Saturday, August 31, 2013

My Story - AIH - Living (unknowingly) with Liver Disease

Coloured pencil drawing done at Kings, Copyright Joan Lee
I didn’t know I had autoimmune hepatitis (AIH) until I was admitted to Kings College Hospital with jaundice and other symptoms of very advanced, irreversible liver damage (cirrhosis). I was at high risk of internal bleeding due to my blood not clotting and high pressure on my hepatic portal vein. This all came as a bolt from the blue, in my early 20s, not long after leaving university in the late 1980s. In hindsight, I reckon the AIH had been there for at least five years before the diagnosis. I still don’t know what triggered it – a virus, perhaps? As is often the case in the earlier stages of liver disease, the symptoms were vague and could be put down to other things: I blamed the tiredness and my frequently low moods and sense of hopelessness on the pressures of studying, despite doing well at school and college. There were some symptoms I'd put up with and could have / should have acted upon, such as teenage acne and weight gain refusing shift. I was on the books of a couple of specialists at my local hospital but, as they weren't liver specialists, it didn't occur to them that hepatitis / impaired liver function might be the root of these problems. In any case, I was too wrapped up in my studies and gaining my degree, to bother with doctors appointments. The jaundice crept up gradually, too gradually to notice. Particularly as I liked walking - out regularly with the university walking group - everyone mistook my sallow skin for a sun tan.

I was in hospital for five weeks pre-transplant, the first ten days of this at my local hospital, before being transferred to the specialist liver team at Kings. There, they diagnosed autoimmune hepatitis (then called chronic active hepatitis, now known as AIH). Apparently, my blood tests were  strongly positive for the corresponding auto-antibody. They tried steroids (prednisolone) for a few weeks, but I when it was clear I wasn’t responding, I was frightened. One day the doctors looked visibly worried on the ward round. At some point they would have to break some difficult news: my only hope was a liver transplant. This would be a massive operation dependent on an organ donation. I hardly knew anything about transplants and thought it was still very experimental, with poor rate of survival. I was afraid, then, to talk to anyone or ask any questions, least of all doctors. One afternoon ward round, I hid in the utility room, not wanting to hear what they had to say round the bed. I buried my head in the sand, but knew I had to face it sometime. The registrar told me two days later,  my mother  at my bedside visiting. If anything she was more shocked than me. I'd already seen her overcome with worry when my brother was in hospital (for a something completely different) a year or two earlier. I was worried, then about something happening to her on her journey home. My first reaction was to turn away in panic but the doctor told me that, provided I got through the operation and the hospital monitored me carefully, I could lead a perfectly normal life. Indeed I'd get to visit the rivers the grown so fond of walking along during the summer.

Over the next week or so, I tried to think about the happy times I’d had during my childhood and at university, listening on my Walkman cassette player to the pop music I'd enjoyed on family holidays.  I was thankful for the life I’d had up to then and quashed thoughts of "why me?" with "There's always someone worse off than you". Usually, I did not have to look far. There were plenty of examples in the news. I thought, too, of a child a year or two older than me at school, severely disabled and rumoured to have died.  I'd already had ten years of life she hadn't had. As I’d done throughout my time in hospital up to then, I kept myself going by drawing.

The fact that I'm sat here now talking about it means I got my transplant - I'll speak about this in another chapter (The transplant and after).

My Story - Liver Transplant and After

Coloured pencil drawing done at Kings - Copyright Joan Lee
More than twenty years on, I still can't believe how lucky I was to get my transplant so quickly - within hours of being put on the waiting list by the liver team at Kings College Hospital. Obviously, I was more critical than I'd realised beforehand. Even so, there is an increasing shortage of donor organs, meaning many people die on the waiting list. Before even making the list, people have to be assessed to see if they are fit enough to survive what is massive surgery. My operation took ten hours.  I've described the AIH / run-up to the transplant in a separate post. At the time, I was glad to have been blissfully ignorant of the potential prognosis and just how unwell I was at severe risk of internal bleeding: both because of the high pressure on my hepatic portal vein and my by now "tiny" liver riddled with scarring / cirrhosis, was not making enough vitamin K, meaning my blood wasn't clotting. My enlarged spleen, taking my platelets down to about the 20s wasn't helping clotting either.

