As landmarks go, I'm fairly certain that a 24th birthday does not rank very highly. When I reach that grand old age tomorrow, I won't be able to do anything legally that I couldn't today and neither will I begin to fret that I haven't had a wedding/baby/botox consultation. In truth, I doubt I'll feel much different at all. However, as beige as the Big Two-Four is, to me, it still carries a certain heft, because it will be my third birthday on dialysis.
Fuck - downer, huh? Just when you thought this blog entry was going to be about the exciting things I'm going to do for my birthday (steel yourselves, they're coming). Like most people, I anticipate my birthday with an almost orgasmic fervor and feel it very much to be the most important day of the year. The only other event I get (nearly) as excited about is Christmas. Now, for those of you graduates out there, you may have noticed that my birthday falls in June, the sixth month of - and precisely half way through - the year, and Christmas bookends it nicely it December. Consequently, I calculate my calender (I call it: The Rosalender) in six month segments that are essentially based on the run-up to my birthday and the run-up to Christmas; this keeps everything neat and manageable. It is also how I calculate my time spent on dialysis. Not by how many days or weeks or months, but by how many birthdays and Christmases are spent with an active fistula. Birthdays and Christmases should be joyful and care-free, and mine sort of are...except that I'm still waiting for a kidney, three years on. It's like jumping into a giant vat of jelly only to find someone has laced it with arsenic. It's a bit like that.
Its here that I add my disclaimer: for all my whining, in fact, I am incredibly lucky to have fantastic friends and family who make all my birthdays special and enjoyable. Granted, my first birthday on dialysis - my 22nd - was...quiet. It fell on a Wednesday so I slept in, went to hospital, had my newly formed fistula blow (yes it's as painful as it sounds) then came home and ate pasta with my housemates before going to bed. Rock. And. Roll. It was subdued, certainly, because I did not really feel like celebrating that year...but my friends gave me a heap of presents and it was all very lovely in its own demure way. Last year, a Thursday birthday meant no hospital (awesome) and my ex-boyfriend Jamie and I took advantage of the freedom and went to Thorpe Park. We followed this up with a Hawaiian themed party the following Saturday and a good time was had by all (though I never really enjoy my own parties. Yet I still continue to host them regardless...). So 23 superceded 22, but was still haunted by the spectre of my second year on dialysis. Surely, I thought, there is no way I will still be on dialysis by the time I turn 24.
Ah, God, you cheeky little monkey you....you are funny with your "big picture". I bet you knew I'd still be on dialysis, didn't you? Didn't you?! Chuckling to yourself up there on your cloud! Well here I am, a year on and...nothing has changed. This time last year, Jamie and I were together and very happy and though we broke up (another disclaimer: some of my friends may want to take a deep breath about now) we have recently started hanging out again and enjoying each others' company in a much more relaxed way (read into that what you will). Again, this time last year, I was about to start training to be a teacher: it was a short lived career that ended just after Christmas, but I am still working in the classroom and haven't ruled out going back to it in the future. This time last year, I was living in Clapham having just moved from Islington; I'm no longer in Clapham, so that's definitely a change...but I've moved aback to Islington, a mere fifteen minute walk away from my first abode.
It is little wonder, however, that my life is still on a generally even keel because the fundamental basis of my life at the moment - the fact that I am in kidney failure - has not changed. Unfortunately, and as hard as I try not to let it be so, the illness has a substantial effect of everything else that happens to be going on. All the decisions I make stem from the notion that I have to be at the hospital three times a week. How do you like them apples.
So although 24 doesn't sound like a big deal (and let's be honest, its not) and won't signify any monumental life shifts, to me, it means a lot. Even after all this time, I remain incredulous that I have been on dialysis for two and a half years, especially as I had once supposed I would never have to endure the process again in my lifetime. If two and half years ago you had told me of this outcome I would genuinely not have been able to conceive how I would ever be able to cope with it. Yet year I am, happy and healthy and getting by ok. The human body - and more importantly, the human spirit - is capable of phenomenal things; the one major realisation I have taken from this aberration in my life is that I am stronger and more capable than I had previously comprehended. Something within me continues to carry me through just as the gentle ebb of the ocean tide will push a little boat towards the safety of the shore. I cannot articulate what this is: it is very hard to describe. It is not quite a feeling or a recollection of a fact, but more like an inherent sense of resolute solidity inside me. It is not tangible, but it is very real and has ensured my safety through some tumultuous stretches.
My birthday this year also marks the eighteenth month of my wait on The List, also known as the average waiting period. It is this that is making my celebration this year so poignant. In some respects, it makes the idea of a transplant seem more lucid; in others, it makes me incredibly anxious that such landmarks will continue to come and go for years and still no kidney will appear. I cannot allow myself to think that it will be any day now or that the worst part is over because it could be another five years. It could be another five minutes. Reaching the eighteen month stage certainly illuminates this paradox sharply. All I can do is keep plodding along as I have been doing and keep faith. Keep faith, keep hope. Really, just keep going.
However, my melancholy will undoubtedly be short-lived. Tomorrow, Maisy and I will start the day by going out for breakfast at the Fig and Olive and having delicious, giant croissants. If I can just overlook that fact I have to dialyse for four hours in the afternoon, I shall return home to dinner with my wonderful housemates (or, you know, wonderful housemate...and Andy) AND my father. Huge excitement: Old Man Edwards had returned from the deserts of Dubai and will be here for a whole two weeks. There is no present that can equate to being able to spend time with my father. Although and iPad would probably come close. On Saturday, it is with an immense sense of irony and pleasure that I shall be hosting the Transplant Games in my back yard and it looks like the sun will be shining down on us as we jump around in my home-made long jump pit and get drunker than any dialysis patient ever should. Kidney failure or no, I am sure my birthday will be great because I have my family and my friends, a roof over my head and a pear Kopperburg in my hand. Now all I need is a new kidney and I'll have everything a girl could desire. Maybe when I'm 25...
