Before I arrived for dinner at his new flat on Tuesday evening, Adam sent me a perfunctory text asking,politely, if there was anything in particular I fancied eating, by which of course he meant: you'll eat what you're given and you'll like it. I'm really not fussy, I replied... as long as it doesn't include spinach, mushrooms, tomatoes, potatoes, dairy, nuts or shellfish. By which point, Adam was wishing he hadn't asked.
For those of you especially au fait with the molecular make-up of food (most of you, yes?), it will be obvious that those foods I listed are all either high in potassium or phosphate. For renal patients, these seemingly innocuous substances have the potential to be lethal because no kidneys equals no toxin excretion, which consequently causes a build up and ultimately leads to bad things, like heart attacks and crumbling bones, though hopefully not at the same time.
It is no secret that in the past I have struggled with the limitations on my diet. My lifestyle is already fairly restricted by the dialysis and the minor fluid allowance so denying the ability to comfort eat seems almost inhumane. Consequently, I tend to allow myself to eat the naughty things I know I shouldn't, and my blood levels suffer as a result. When my Consultant appears on his one of his brief and benevolent thrice yearly ward rounds, he scolds me about my soaring potassium and orders me to see the friendly Aussie dietician who duly comes later in the week, engages me in exactly the same conversation we always have, gives me yet another set of the fact sheets I have managed to loose (again), sighs wearily and leaves, until next time. Some things are just hard to give up. When I was younger and in the throes of my first bout of kidney failure, I missed milk incredibly and it is still the same now: I used to subsist on cereal at university and I still feel a pang when I arrive at the cereal aisle and end up staring longingly at the boxes of Coco Pops. I crave nuts often; prawns have been hard to fore-go and it's incredible how many things have mushrooms in it or how limiting a no tomato rule is; giving up spagetti hoops was particularly traumatic.
However, over the last few weeks, I have been trying to exert an iota of self-control, hence the long and irritating list of banned foods I had to send to Adam. My housemate Maisy has also been a victim of my culinary foibles and is now practically on a renal diet herself by virtue of the fact we live together. Up until recently, I had been loathe to ever make a fuss about my diet restrictions because it is symbolic of kidney stuff crossing over into what I consider my mainstream life, and this is something I try to avoid at all costs. I can just about manage to stop myself eating forbidden (citrus) fruits (and bananas are out too) but when my situation starts to impinge on anyone around me - even if they are just having to re-think the menu - I start to get uncomfortable.
In tandem with my brand new, healthy approach to my diet, I have decided to try and take a bit more care with regards to my general health and well-being. Firstly, I have decided to stop smoking, save for those situations where smoking really is necessitated, like when an attractive guy asks whether I fancy a cigarette. Therefore, no more fags simply because I'm walking to the tube/talking on the phone/not had one for a couple of days. Secondly, I am trying to incorporate more exercise into my everyday life. This regime started on Tuesday and I am already sick of it, two days in; it entails, basically, taking the stairs instead of the lift and walking up every escalator I encounter. I get on the tube at least twice a day, so never walk up any less than at least two escalators a day. I am hoping that by sometime next week, I might reach the top, at least once, without being a wheezing, sweating, staggering wreck. Hard to believe as it is, I am, sporadically, quite a keen runner and over the last couple of months, I have started running again. The plan is to run three times a week on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday (initially it was Sunday, but I have found I am usually too hungover to move any further than from my bed to the sofa). To give you some indication as to how the running plan is progressing, it is Thursday evening - ostensibly a running day - and I am on my sofa writing, having just consumed a Kit-Kat, a diet coke and a quarter of a tub of Betty Crocker Vanilla icing. This last admission makes me a little bit tearful.
Heeding my instructions to the letter, a slightly panicked James (Adam's boyfriend) ended up producing pasta with chicken, chorizo and pesto which was incredibly delicious and brilliantly low in potassium. Unfortunately, I didn't say a word when Adam proposed going on a chocolate run and merrily scooped fistfuls of Maltesers into my greedy little mouth without a second thought. Chocolate, of course, is riddled with BOTH potassium and phosphate. It also un-does all the benefits of the running and escalator climbing. Potentially, I am imbuing the phrase "Death by Chocolate" with a very macabre and literal meaning. But fuck it... what a way to go.