On his ward round one Tuesday morning in October (six days after his registrar broke the heavy news that I'd most likely need a new liver (see post about AIH), the consultant, Dr. Roger Williams (the then head of the  liver team) confirmed it and put me on the waiting list. Afterwards, the registrar said they really had to get moving "within the next few weeks".  I was put near the top of the waiting list.  I saw the transplant co-ordinator, Kirsty. I didn’t know what to say, but she asked if I’d like to meet someone who’d had a transplant and told me that the post-transplant lady in the bed next to me when I first came to Kings was now back home.

It was the anaesthetist who told me, in the early evening of that very same Tuesday, while I was in the dayroom of the ward, watching Sooty and Sweep on the TV, a childhood favourite. When the ward sister said he wanted to see me, I thought it would be a briefing on the lines of "This is what I'm going to do when you have your operation, date who knows."
No - my operation would be that night.

I don’t always take the unexpected well, but this time I remained calm and just did what the doctors and nurses told me. The rest of the evening was tests and pre-med. The ward staff tracked down my parents who rushed to London to be with me.  As I went off to sleep, I pictured one of my favourite places: crossing the Severn Bridge en route to happy holidays in the Forest of Dean and south Wales.

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“It’s all over now.”, was the first thing I heard, from the doctor looking after me in the Transplant Room (one of the intensive care rooms on a larger ward caring for liver patients / transplantees) when I came round from my ten-hour operation - massive surgery, done overnight. Shortly afterwards, my parents came to see me. They’d spent the night in the rooms at the back of the ward for relatives. They were able to stay there for my first week post-op. We were all very grateful. It meant they could see me throughout the day during those difficult early stages post-op, with less coming and going from London than there would have been otherwise.  On my first day post-op, my father, a fellow artist, sat by my bed and told me about his walk in nearby Ruskin Park, among the autumn colours. While I'd been under the knife, drawing of the view through the window of their room helped keep his mind occupied.  To begin with I was on a ventilator, meaning I couldn’t talk, so communicated with everyone in writing. High on steroids and morphine, I wrote reams and reams. I regularly wanted time checks, too as I was very disorientated, cut off from the outside world, without any natural light coming into the room. Once the painkillers and relaxants were reduced, I felt very uncomfortable. For the first couple of days off the ventilator, I still had to wear an oxygen mask as I still had fluid on my lungs.

By the weekend (the op in the early hours of a Wednesday), I began to feel a bit more comfortable.  I was well enough to sit in a chair when my brother came to see me. I was still disorientated from all the drugs and everything. On the Sunday night, a minor blip with a fever, This turned out to be rejection, but it settled down with an increase in the steroids and I felt better on the Monday. Numerous drugs and drips, catheters / drains were removed. One week on, now in a side room I felt well enough to draw again, though my hands were shaky due to the cyclosporin immunosuppressant. I was now being introduced to other transplantees who were further down the line. One lady was recovering from her second transplant. The man I saw on the night of my transplant was now on his feet and walking round the ward. I also saw another lady, like me, in her early 20s, six months post-transplant, looking really well. Soon, sutures from the stitches on my operation scar were removed. Resembling the car logo, it’s often called a Mercedes scar. I was touched by the numerous get well cards I received from friends, relatives and people I’d known at uni’. I had many visitors, too, among them my grandmother, nearly 90.

Like everyone else, I had to contend with the side effects of drugs, but I was lucky not to have any serious complications during these early stages. It helped me physically at least, to have youth on my side. I came home from hospital after five weeks. Just in time for my Dad's birthday and mine two weeks later. Within six months I was enjoying trips away around England and Wales.  It took me longer to recover mentally: there was the shock of living (unknowingly) for all that time pre-transplant with a serious, very nearly fatal,  chronic illness, I was uncertain about the longer term, particularly as I knew there were longer term risks from the immunosuppression.

In the longer term, I generally felt fit and well, though a couple of  problems affecting my new liver surfaced a few years after my transplant. Firstly, my liver reacted badly to one of the immunosuppressant drugs I’d been taking, azathioprine. When that was withdrawn, I developed chronic rejection, focused on my bile ducts.  This took some time to diagnose, bringing worrying unsettlement and agro, including several short stays in hospital for liver biopsies etc. This while I was busy with other things -  among them getting married - which meant I took my eye off the ball. By the late 1990s, I had jaundice once again, low mood and frequently felt tired, just as I’d done with the AIH. At one point, I even wondered whether I’d need a re-transplant, but thankfully I stabilised when my immunosuppression was switched from cyclosporin to the similarly acting but more powerful immunosuppressant, tacrolimus (Prograf). This was just coming in around the time I had my transplant.

