I had to pass up training for a possible job today (it's not unusual for fate to make me choose between my health and a good job opportunity).
But the appointment was totally worth it.
This doctor gave a basic lecture on GCSE biology, explaining how my system worked and why there was a heightened possibility for rejection, actually giving information I hadn't realised I'd care to know.
He also highlighted that a plasma exchange is not being considered as it would be a ridiculously complicated treatment for someone of my high level.
From the way he described it, I would say cleaning my system would be as much hassle as the transplant itself so might as well just go for the one treatment.
I keep getting images of the Thames being cleaned: might as well be emptied and refilled rather than trying to clear all the crap from it.
Also - only people with Blood type A can't donate to me. Nifty to know!
Next step? Although we've still got a couple more people to test, Tom's calling up tomorrow to arrange undergoing stage 2 of the process (MRI's, Xrays etc) to see if he can be put forward, as my partner, for Paired Pooling.
As written here, I've already agreed to consider it a possibility after the next two tests. However, it was still a shock to hear Tom answer the questions required to initiate that level. I've been in a bit of a wonder land state recently and that brought me back with a bit of a thump.
When I realised what was being discussed, my immediate thought was 'no...not Tom. I want him to be ok to look after me post-op' (I now take this moment to say I've just glanced outside the window and there is an absolutely beautiful sunset outside: thick layer of grey/blue cloud with an underlayer of deep salmon pink/purple. It's lovely).
Then my sub-conscious peaked up, laid a metaphorical hand on my arm and said 'you know it makes sense'.
I felt my body concede to this fact and immediately felt the same chemical reaction I felt as Sadira before a fight. I could almost feel the corset and arm braces on me (alla Iron Man) as my brain went 'fine!'.
This whole thing can be such a distraction that I'd like to thank my parents again for helping me whilst I can't work. That level of support really makes such a difference.
Tonight, Tom accepted an invitation to go bowling with work buddies (a sign of how much he enjoys this job as this is novel for him). And I'm actually quite glad he chose to go.
Don't get me wrong. I'm not depressed. I'm not sad. I'm just in thinky state.
I needed some quiet time at home. Plus ice-cream.
Ice-cream solves everything.