Things are rotten in the state of Denmark. Or, at least, they were; it was friends and family to the rescue as usual, unable as I seem to be to dig myself out of the ridiculous holes I unfailingly fall into.
I went back to work this week which had been a source of simmering anxiety. As with most novel enterprises, the anticipation is far worse than the reality and there is nothing quite like 30 five year-olds, with their over-sized heads and miniature clothing, calling you "Roooowsy" to reinstate a smile on your face. My last dalliance with the professional world was fairly catastrophic and the experience, unsurprisingly, coloured my perception of how any new job would be. I needn't have worried: I start at 8:45 and finish at 1 so the hours fit snuggly around dialysis. I leave the job at the door and hence am free to enjoy my M&S sandwich and West Wing in relative peace; I also have two blissful afternoons of comprehensive freedom which I shall use to write. Future tense: this week has not been prolific, writing-wise, what with all the drinking, baking and pyschotherapy I've been doing.
The problem with being on dialysis is that it takes up so much energy to simply endure it that you find yourself constantly running at a deficit; consequently, when things go awry, you don't need to be pushed very far to fall off the edge. I had a quick glance over the edge at the beginning of the week but I am, as you see, still standing firm on solid ground.
Which is all a round-about way of saying how grateful I am for so many things in my life. Though immersing myself back into a job has been worrisome, it has reinstated me as a fully functioning member of society - I can pay my rent and everything. Dialysis has retreated to become something I do after work rather than the zenith of my day. I am loathe to reel off a saccharine list of Things For Which I Am Grateful, but it would be amiss for me not to give public (and by public, I mean the 7 friends who read this blog - cheers guys) recognition to my friends, my family, my new-found support network at hospital, and, essentially, the fact that my limbs functions and my brain works, I have a roof over my head and there are people in this world that love me. If I could just learn to say fuck you to the people that aren't so keen on me, I'd be set.
I sometimes look at my little kiddies running around with total innocence and joie de vie and wish that they could stay frozen in time, unaware of the hardships that will inevitably come as they grow older. But life is a train, or a whirlwind or a monkey hurling faeces at you: whichever metaphor you settle on, it is an unstoppable forces that will continue with or without you and unfortunately, no-one is insulated from more bad things happening to them just because some already have. There was a point earlier this week when I wondered whether I had the energy or strength to keep going and I sent up a hurried prayer to anyone listening asking for a bit of strength and courage to get me over the hump. This evening, as I sat on my patio with a vodka and coke in one hand and a cigarette in the other, I gave thanks for the fact these traits must of been bestowed upon me, as I seem to have managed to scrape through. In fact, I don't think my prayer was answered (stupid, lazy God) and nothing was actually given to me. I realised I had all the strength and courage I needed already. It never disappears but it does wane in its intensity and it has taken me a while to understand that my fortitude was still there, albeit smothered under a few layers of anxiety and self-doubt. If I can just hang on to that knowledge, I reckon I might just make it.
I went back to work this week which had been a source of simmering anxiety. As with most novel enterprises, the anticipation is far worse than the reality and there is nothing quite like 30 five year-olds, with their over-sized heads and miniature clothing, calling you "Roooowsy" to reinstate a smile on your face. My last dalliance with the professional world was fairly catastrophic and the experience, unsurprisingly, coloured my perception of how any new job would be. I needn't have worried: I start at 8:45 and finish at 1 so the hours fit snuggly around dialysis. I leave the job at the door and hence am free to enjoy my M&S sandwich and West Wing in relative peace; I also have two blissful afternoons of comprehensive freedom which I shall use to write. Future tense: this week has not been prolific, writing-wise, what with all the drinking, baking and pyschotherapy I've been doing.
The problem with being on dialysis is that it takes up so much energy to simply endure it that you find yourself constantly running at a deficit; consequently, when things go awry, you don't need to be pushed very far to fall off the edge. I had a quick glance over the edge at the beginning of the week but I am, as you see, still standing firm on solid ground.
Which is all a round-about way of saying how grateful I am for so many things in my life. Though immersing myself back into a job has been worrisome, it has reinstated me as a fully functioning member of society - I can pay my rent and everything. Dialysis has retreated to become something I do after work rather than the zenith of my day. I am loathe to reel off a saccharine list of Things For Which I Am Grateful, but it would be amiss for me not to give public (and by public, I mean the 7 friends who read this blog - cheers guys) recognition to my friends, my family, my new-found support network at hospital, and, essentially, the fact that my limbs functions and my brain works, I have a roof over my head and there are people in this world that love me. If I could just learn to say fuck you to the people that aren't so keen on me, I'd be set.
I sometimes look at my little kiddies running around with total innocence and joie de vie and wish that they could stay frozen in time, unaware of the hardships that will inevitably come as they grow older. But life is a train, or a whirlwind or a monkey hurling faeces at you: whichever metaphor you settle on, it is an unstoppable forces that will continue with or without you and unfortunately, no-one is insulated from more bad things happening to them just because some already have. There was a point earlier this week when I wondered whether I had the energy or strength to keep going and I sent up a hurried prayer to anyone listening asking for a bit of strength and courage to get me over the hump. This evening, as I sat on my patio with a vodka and coke in one hand and a cigarette in the other, I gave thanks for the fact these traits must of been bestowed upon me, as I seem to have managed to scrape through. In fact, I don't think my prayer was answered (stupid, lazy God) and nothing was actually given to me. I realised I had all the strength and courage I needed already. It never disappears but it does wane in its intensity and it has taken me a while to understand that my fortitude was still there, albeit smothered under a few layers of anxiety and self-doubt. If I can just hang on to that knowledge, I reckon I might just make it.
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