It took a bit of time, about three years, for the rejection to fully settle down, but thanks to the tacrolimus, it did. "I've got some good news for you...", the doctor told me at the liver clinic following up a liver biopsy in 2000. No sign of rejection in the biopsy. I had no further liver problems for twelve years, though the tacrolimus didn't stop me developing inflammatory bowel disease (Crohn's disease) and a new autoimmune disease, this time affecting my blood - I'll cover that  My Story -  ITP and All That post.

My donor remains anonymous. All I know it is he was a young man killed in a road traffic accident. I have always been conscious of the sad fact that, whereas my parents and other relatives saw me get through the operation, another family somewhere was grieving. This hit me hard a few years ago amid the grief over the loss of a young loved one among my own family circle.


My Story - ITP and All That

Firstly here, what does ITP stand for?

a) Information Technology Panic
b) Immune thrombocytopenia, aka Idiopathic thrombocytopenic purpura 
c) Innovative Tidal Power - a consortium proposing to build a barrage across the Severn estuary to generate electricity, or
d) A high speed train, like they have in Japan?
Until the summer of 2012, I was none the wiser.


ITP - Immune thrombocytopenia, also known as immune or idiopathic thrombocytopenic purpura - is a rare bleeding disorder characterized by a low amount of platelets in the blood. Platelets are needed for clotting of the blood. In patients with ITP, a person's own immune system creates antibodies that mark healthy platelets as "foreign substances" and then mistakenly attack and destroy them. As an autoimmune disease that results in the destruction of platelets, patients with ITP have a tendency to bleed or bruise.

The platelet counts here are in units of one billion cells per litre of blood. The normal range is 150 - 400. 100-150 is still safe for most normal activities. Below about 50-60, anything invasive (eg surgery) or physically impacting (eg hockey) is unwise. Below 10-20 is getting dangerous.

Crossing the Severn, mixed media (2012), Copyright Joan Lee
Thanks to the tacrolimus, the liver problems I’d had during the 1990s stabilised and then disappeared. Unfortunately, despite tacrolimus probably being the most effective anti-rejection drug there is and still being on a low (maintenance) dose of steroids (prednisolone), I went on to develop other conditions in which in an overactive immune system played a part . In 2003, I was diagnosed with Crohn's disease, an inflammatory bowel disease (IBD). This is believed to be more to do with gut bacteria and genes than autoantibodies, but there's probably an immune response involved. I’d felt unwell and became anaemic with this during the run up to this diagnosis and had to have some more unpleasant tests. Thankfully, this responded almost immediately to a course of increased prednisolone and ongoing mesalazine. This continues to be monitored by a Gastroenterologist. Thankfully, the disease stayed remission after the steroids came down and, compared to many people with IBD, I got off lightly.

Then, for nine years, between my mid-30s and mid-40s, I enjoyed a period of stability, so good that I'd almost forgotten I'd had a transplant or had ever had any health problems. In 2011, I reached the milestone of living longer with my transplant than my own liver. During the first half of 2012, everything was going well: at my then annual visit to the Kings liver clinic, I had a good report, with nothing in my blood tests indicating any problems. My artwork was being accepted for open exhibitions, I even had a few sales. Come the early summer, I still felt well in myself.  I was painting hard, fired up after trips to Scotland and The Gower, walking along coasts, lochs, rivers and climbing mountains. What happened next, came as a great shock…

The painting above was done shortly before my ITP diagnosis.

An ominous sky sketched in mid-July 2012 - Copyright Joan Lee
I didn’t feel or look unwell until the latter half of July 2012. Then, a day or two after taking my regular walk on the South Downs, I developed a rash of purple spots all over my body and big bruises on my legs and hands which I couldn't explain. I had nosebleeds and my dentist (thankfully only a check-up) noticed my tongue was bleeding. Still at the dentist, I saw that the rash had spread to my face. I called the surgery and got an appointment with the nurse. She took one look at my skin and called in my GP. He took one look at me and said I had low platelets. The next night, after a blood test, I was taken to my local hospital by ambulance.

