It is a sad fact that if my hospital were ever to hold a "Miss Dialysis" contest, I don't think I would win. In my own head, of course, I am the clear front-runner: I have age on my side for one thing (I am the youngest on my unit by a good...ooh...forty years); I am also continent and still have all my hair. Many a time I have sashayed in on my own, functioning legs, no doubt drawing admiring glances from the male patients (the awake, non-blind ones) and male nurses (the non-gay ones) and exuding youth, vitality...and health...
...but that's the problem. I just look too bloody healthy. Any contender for "Miss Dialysis 2010" would have almost certainly have to embody some element of dialysis-ness; in order, for instance, to win Miss Puerto-Rico, it is surely more helpful to be a bronzed and leggy Latino goddess than it is to be a pale, dumpy shelf-stacker with an Estuary twang. And so it is with the coveted "Miss Dialysis" title: one must look the part, one must BE the title, and unfortunately my shiny eyes and flushed cheeks mark me out as a big fat dialysis loser. In my unit, i begrudgingly concede that the title will ultimately be fought out between three strong competitors: Squeaky Lady, MOW (morbidly obese woman) and Grandma Cranky (these are not clever pseudonyms, conceived to protect my fellow patients' identities, I just don't know their names). They all look suitably ill enough to have a fighting chance of a win, if not of making it through to spring...
Of course, I may be able to re-coup some points in the swim-wear contest. Not only would I pick up some marks for style (why yes, I do work out, thanks...) I have, over the years, notched up an array of scarring that could take me all the way to "Miss Dialysis UK". In any other mainstream beauty pageant, of course, I would in fact most likely loose marks for looking like Frakenstein's less successful test-run. But where "Miss Dialysis" is concerned, I really come into my own. There's the 30 cm scar down the length of the stomach that is red (+!) and raised (+3); the two identical catheter holes either side of my abdomen (the right one no longer oozes so probably marked down for that); the three comical scars, evenly spaced and set in a straight path above my right breast (+5) and, surely my trump card: the giant, pulsating fistula in my left arm ("Urgh! Miss, put your arm away, it's scaring me" one of my former pupils once helpfully suggested). This is the Miss Dialysis equivalent of vaseline on the teeth. If I can just put on 3 stone and get hold of some orthopedic shoes...
Ok...fine. So the "Miss Dialysis" crown may be out of my grasp, but it is no disadvantage that upon first meeting me it is not obvious that I am "ill". I am not, of course, "ill". I am extremely fortuitous that the treatment and medical care I receive allows me to feel healthy and live my life accordingly. This is not by any means the case for all dialysis patients and this only goes to highlight the desperate need for a proliferation of organ donation in this country. Sometimes I am ill - usually when I want something (money/sympathy/dinner/to park in a disabled bay) but most of the time I'm not (especially when my friends suggest the ninth vodka and coke might be a mistake). I may not be crowned "Miss Dialysis" any time soon, but maybe, when all is said and done, that's no bad thing.
Bollocks to that, I deserve the title, screw the old biddies.
...but that's the problem. I just look too bloody healthy. Any contender for "Miss Dialysis 2010" would have almost certainly have to embody some element of dialysis-ness; in order, for instance, to win Miss Puerto-Rico, it is surely more helpful to be a bronzed and leggy Latino goddess than it is to be a pale, dumpy shelf-stacker with an Estuary twang. And so it is with the coveted "Miss Dialysis" title: one must look the part, one must BE the title, and unfortunately my shiny eyes and flushed cheeks mark me out as a big fat dialysis loser. In my unit, i begrudgingly concede that the title will ultimately be fought out between three strong competitors: Squeaky Lady, MOW (morbidly obese woman) and Grandma Cranky (these are not clever pseudonyms, conceived to protect my fellow patients' identities, I just don't know their names). They all look suitably ill enough to have a fighting chance of a win, if not of making it through to spring...
Of course, I may be able to re-coup some points in the swim-wear contest. Not only would I pick up some marks for style (why yes, I do work out, thanks...) I have, over the years, notched up an array of scarring that could take me all the way to "Miss Dialysis UK". In any other mainstream beauty pageant, of course, I would in fact most likely loose marks for looking like Frakenstein's less successful test-run. But where "Miss Dialysis" is concerned, I really come into my own. There's the 30 cm scar down the length of the stomach that is red (+!) and raised (+3); the two identical catheter holes either side of my abdomen (the right one no longer oozes so probably marked down for that); the three comical scars, evenly spaced and set in a straight path above my right breast (+5) and, surely my trump card: the giant, pulsating fistula in my left arm ("Urgh! Miss, put your arm away, it's scaring me" one of my former pupils once helpfully suggested). This is the Miss Dialysis equivalent of vaseline on the teeth. If I can just put on 3 stone and get hold of some orthopedic shoes...
Ok...fine. So the "Miss Dialysis" crown may be out of my grasp, but it is no disadvantage that upon first meeting me it is not obvious that I am "ill". I am not, of course, "ill". I am extremely fortuitous that the treatment and medical care I receive allows me to feel healthy and live my life accordingly. This is not by any means the case for all dialysis patients and this only goes to highlight the desperate need for a proliferation of organ donation in this country. Sometimes I am ill - usually when I want something (money/sympathy/dinner/to park in a disabled bay) but most of the time I'm not (especially when my friends suggest the ninth vodka and coke might be a mistake). I may not be crowned "Miss Dialysis" any time soon, but maybe, when all is said and done, that's no bad thing.
Bollocks to that, I deserve the title, screw the old biddies.
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