This - and that

I did it: I have started dialysing at home. I'd love to make a big, "years in the making" hoo-ha about it but I only started training at the beginning of February, so the whole process has only really taken about six weeks start to finish, though I had been thinking about it for several months beforehand and boring everyone with inane HD chat for much longer still.

Hanging with Bear, doin' some dialysin'

Verdict? It's awesome-by-way-of-terrifying. Even after three sessions I am beginning to see the benefits: most notably, the easing of the fluid/diet restrictions (they have not been expunged, but I'll happily take what I can get) and the almost surreal realisation that I don't have to go to the hospital anymore - not for dialysis anyway, unless I contract a tropical disease or my flat burns down and takes my machine with it. I shall still have to pitch up to have a monthly blood test; I got pretty shirty when I learnt I would be having an extra needle stick when I already put pointy things in my arm five times a week and let blood pour forth. The hospital will never let me emancipate entirely; it is like an over-protective mother, if she gave you a blood test when you popped round rather than Sunday lunch. Unexpected advantages have also included a general and pervasive feeling of calm and happiness; more time, for work and play; increased optimism about the future; not having to leave the house carrying my laptop in my loser (and very heavy) rucksack; internet access whilst I dialyse and, weirdly, an improved sense of taste which apparently is quite common.

The moments of terror this week have been provided by consecutive power failures on my first two days of dialysing; the strange and startling noises that emanate from the machine (usually just at the point I am falling asleep); not being able to get my bottom needle in on Wednesday, after ten minutes of digging around and the resultant conclusion from my lovely nurse Karen that something might be wrong my fistula; starting the session to have it slowly dawn on me that my blood was pumping round the machine but no toxins were actually being removed and I had no idea why (frantic call to the unit revealed human error - the human being me) and the moment it occurred to me that I am solely responsible for maintaing a complex piece of machinery whilst keeping myself alive, often simultaneously, and there are numerous times when I have only a rudimentary understanding of what I'm doing. Dialysis is one mother-fucking complex undertaking, and complexity is not really my strong suit.

Victory drink!

But enough about dialysis. Katie pointed out to me that my blog might gain in following were I to post more photos and create a greater juxtaposition between the times when I sit on my bed watching iPlayer, eating M&S cheese and onion triangles and dialysing, and those when I am a glamorous gal-about-town. Katie knows about such things, so I defer to her. So, in that spirit: this week has also seen me gadding about London being gay. I celebrated Tuesday's inaugural session with a victory cocktail and dinner at Isarn with Heidi. If the adage is true and you are indeed what you eat, I left the restaurant as a drunk, rotund, yet perfectly spiced Thai woman. On Wednesday it was on with the glad rags and over to Brasserie Blanc for Kat's surprise birthday dinner (we surprised her by hiding, then yelling SURPRISE); delicious dinner of steak tartare and lamb and savvy media advice from Katie, all washed down with prosecco and white wine which previously would have been off limits. Thursday meant no dialysis, so instead a jaunt to Caravan for brunch with Coralie and the biggest bowl of porridge this side of the Atlantic. One freezing trip to Oxford Circus later, I was snug on the Bakerloo line and headed for Benj and Hannah's (my big brother and his girlfriend) for magazine perusal before they treated me to dinner at Pizza East. I ate my body weight in pork belly pizza before Hannah and I curled up on the sofa and gasped our way through Prisoners' Wives (the ending? Really? They were already half way out the door!) Special mention goes to Mother Edwards who has been unwavering in her support this week, having accompanied me for every hour of every session. Quiche and salad from the excellent deli down the road provided a suitably celebratory lunch marking the end of the my first week. Thank you so much for the chat, drinks, food and support, one and all.

...and another one

So there you have it: highs and lows of confidence and weight, ins and outs of fluids, beginnings and endings....my time on HD has only just begun, whilst my life at the hospital has come to an end. It was surprisingly emotional to let go of it's reassuring presence, but this is the start of something wonderful, and I'm only just getting going.