Dear Mr Prograf,
Firstly, kudos to you on the science bit, and on creating an anti-rejection wonder. I'd say you drive a fierce nice car now, but I hope that back at the beginning, it wasn't all about the money, and the genius in you wanted to advance pharmaceutical brilliance.
You did good.
But let's talk about the hair loss that your drug causes.
You see, in all my imaginings of my post-transplant days, I saw showreels of myself tripping and giggling my way across cities and continents with hair.
I did not foresee the daily exodus down the plughole in my shower. Increasingly now I fear the moment of having to wash or brush my hair because of the frightening number of strands that come away in my hands.
It makes me sad, and I truly had enough of that before.
I know the medics say it should "settle down" once my body adjusts to being immuno-suppressed, but if that takes much longer, I am going to have to endure taunts from the meanies on the bus.
"Here, is that yer one Gail Porter?"
Worse still, someone may compare me to Sinead O'Connor, and I am neither bipolar, nor the mother of a handful of children who are all half siblings to each other, and whose living room is a bit crowded come Father's Day.
Please do not mistake this grumbling for ingratitude. I love, love, love my kidney, and I will never stop counting myself as a lucky one.
Luckier even than Dolores McNamara. Euromillions? Oodles of euro in the bank is no fortune compared to mine.
But it really would be terrific if I could have a working kidney and hair.
Some are comforted by the theory that the hair loss is down to your body trying to heal. That it diverts all the protein and the essential minerals towards patching up your wounds, and away from nourishing your tresses.
I'm not buying it.
So Mr Prograf, get thee to a lab, and sort it out. Pronto.
Keep the parts of your elixir that kidney needs to stay healthy. Lose the elements that are turning my scalp into the hair follicles' version of Pol Pot's killing fields.