16 months and counting...

---

March 2016, things were looking pretty bleak.

I'd started a new job in the January but, due to a lack of adequate support or training, it was decided I "wasn't suitable" and my contract was terminated. To make things worse, I'd just got a cold. So I was ferrying my wife to and from work and sitting at home looking for jobs and generally feeling sorry for myself.

I'd seemed to have been getting a lot of colds over the past couple of years, which was unusual because I was normally very healthy and only got the odd sniffle here and there.

Oddly, the cold only seemed to last about 3 days before I started getting better.

But then I started feeling worse. Lethargic, sleepy, aches and pains.

Then, on the weds night, I'd been to the bathroom, half asleep and still pie-eyed, and forgotten to flush. This, as it turns out, was probably a good thing. My wife came in whilst I was still in the bathroom and woke me up with the words "why didn't you tell me there was blood in your pee?"

I'd realised my urine was darker, but was of the impression it was simply dehydration because I had a virus. I did what any other male would do. "I'm ill, just let me sulk about it for a few days then I'll be fine".

I wasn't.  By the Friday I was being violently sick. It was so bad I couldn't even hold water down. I went to the hospital as the GP surgery had already closed.

The prognosis was that my urine was 70% blood, but as i wasn't in any pain and therefore not pesenting with any trauma or injury, there was nothing to be done, go home and see how you are over the weekend (good old NHS!)

By the Monday, I hadn't improved and went to the GP.

They ordered some blood tests to be done the following day and gave me antibiotics "just in case".

I had the blood tests Tuesday morning, by Tuesday evening I had a call from the doctors telling me to go straight to the surgery Wednesday morning, no appointment needed, just be there first thing. 

Within 3 hours I was transferred to my local hospital and immediately given a blood transfusion because my haemoglobin levels had hit the floor.

Within 24 hours it was suggested I had Goodpasture Syndrome and they realised they didn't have the means to treat me.

So I was whisked off to Royal Preston Hospital, the country's main renal centre of excellence and specialists in GPS.

I was in hospital for 2 months, had 11 units of blood, 20 plasma exchanges and a month of permanent oxygen. That was just to get me stabilised! When I'd arrived at Preston I was merely hours from things being fatal!

The 2nd month consisted of many failed attempts at Haemodialysis. It was discovered I also had heparin induced thrombocytopenia, so any attempts to use this (which is standard practice in dialysis) resulted in my kidneys and lungs haemorrhaging. Not using it meant my blood clotted in the dialysis machine.

After 2 months I was fit enough to be discharged to continue treatment as an outpatient.

I then opted for peritoneal dialysis, as the Haemodialysis was actually adding to my problems.

I've been  on PD for about 14 months now, and while it was brilliant to start with, it's very hit and miss as whether it works or not now. 

Discussions will be had soon about whether to persevere with the PD or try me with the Haemodialysis again.

I'm lucky to be alive and have recently been given a negative diagnosis after all my treatment, but I've still got such a long way to go...