Next year all our troubles will be miles away (I hope)

I won't lie to you. It has been a difficult time.

There are now nine hours of dialysis to endure each night, and once the Christmas of plain turkey, no spuds, no chocolate and no alcohol has passed, I can expect to be increased to ten hours.

My blood results have continued to disappoint. Where once I was largely left alone by my medical people, there are now phone calls. They speak in urgent and sincerely sad tones about how young I am, how careful they need to be with me.

So as I prepare to head home for Christmas tomorrow, it is with a heavy heart. I have had a few meltdowns in recent days, which is unlike me. A lot of finding myself sitting in the dark, a lot of crying.

The extra hour lost to a machine every night has taken what stubborn fight was left in me after two and a half years and almost 1,000 nights of dialysis.

Robbing time from me. Even more time. Seven more hours every week.

I am entirely spent. Emotionally. Kidney disease has taken so much from me. It has chipped away at my physical health, my mental health, my relationships with my family, my relationships with my friends, my career, my plans, my twenties.

I wonder if this is what they do. If they leave you on the transplant list until you reach the point when death is preferable to this horrible existence.

In my case, they are certainly close to succeeding.