I CALL him Superkid. My kidney. He is super because he does the job of two.

It’s unusual to have a loner – doctors reckon the odds are one in 750 and most affected people remain blissfully unaware of what they are missing.

It rarely matters. If you are a medical anomaly like me, your solo kidney will be bigger than average. My doctor described them as the Arnold Schwarz-enegger of the blood filtering world.

In some instances, however, I have found having only one is a pain. A kidney infection is one of those instances. The pain was a $65m blast down my left side. That was two week’s ago. I swapped column writing for trembling like a human version of a 1940s washing machine.

My doctor took two minutes to refer me to the surgical assessment ward at the Royal Lancaster Infirmary, with rigors, a fever and sliding blood pressure.

In came the medics, two cannulas, seven antibiotic drips and nurses who repeatedly stuck thermometers in my ear.

My blood was filled full of drugs to help fight off the germs warping my poor single organ, while I sat humming Kid, by The Pretenders, and feeling sorry for myself.

After two nights the doctors sent me home with an overwhelming sense of relief and a fortnight of antibiotics.

Since then, thanks to the mind-bending nature of my drugs, I have had a two weeks dream rollercoaster.

During my first night back at home, I dreamt hostage Judith Tebbutt was rescued from a terraced house in Toulouse where she was being held captive by Butch Cassidy.

During my second night, the two children I lodge above came running up to me in a supermarket car park. Both of them were screaming ‘the fields, the fields are full of blood!’ – a line from the novel Watership Down.

Last night I dreamt I was at work in Caffe Nero’s at Canary Wharf and the Madame Tussaud’s figures came in to order drinks. Colin Firth is a macchiato man, in case you’re wondering.

I’m bouncing back, with a Superkid and now an even more Superimagination. They are super because they do the job of two.