Fuck - downer, huh? Just when you thought this blog entry was going to be about the exciting things I'm going to do for my birthday (steel yourselves, they're coming). Like most people, I anticipate my birthday with an almost orgasmic fervor and feel it very much to be the most important day of the year. The only other event I get (nearly) as excited about is Christmas. Now, for those of you graduates out there, you may have noticed that my birthday falls in June, the sixth month of - and precisely half way through - the year, and Christmas bookends it nicely it December. Consequently, I calculate my calender (I call it: The Rosalender) in six month segments that are essentially based on the run-up to my birthday and the run-up to Christmas; this keeps everything neat and manageable. It is also how I calculate my time spent on dialysis. Not by how many days or weeks or months, but by how many birthdays and Christmases are spent with an active fistula. Birthdays and Christmases should be joyful and care-free, and mine sort of are...except that I'm still waiting for a kidney, three years on. It's like jumping into a giant vat of jelly only to find someone has laced it with arsenic. It's a bit like that.
Its here that I add my disclaimer: for all my whining, in fact, I am incredibly lucky to have fantastic friends and family who make all my birthdays special and enjoyable. Granted, my first birthday on dialysis - my 22nd - was...quiet. It fell on a Wednesday so I slept in, went to hospital, had my newly formed fistula blow (yes it's as painful as it sounds) then came home and ate pasta with my housemates before going to bed. Rock. And. Roll. It was subdued, certainly, because I did not really feel like celebrating that year...but my friends gave me a heap of presents and it was all very lovely in its own demure way. Last year, a Thursday birthday meant no hospital (awesome) and my ex-boyfriend Jamie and I took advantage of the freedom and went to Thorpe Park. We followed this up with a Hawaiian themed party the following Saturday and a good time was had by all (though I never really enjoy my own parties. Yet I still continue to host them regardless...). So 23 superceded 22, but was still haunted by the spectre of my second year on dialysis. Surely, I thought, there is no way I will still be on dialysis by the time I turn 24.
Ah, God, you cheeky little monkey you....you are funny with your "big picture". I bet you knew I'd still be on dialysis, didn't you? Didn't you?! Chuckling to yourself up there on your cloud! Well here I am, a year on and...nothing has changed. This time last year, Jamie and I were together and very happy and though we broke up (another disclaimer: some of my friends may want to take a deep breath about now) we have recently started hanging out again and enjoying each others' company in a much more relaxed way (read into that what you will). Again, this time last year, I was about to start training to be a teacher: it was a short lived career that ended just after Christmas, but I am still working in the classroom and haven't ruled out going back to it in the future. This time last year, I was living in Clapham having just moved from Islington; I'm no longer in Clapham, so that's definitely a change...but I've moved aback to Islington, a mere fifteen minute walk away from my first abode.
It is little wonder, however, that my life is still on a generally even keel because the fundamental basis of my life at the moment - the fact that I am in kidney failure - has not changed. Unfortunately, and as hard as I try not to let it be so, the illness has a substantial effect of everything else that happens to be going on. All the decisions I make stem from the notion that I have to be at the hospital three times a week. How do you like them apples.
So although 24 doesn't sound like a big deal (and let's be honest, its not) and won't signify any monumental life shifts, to me, it means a lot. Even after all this time, I remain incredulous that I have been on dialysis for two and a half years, especially as I had once supposed I would never have to endure the process again in my lifetime. If two and half years ago you had told me of this outcome I would genuinely not have been able to conceive how I would ever be able to cope with it. Yet year I am, happy and healthy and getting by ok. The human body - and more importantly, the human spirit - is capable of phenomenal things; the one major realisation I have taken from this aberration in my life is that I am stronger and more capable than I had previously comprehended. Something within me continues to carry me through just as the gentle ebb of the ocean tide will push a little boat towards the safety of the shore. I cannot articulate what this is: it is very hard to describe. It is not quite a feeling or a recollection of a fact, but more like an inherent sense of resolute solidity inside me. It is not tangible, but it is very real and has ensured my safety through some tumultuous stretches.
My birthday this year also marks the eighteenth month of my wait on The List, also known as the average waiting period. It is this that is making my celebration this year so poignant. In some respects, it makes the idea of a transplant seem more lucid; in others, it makes me incredibly anxious that such landmarks will continue to come and go for years and still no kidney will appear. I cannot allow myself to think that it will be any day now or that the worst part is over because it could be another five years. It could be another five minutes. Reaching the eighteen month stage certainly illuminates this paradox sharply. All I can do is keep plodding along as I have been doing and keep faith. Keep faith, keep hope. Really, just keep going.
However, my melancholy will undoubtedly be short-lived. Tomorrow, Maisy and I will start the day by going out for breakfast at the Fig and Olive and having delicious, giant croissants. If I can just overlook that fact I have to dialyse for four hours in the afternoon, I shall return home to dinner with my wonderful housemates (or, you know, wonderful housemate...and Andy) AND my father. Huge excitement: Old Man Edwards had returned from the deserts of Dubai and will be here for a whole two weeks. There is no present that can equate to being able to spend time with my father. Although and iPad would probably come close. On Saturday, it is with an immense sense of irony and pleasure that I shall be hosting the Transplant Games in my back yard and it looks like the sun will be shining down on us as we jump around in my home-made long jump pit and get drunker than any dialysis patient ever should. Kidney failure or no, I am sure my birthday will be great because I have my family and my friends, a roof over my head and a pear Kopperburg in my hand. Now all I need is a new kidney and I'll have everything a girl could desire. Maybe when I'm 25...
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