I'd had short stays in hospital for tests such as liver biopsies, but this was the first time, post-transplant I'd been admitted to hospital because I was “ill”. This time, it was ten days, rather ten weeks, with everything generally happening on a faster time scale. I was in very good hands and received high quality care from the doctors and nursing staff who had a high workload and were invariably working under pressure. Nevertheless, it was a difficult, frightening time which still haunts me over a year on – the mental bruising taking far longer to heal than all the physical bruising from the low platelets. There were parallels with my pre-transplant illness: the six o’clock phone call from my GP with bad news about the blood test, followed by even grimmer news on the ward. Once again, my blood wasn’t clotting properly; and, initially, at least I did not respond to treatment. I found the noise, light, heat and the generally heavy, bad vibes on the ward very difficult.

Newly arrived on the main admissions ward, the house officer said my platelet count was only 3. This wasn't the first time my platelets had been low. I recall, just after my transplant, my count was in the 20s “Still only 23 – the spleen may have to come out!”, I heard my consultant say on the ward round on about day 6 post-op (the count recovered over the next few days). That had been due to my spleen still being enlarge, not yet settled after the liver cirrhosis.  What I heard now was frightening. I didn’t know they could go that low, and lower. All the more so when the count didn't improve after an overnight transfusion of platelets. I was then put on the Haematologists' books and had a bone marrow biopsy. Because my platelet count was so low, I had a lot of bleeding around the wound afterwards, but from this, they were able to make a diagnosis fairly quickly. I was making platelets but they were being destroyed as soon as they got into my blood stream, presumably by auto antibodies.  They said I had ITP – or was it IPT? It sounded like a technophobic condition - Information Technology Panic which afflicts my nervous mother, causing her to put up a panic wall whenever anything new comes up on the computer such as unrelenting software update nags.  

Anyway, they started me on steroids - 60mg / day. This was about the same as my starting dose of prednisolone post-transplant. I was moved to the Haematology and Oncology ward. They said 85% of ITPees respond to steroids and then mentioned a list of other options for the other 15% which I didn't take in at the time. Within a couple of days, it was clear I was among the awkward 15%.  Over the next few days my platelet count was 5, then 3 again, 7, then down to 2.

After a dismal weekend on the ward wondering what the future would hold for me, I was given a two day infusion of intravenous immunoglobulin (IVIG). This made me very headachy and nauseous, but it worked: the platelet count increased from 2 to 67 and I came home at the beginning of August.  After a week taking it easy, glad to be out of hospital, I went out for short walks along favourite rivers and well-loved bits of the local coast, visited various art exhibitions and had my first outpatient appointment with the consultant who was to handle my case from then on.

This all took my mind off what might happen in the longer term, though I knew I couldn't bury my head in the sand. The IVIG was only a temporary fix, lasting up to 4 weeks, and any drug changes / new treatment had to be compatible with my existing post-transplant medication and liver.  When the 4 weeks were up, I was shocked to find the platelet count falling again (19-10-6 over three days). I’d been warned but I was shocked because I hadn't noticed anything indicating a drop - no new bruises or any bleeding, until I got to the clinic and the consultant said I was bleeding on my tongue. From there I was readmitted me for another round of IVIG. This time, I was in a sideroom, making my hospital stay much easier. The liver team at Kings were now involved, too.

There then followed several months of drug changes and complications before everyone established that my platelet problem was a separate autoimmune condition and not a rare side effect or reaction to my pre-existing post-transplant medications.  I was being seen by two different specialist teams, at two different hospitals. Everyone was doing their best, with all the available resources, but I was now a more complex case than I'd been if I'd "just" had a liver transplant or ITP alone. During this time, my platelets rollercoastered. I had a pleasant surprise in the early autumn when the count shot up to normal, just after an additional immunosuppressant was introduced (mycophenolate), only to crash from 167 to 12 in a fortnight a few weeks later. I think the Haematogist was even more stunned than I was.  I now suspect this crash was a delayed reaction to stopping the tacrolimus which I had now been taking for 15+ years. I wondered, too, if my flu' jab I'd had ten days earlier had an effect, but no one was sure. By then, too, my liver function tests had deteriorated - I didn't have jaundice, but all the blood tests showed elevated liver enzymes. This meant more trips Kings and a liver biopsy.

The liver biopsy a few weeks later, seemed to confirm what I'd suspected: the chronic rejection affecting my bile ducts during the late 1990s had recurred after stopping the tacrolimus. When the Kings team re-introduced tacrolimus over a few weeks, in combination with the mycophenolate, the liver tests improved. Likewise my platelet count. By early 2013, my platelets were comfortably normal again.  I enjoyed a peaceful Christmas and New Year.