For those of you especially au fait with the molecular make-up of food (most of you, yes?), it will be obvious that those foods I listed are all either high in potassium or phosphate. For renal patients, these seemingly innocuous substances have the potential to be lethal because no kidneys equals no toxin excretion, which consequently causes a build up and ultimately leads to bad things, like heart attacks and crumbling bones, though hopefully not at the same time.
It is no secret that in the past I have struggled with the limitations on my diet. My lifestyle is already fairly restricted by the dialysis and the minor fluid allowance so denying the ability to comfort eat seems almost inhumane. Consequently, I tend to allow myself to eat the naughty things I know I shouldn't, and my blood levels suffer as a result. When my Consultant appears on his one of his brief and benevolent thrice yearly ward rounds, he scolds me about my soaring potassium and orders me to see the friendly Aussie dietician who duly comes later in the week, engages me in exactly the same conversation we always have, gives me yet another set of the fact sheets I have managed to loose (again), sighs wearily and leaves, until next time. Some things are just hard to give up. When I was younger and in the throes of my first bout of kidney failure, I missed milk incredibly and it is still the same now: I used to subsist on cereal at university and I still feel a pang when I arrive at the cereal aisle and end up staring longingly at the boxes of Coco Pops. I crave nuts often; prawns have been hard to fore-go and it's incredible how many things have mushrooms in it or how limiting a no tomato rule is; giving up spagetti hoops was particularly traumatic.
However, over the last few weeks, I have been trying to exert an iota of self-control, hence the long and irritating list of banned foods I had to send to Adam. My housemate Maisy has also been a victim of my culinary foibles and is now practically on a renal diet herself by virtue of the fact we live together. Up until recently, I had been loathe to ever make a fuss about my diet restrictions because it is symbolic of kidney stuff crossing over into what I consider my mainstream life, and this is something I try to avoid at all costs. I can just about manage to stop myself eating forbidden (citrus) fruits (and bananas are out too) but when my situation starts to impinge on anyone around me - even if they are just having to re-think the menu - I start to get uncomfortable.
In tandem with my brand new, healthy approach to my diet, I have decided to try and take a bit more care with regards to my general health and well-being. Firstly, I have decided to stop smoking, save for those situations where smoking really is necessitated, like when an attractive guy asks whether I fancy a cigarette. Therefore, no more fags simply because I'm walking to the tube/talking on the phone/not had one for a couple of days. Secondly, I am trying to incorporate more exercise into my everyday life. This regime started on Tuesday and I am already sick of it, two days in; it entails, basically, taking the stairs instead of the lift and walking up every escalator I encounter. I get on the tube at least twice a day, so never walk up any less than at least two escalators a day. I am hoping that by sometime next week, I might reach the top, at least once, without being a wheezing, sweating, staggering wreck. Hard to believe as it is, I am, sporadically, quite a keen runner and over the last couple of months, I have started running again. The plan is to run three times a week on Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday (initially it was Sunday, but I have found I am usually too hungover to move any further than from my bed to the sofa). To give you some indication as to how the running plan is progressing, it is Thursday evening - ostensibly a running day - and I am on my sofa writing, having just consumed a Kit-Kat, a diet coke and a quarter of a tub of Betty Crocker Vanilla icing. This last admission makes me a little bit tearful.
Heeding my instructions to the letter, a slightly panicked James (Adam's boyfriend) ended up producing pasta with chicken, chorizo and pesto which was incredibly delicious and brilliantly low in potassium. Unfortunately, I didn't say a word when Adam proposed going on a chocolate run and merrily scooped fistfuls of Maltesers into my greedy little mouth without a second thought. Chocolate, of course, is riddled with BOTH potassium and phosphate. It also un-does all the benefits of the running and escalator climbing. Potentially, I am imbuing the phrase "Death by Chocolate" with a very macabre and literal meaning. But fuck it... what a way to go.
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