I've done my make up, and my hair...I'm all dressed up, and actually, I do have somewhere to go, somewhere to which I really would liked to have gone. I was invited to a party that I had been looking forward to, thrown by someone I was excited about seeing. But I'm lying on my bed and I can't get off it. Last Saturday, I felt energetic enough to go out for Maisy's birthday and I lasted until - wait for it - almost midnight; consequently, I had high hope for this week's festivities, even if they were scheduled on a dialysis day.
More than the needles and the fluid restriction or the old men who cough up phlegm, sometimes the unpredictability of dialysis is the hardest aspect. One week I might feel fine post-hospital, then the next week...exhaustion. This has resulted in huge amounts of guilt over the years: I manage to make it to X's birthday, only to let Y down a few weeks later. Not only do I feel like a class A loser - sitting on my bed, alone, on a Saturday night - the sense of isolation that stems from knowing the party is going on without you is palpable. I am so aware that I am missing out.
Hence this INCREDIBLY self-pitying post. Jesus. One of my fellow patients, a woman who must be in her sixties (although you can never really tell - dialysis isn't known for its rejuvenating qualities) came onto the ward this afternoon and softly announced to the nurses that she had recently had some good news: the chemo was working, and her tumours had stopped growing. For the time being. Then she settled down for a dialysis session. And here I am bleating about not making it to a house party. Sometimes I despair - at myself.
More than the needles and the fluid restriction or the old men who cough up phlegm, sometimes the unpredictability of dialysis is the hardest aspect. One week I might feel fine post-hospital, then the next week...exhaustion. This has resulted in huge amounts of guilt over the years: I manage to make it to X's birthday, only to let Y down a few weeks later. Not only do I feel like a class A loser - sitting on my bed, alone, on a Saturday night - the sense of isolation that stems from knowing the party is going on without you is palpable. I am so aware that I am missing out.
Hence this INCREDIBLY self-pitying post. Jesus. One of my fellow patients, a woman who must be in her sixties (although you can never really tell - dialysis isn't known for its rejuvenating qualities) came onto the ward this afternoon and softly announced to the nurses that she had recently had some good news: the chemo was working, and her tumours had stopped growing. For the time being. Then she settled down for a dialysis session. And here I am bleating about not making it to a house party. Sometimes I despair - at myself.
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