During 2013, a fair chunk of my time continued to be taken up by blood tests, appointments and investigations, on all three fronts (liver, ITP and IBD). The resurfacing of my liver problems  prompted two further scans at Kings. I've also been trying to grapple with some "side effects" which can be very disruptive: migraine-like headaches with strong sensitivity to light (side effects of tacrolimus) and sensitive / itchy irritated skin - still unexplained). Having to too and fro’ from / keep on top of three different clinics, felt a bit overwhelming, though I know I was by no means unique here. I try to be an expert patient, something my doctors have complemented me on repeatedly.  Psychologically, I'm still trying to manage anxiety - about the fore mentioned side effects as much anything else - and not let unhappy memories of the bad times intrude, all the more with the first anniversary of the ITP diagnosis in July.

I know, however, that I'm in good hands at Kings, together with my vigilant GP and consultants closer to home. I've been very impressed with all the doctors and nurses, all the more as they are working under pressure, with high case loads and limited financial resources. I've glad, too, to have access to a wealth of information and support over the Internet, something unavailable at the time of my transplant. On and offline, I've been grateful for the support from organisations such as the British Liver Trust and the ITP Support Association.

It is still early days with my ITP. My platelet count has fallen and is more wobbly than it was at the beginning of the year, though all the counts up to the time of writing (August 2013) have been in three figures. For now, my ITP seems to be benefiting from the combination of anti-rejection drugs commonly taken after a liver transplant, particularly mycophenolate.

Having been wary of planning too far ahead / booking holidays during the latter half of 2012, my other half and me have enjoyed good trips away during 2013, to Shropshire, Scotland and southwest Wales. Artwise, I've been focused on printmaking and have been sketching outside during the summer.

Fingers crossed and paint on...

Art Gallery

1. Crossing the Severn, mixed media (2012). 
The images here are a mix of drawings and paintings in conventional art media ( such as collage, acrylic paint, watercolour), along with some digital artwork I've done during 2013 using apps on my Samsung Galaxy tablet (Adobe Photoshop Touch, Sketchbook Pro, Paper Artist).

More of my artwork, including my sketches outdoors during the summer and work have shown at exhibitions can be viewed on my Water & Art blog - http://artywater.blogspot.co.uk/ , or if you're on Facebook my Joan Lee Artist page - https://www.facebook.com/JoanLeeArtist

The coloured pencil drawings I did around the time of my liver transplant (see My Story - AIH and My Story - Liver Transplant and After) , helped keep me sane during my prolonged time in hospital. 

2. Secret River I - Collage and watercolour on drypoint print (2012). 
During the 1990s, I decided to focus on my artwork, I since have gone on art courses, including those organised by art groups such as Farnham Art Society and the Red Hot Press printmaking studio in Southampton. My work has been accepted for open exhibitions in southern England. I also exhibit with groups such as Farnham Art Society and several groups in the Hampshire area. 

Until recently, I'd considered my health issues a no go area as subjects for art , preferring to focus on landscapes and coastal scenes. For one thing, it was a way of escaping from the health agro and anxieties, which during the good spells, I prefer to forget about. For another thing, squeamish people like me would probably prefer to see something more cheerful / peaceful (such as Secret River I shown in photo 2 above). Offline I still prefer to stick with the landscapes / coast, but after looking around online at ITP related material during 2013, I have had some second thoughts. When I told my GP I was an artist, he said why not incorporate a graph of platelet counts into some artwork? I dabbled, then, mainly with the tablet apps. I've also done a study on paper, using watercolour, pastel and various drawing materials (photo 4). I've included this here, along with some digital art dabbles on similar lines.  I then heard that, as part of International ITP Awareness Month in September 2013, the ITP Support Association wanted their members, friends and family to send in Pictures of Purple (PoP Art) to display on their Flickr sight. I sent them some recent digital artwork, on the theme of tidal rivers and estuaries, including the Severn estuary with the two motorway bridges. 

3. Stormy Waters I - monoprint (2013)
The Severn bridges have been a common theme in the paintings and printmaking over the past year or so (2012-2013). They reflect a mix of memories. On the evening of my liver transplant, after the pre-med, I lay in bed picturing crossing the first bridge (built in 1966) at sunset, remembering childhood holidays in the Forest of Dean and south Wales.  I was in the area again about a month before my ITP diagnosis - at one point, sat under the new bridge (carrying the M4, opened in 1996) at Severn Beach, with no symptoms or any idea whatsoever that any platelet trouble was brewing. Less than a fortnight before the subsequent hospital admission, I did a mixed media painting of the bridge. Putting it to one side during the difficult period following hospital and the ITP diagnosis, I revisited the theme in early 2013, in the form of monoprints. One of which (photo 3)  I sold at an exhibition in Portsmouth in the summer. These monoprints were a the basis for my recent digital art dabbles. The ITP is evoked by ominous looking skies tending to purple.

