Here are some Things That Scare Me:
1. Being eaten by a crocodile
2. Tea
3. Needles
4. The witch I saw in a dream twenty years-ago
5. Burglars
6. Paranormal Activity
To mind my, all perfectly normal, rational things of which to be scared. But here is another list:
Things of which I shouldn't be scared, and wasn't until recently, but that now freak the bejeezus out of me:
1. Moving house
2. Home dialysis
Regular readers will know that Home Dialysis has represented a shining beacon of hope for me these last few months and I would have chewed my arm off (the right one - I need my left arm for all the dialysis) for the chance to perform my own treatment at home. Well....it looks like it might finally be happening. I have had an offer accepted on a dialysis-machine friendly flat, and as long as the landlord doesn't bend me over and take me from behind in the next couple of days, I should be moving in within a week or so. I start my formal home dialysis training at the end of January, although I already have mastered most of the process so it shouldn't be too much longer before my friendly local dialysis technicians (whose names are David Gandy and John Barnes, which NOBODY else at hospital seems to find funny) pop round for a cuppa and a spot of dialysis machine installation.
In all the hulla-balloo of finding and securing a flat, I had not even stopped to think about the reality of actually undertaking my much-longed for home dialysis. Now that it is, hopefully, only weeks away, fantasies of a fridge packed with Diet Coke and a Friday night in a bar instead of half-comatose on my sofa have given way to the realisation that I shall have to have dialysis every day. Eventually, I shall start a nocturnal regime which equates to six hours of gentle dialysis six nights a week; but this, I recently learnt, is black belt dialysis. For a novice such as myself, the hospital insist on my maintaining a daytime regime until I am comfortable and proficient enough to hook up at bedtime without inadvertently killing myself. Either way, I shall still have to needle myself every day and these first few months are going to involve some long and lonely sessions hooked up to the machine with just Bear and my echoing flat for company.
Away from the dialysis side of things, the new flat is in Clapham which means leaving my beloved North London and all that sail within her. I'm incredibly lucky to have some friends and family south of the river, and having lived in Clapham once before it is not totally foreign, but I have established a life in Islington, I love it, and I shall be so sad to say goodbye to both the borough and all my friends who live here. The thought of leaving Maisy to go and live by myself is...well, after bursting into tears once already this evening, we have decided not to think about it until the removal van is parked outside.
I am scared. I am really, really, really scared. My illness has engendered great swells of fear in me in the past, but there is not really a lot you can do about your haemaglobin falling life-threateningly low, or a two-week spell of insomnia, apart from prostrate yourself before medical professionals and hope for the best. I have chosen home dialysis, I have demanded it, so I only have myself to blame. Yet it is only as HD approaches that I am beginning to see what it truly looks like and the fear is compounded by the knowledge that I could back out if I really wanted, for its not yet too late....
...except, as terrified as I am, fear is not a reason not to do it. In fact it is the most ridiculous reason for not doing something, apart, perhaps, from jumping into a crocodile-infested lake, but surely common sense would kick in before the fear. Yes, I am frightened, but I am more frightened of living any more time than is absolutely necessary in the way I am now. As I right, on a Sunday night, I am once again fluid overloaded despite barely having eaten or drunk anything and feeling the tremendous discomfort of being full to bursting with toxins. By tomorrow I shall feel worse, but will still have to go to work (I have digits I didn't even know I had crossed for a snow day). Anything is better than not having to go through this every week, to not being able to drink when I am thirsty, to being scared of food because it poisons me, to missing out on a social life, on relationships, or a career. The only combatant to fear is hope and I remain steadfast in my belief that as hard as home dialysis might be, it cannot be worse than what is happening now. Or being eaten by a crocodile.
1. Being eaten by a crocodile
2. Tea
3. Needles
4. The witch I saw in a dream twenty years-ago
5. Burglars
6. Paranormal Activity
To mind my, all perfectly normal, rational things of which to be scared. But here is another list:
Things of which I shouldn't be scared, and wasn't until recently, but that now freak the bejeezus out of me:
1. Moving house
2. Home dialysis
Regular readers will know that Home Dialysis has represented a shining beacon of hope for me these last few months and I would have chewed my arm off (the right one - I need my left arm for all the dialysis) for the chance to perform my own treatment at home. Well....it looks like it might finally be happening. I have had an offer accepted on a dialysis-machine friendly flat, and as long as the landlord doesn't bend me over and take me from behind in the next couple of days, I should be moving in within a week or so. I start my formal home dialysis training at the end of January, although I already have mastered most of the process so it shouldn't be too much longer before my friendly local dialysis technicians (whose names are David Gandy and John Barnes, which NOBODY else at hospital seems to find funny) pop round for a cuppa and a spot of dialysis machine installation.
In all the hulla-balloo of finding and securing a flat, I had not even stopped to think about the reality of actually undertaking my much-longed for home dialysis. Now that it is, hopefully, only weeks away, fantasies of a fridge packed with Diet Coke and a Friday night in a bar instead of half-comatose on my sofa have given way to the realisation that I shall have to have dialysis every day. Eventually, I shall start a nocturnal regime which equates to six hours of gentle dialysis six nights a week; but this, I recently learnt, is black belt dialysis. For a novice such as myself, the hospital insist on my maintaining a daytime regime until I am comfortable and proficient enough to hook up at bedtime without inadvertently killing myself. Either way, I shall still have to needle myself every day and these first few months are going to involve some long and lonely sessions hooked up to the machine with just Bear and my echoing flat for company.
Away from the dialysis side of things, the new flat is in Clapham which means leaving my beloved North London and all that sail within her. I'm incredibly lucky to have some friends and family south of the river, and having lived in Clapham once before it is not totally foreign, but I have established a life in Islington, I love it, and I shall be so sad to say goodbye to both the borough and all my friends who live here. The thought of leaving Maisy to go and live by myself is...well, after bursting into tears once already this evening, we have decided not to think about it until the removal van is parked outside.
I am scared. I am really, really, really scared. My illness has engendered great swells of fear in me in the past, but there is not really a lot you can do about your haemaglobin falling life-threateningly low, or a two-week spell of insomnia, apart from prostrate yourself before medical professionals and hope for the best. I have chosen home dialysis, I have demanded it, so I only have myself to blame. Yet it is only as HD approaches that I am beginning to see what it truly looks like and the fear is compounded by the knowledge that I could back out if I really wanted, for its not yet too late....
...except, as terrified as I am, fear is not a reason not to do it. In fact it is the most ridiculous reason for not doing something, apart, perhaps, from jumping into a crocodile-infested lake, but surely common sense would kick in before the fear. Yes, I am frightened, but I am more frightened of living any more time than is absolutely necessary in the way I am now. As I right, on a Sunday night, I am once again fluid overloaded despite barely having eaten or drunk anything and feeling the tremendous discomfort of being full to bursting with toxins. By tomorrow I shall feel worse, but will still have to go to work (I have digits I didn't even know I had crossed for a snow day). Anything is better than not having to go through this every week, to not being able to drink when I am thirsty, to being scared of food because it poisons me, to missing out on a social life, on relationships, or a career. The only combatant to fear is hope and I remain steadfast in my belief that as hard as home dialysis might be, it cannot be worse than what is happening now. Or being eaten by a crocodile.
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