I have an upcoming interview this week - to officially leave my old job. It is a job interview in reverse. Up until the start of January, I was an English teacher in a "challenging" secondary school in Bermondsey, and - for the most part - I loved my job. Taking the decision to leave was not one I relished and I still miss my work and my colleagues immensely.
When I began in my role, I was absolutely determined to make dialysis fit around the job. Finally, I had a chance to be just like everyone else: get up; traipse to work; work like a bitch; manically eat lunch at your desk whilst trying to do five other things; work some more; traipse home; eat; TV; bed. I could not wait.
Unfortunately, it wasn't to be. My primary motivation in going back to work was to finally force dialysis into the shadows of my day-to-day existence and push something positive and productive (not to mention more lucrative than sitting on my arse watching re-runs of Top Gear) to the fore-front. It quickly became apparent, however, that dialysis had staked it's mucky flag smack-bang in the middle of my life, and it wasn't going anywhere. I tried desperately to deny this truth for four grueling months, but finally capitulated after a long, long term. Kidney failure had bent me over its knee, pulled up my skirt and spanked me hard, yet again.
When you have a chronic disease that features prominently in your life, it is hard not to define yourself by it. I see the illness in the way I look; in what I eat and drink; in what I do - in what I don't do. Whilst I was working, I was no longer "Rosy: the girl who needs a kidney" but "Rosy: teacher...and er...all-round good egg". The trick, which I have not yet mastered, is to be both, of course. From the very first time I experienced a symptom to the day I take my last breath, this illness will be a part of me and I have learnt the hard way it is far easier simply to accept that fact than try to pretend it isn't true. I lost a kidney that way. But a part, I have learnt from GCSE maths, is not ALL. Kidney failure is simply one slice of the delicious Rosy Pie.
When I re-join the workforce in the coming weeks, I shall need to fit work around dialysis, not vice-versa. Obviously, "teacher" is out of the equation and "waitress" lacks a certain gravitas..."writer" definitely has the most appealing ring to it (and multi-award winning millionaire writer sounds even better). Writing is an ideal profession for someone contending with kidney failure because it is eminently portable and can fit around dialysing hours. I also have an infinite number of hilarious kidney-related anecdotes to write about!
In the pursuit of good karma, I have chosen to perceive my descent back into the the bowels of renal failure and the subsequent loss of my job as a positive occurrence. Perhaps it is the push I needed to at least try and write professionally; my own personal lightning bolt. It is so easy to only see the value of something when it is gone; it must be, because I bloody hated being abused by 11 year-olds who were considerably taller than me when I was doing it. But the stuff - just the everyday stuff, the monotonous stuff - that is what life is made of, and I can't wait to get it back again. My life is essentially on hold until I get a kidney to call my own, but until then, maybe I can work in a little work as well.
When I began in my role, I was absolutely determined to make dialysis fit around the job. Finally, I had a chance to be just like everyone else: get up; traipse to work; work like a bitch; manically eat lunch at your desk whilst trying to do five other things; work some more; traipse home; eat; TV; bed. I could not wait.
Unfortunately, it wasn't to be. My primary motivation in going back to work was to finally force dialysis into the shadows of my day-to-day existence and push something positive and productive (not to mention more lucrative than sitting on my arse watching re-runs of Top Gear) to the fore-front. It quickly became apparent, however, that dialysis had staked it's mucky flag smack-bang in the middle of my life, and it wasn't going anywhere. I tried desperately to deny this truth for four grueling months, but finally capitulated after a long, long term. Kidney failure had bent me over its knee, pulled up my skirt and spanked me hard, yet again.
When you have a chronic disease that features prominently in your life, it is hard not to define yourself by it. I see the illness in the way I look; in what I eat and drink; in what I do - in what I don't do. Whilst I was working, I was no longer "Rosy: the girl who needs a kidney" but "Rosy: teacher...and er...all-round good egg". The trick, which I have not yet mastered, is to be both, of course. From the very first time I experienced a symptom to the day I take my last breath, this illness will be a part of me and I have learnt the hard way it is far easier simply to accept that fact than try to pretend it isn't true. I lost a kidney that way. But a part, I have learnt from GCSE maths, is not ALL. Kidney failure is simply one slice of the delicious Rosy Pie.
When I re-join the workforce in the coming weeks, I shall need to fit work around dialysis, not vice-versa. Obviously, "teacher" is out of the equation and "waitress" lacks a certain gravitas..."writer" definitely has the most appealing ring to it (and multi-award winning millionaire writer sounds even better). Writing is an ideal profession for someone contending with kidney failure because it is eminently portable and can fit around dialysing hours. I also have an infinite number of hilarious kidney-related anecdotes to write about!
In the pursuit of good karma, I have chosen to perceive my descent back into the the bowels of renal failure and the subsequent loss of my job as a positive occurrence. Perhaps it is the push I needed to at least try and write professionally; my own personal lightning bolt. It is so easy to only see the value of something when it is gone; it must be, because I bloody hated being abused by 11 year-olds who were considerably taller than me when I was doing it. But the stuff - just the everyday stuff, the monotonous stuff - that is what life is made of, and I can't wait to get it back again. My life is essentially on hold until I get a kidney to call my own, but until then, maybe I can work in a little work as well.
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