All images are copyright Joan Lee.

Digit Art Dabbles

Stormy Waters II

Stormy Waters III




5. Purple River


Living by Numbers - Art of graphs and text

The two paintings below incorporate a platelet graph, more bridge and river references. The text is  a mixture of thoughts, feelings, water analogies, along with some pop song titles and lyrics which seemed appropriate. Among the latter: Living by Numbers (New Muzik, 1980), Yesterday... my troubles were so far away..(The Beatles, 1960s), This is a Low ... but it won't hurt you (Blur, 1990s), Life Just Bounces (The Fall), It's Just a Little Turbulence (Bowling for Soup, 2010s).

Highs and Lows - watercolour and drawing on paper (2013)
ITP and All That, digital art (2013)







News and Notes

News and Notes 2014


ITP Support Association - Mission 2014

ITP Support Association - Mission 2014 

Yesterday (24th February) - I received my copy of the ITP Support's March 2014 edition of their newsletter - The Platelet. Here, there's an update on the organisation's big fund raising mission for this year (page 9). They are aiming to raise £30000 to pay for costly, and long overdue, improvements to their HQ in Bedfordshire. I was pleased to hear of people's generosity so far, donating through their Buy-a_Brick campaign, yet sorry to hear that the campaign has suffered setbacks. Namely further deterioration of their already dilapidated, cramped building during this winter's storms, meaning that they're now looking at a new building, instead of upgrading an existing one. Something for which they have to obtain planning permission. Nearly all the funding for the Mission is coming from donations from individuals. Attempts by Dame Shirley Watson, the Chief Executive and Founder of ITP Support, to acquire additional funding from various organisations have so far been largely unsuccessful, ITP Support being "handicapped by ITP being a national group for a rare disorder". Local companies and charitable trusts in the main have been dismissive, deeming their cause not locally relevant to Bedfordshire. Amid so many competing, worthy good causes, national organisations and grant awarding bodies prioritise conditions / issues affecting the majority of the British population. 

I hope things improve here as the year goes on, but it goes to show the problems small charities face in obtaining funds which, though modest to a large organisation, are either too a big slice of their budget or are unaffordable completely. This includes small charities for relatively rare conditions, such as ITP, which are off-the-radar to the majority of people, unless they or a close relative are directly affected. 


Rare Diseases Day 2014 -  28th February 

Rare Diseases Day 2014 - 28th February

Here area some stats the ITP Support Association posted during February on Facebook: 

The staggering figure of 60 million is the actual number of people estimated to be affected by RARE DISEASES just in Europe and North America. There are over 6000 RARE DISEASES, with new ones being added literally every week. ITP is of course just one of those RARE DISEASES.

Collectively RARE DISEASES are NOT RARE. There are between 6000 and 8000 recognised RARE DISEASES and 5 new Rare Diseases are described in medical literature each week so the number of RARE DISEASES is growing all the time. http://www.raredisease.org.uk/about-rare-diseases.htm

One in every 17 people in the UK will be affected by a RARE DISEASE at some point in their lives. This amounts to 3 and a half million people in the UK http://www.raredisease.org.uk/

Over 6000 rare diseases are characterised by a broad diversity of disorders and symptoms that vary not only from disease to disease but also from patient to patient suffering from the same disease. Misdiagnosis is a common problem with many rare diseases. In ITP diagnosis is one of elimination, that is to say that ITP is diagnosed once all other possible conditions/diseases are ruled out leaving ITP as the final option/diagnosis.
http://www.rarediseaseday.org/article/what-is-a-rare-disease

In the European Union (EU) one Rare Disease may affect just a handful of people whereas another may affect as many as 245,000 patients. In total in the EU 30 million people are affected by one Rare Disease or another. To put things in perspective it is estimated that ITP affects about 4000 people in the UK at any one time and something like 200,000 people in the United States.http://www.rarediseaseday.org/article/what-is-a-rare-disease

A disease or disorder is defined as a RARE DISEASE in Europe when it affects less than 1 in 2000 people. In the United States a disease or disorder is defined as RARE if it affects fewer than 200,000 people at any one time. ITP is thought to affect something like 4000 people in the UK at any one time.http://www.rarediseaseday.org/article/what-is-a-rare-disease








ITP Awareness Month - September 2013

Purple River, digital art (2013). Copyright Joan Lee
Here is one of the digital artworks I contributed to the ITP Support Association's Pictures of Purple project on their Flickr site (link below).   As with the "Digi Art Dabbles" in the Art Gallery section of Arty Transplantee, it was created using apps on a Samsung tablet computer. It incorporates elements from photoss as some of my paintings pasted in as a digital collage. I then did some cropping and adjusted colours, here tending towards purple or the primary colours, red and blue which make it.


ITP Support Association - Flickr group, including this September's Pictures of Purple (PoP Art) project.
http://www.flickr.com/search/?q=itp%20support%20association

ITP Support Asoociation - website


ITP and all that one year on - Summer 2013

I prefer to remember happier summer anniversaries than 1st “anniversary” of my ITP diagnosis at the end of July. Thankfully, though the anniversary passed fairly peacefully. Certainly a much happier over the weekend, among my folk at my parents’ house; and no nasty surprises when I saw the Haematologist at the end of the month. 

I've been  wearing the purple ITP Aware bracelet bought from the ITP Support Association, to mark the anniversary of my diagnosis and while at it think about other people who live with chronic conditions such as ITP and liver disease, among them children. Though it can be tough at times, I’m thankful to have been free such things during my childhood. I also feel for the parents, with all the worry they must have. In many ways it can be harder for parents / spouses / people looking after them, than it is for the patient. I thought that at the time of my transplant and with the ITP. Aside from the anxiety, there's lots to do on the practical front, which can be difficult if it is ongoing. 

This time last year, I facing one of the most difficult periods of my life, with my biggest health crisis since my transplant. Well, the chronic rejection in the late 1990s was pretty serious but I saw that as part and parcel of life my new liver.  Being in hospitalised with a new condition was a big shock – all the more a chronic, sometimes unpredictable one, acting at a fundamental level (the blood) . Not to mention the parallels with before. As I’ve said in My Story - ITP and all that the physical bruises healed more quickly than the mental ones. 

After a hot walk along the River Wey to Godalming during the middle of July, I reflected on the time since my transplant and how fortunate I’ve been.  I knew this walk well – one of my regulars from Guildford. One the first times I did it was not long before my transplant, then a few months  afterwards when  I went out sketching there  with my father. 

Having a liver transplant when I was still relatively young, made see some in a different perspective than usual, including, age and longevity.  If I’d been alive any earlier than the late twentieth century, with the same liver thing (AIH), I doubt if I'd be here saying this now. I still like to try and remember just how lucky I am to have got my transplant when I did and so quickly. Recently, I heard on someone online who hadn’t been so lucky. She, too was in her 20s as well. 

Here's to health, happiness and more art...



Links


General

Joan Lee’s Water & Art blog – about my painting, printmaking, days out walking etc
http://artywater.blogspot.co.uk/

Joan Lee Artist on Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/JoanLeeArtist

Rare Disease UK
http://www.raredisease.org.uk/index.htm

Liver / Liver Transplant 

NHS Organ Donor Register
https://www.organdonation.nhs.uk/how_to_become_a_donor/registration/consent.asp

British Liver Trust - http://www.britishlivertrust.org.uk/
Includes information about liver diseases such as autoimmune hepatitis and liver transplants.

milliondonorman - http://www.milliondonorman.co.uk/
Liver transplantees share their stories and urge people to sign up to the NHS organ donor register.

National Transplant Week - http://www.transplantweek.co.uk/

ITP / Platelet disorders

ITP Support Association (UK)  http://www.itpsupport.org.uk/

Platelet Disorder Support Association (PDSA – USA)
http://www.pdsa.org/

Just Frances - blog written by another artist with ITP
http://justfrances.com/rare-disease-day-2013

Crohn's Disease / IBD

Crohn's and Colitis UK
http://www.nacc.org.uk/content/home.asp


Autoimmune diseases generally

Wikipedia article - http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Autoimmune_disease

Autoimmunity - the Hidden Link - http://www.autoimmunity.co.uk/

National Institute of Health (US) -  Autoimmune disease - Shaking Out Clues to Autoimmune Disease, 18/03/13