It occurred to me the other day: you know who I'm like? I'm like Batman. Since going back to work, I have been living a double life. I haven't told anyone at work about any of the kidney stuff and bar the kiddies' incessant questioning about my scars and the "bump" in my arm, there is no reason for anyone to know. My working day ends at 1, so I finish school and go on to the hospital with no-one any the wiser - and that's how I like it. Firstly, my illness in no way impinges on my ability to do my job and secondly, when people find out...they kind of look at me funny.
So at school, I'm Bruce Wayne: benevolent, charming, discreet (admittedly, he was a lot richer than I am). Come 1:30, however, when I arrive at the hospital, I'm Batman, ready to begin my secret life of dialysis. The similarities between us are multiple. We both drive a car: Batman has the Batmobile, and I have a four year-old silver Ford KA. We both have to conceal our secret lives so Batman wears a mask and I, too, cover up the fistula that would blow my cover with an array of cardigans. We diverge slightly in that Bruce Wayne adopts his alter ego to fight the powers of evil in Gotham City and I adopt mine to get my blood cleaned and watch ER for four hours in London Bridge. But I like to think I play my part in fighting the social injustices in this world: I once phoned the police to complain about a really noisy house party across the road.
Batman's nemesis was The Joker and I don't really have one. But I could get one. Maybe it's kidney failure? That was what I thought initially, but I quickly realised the illness isn't my enemy - its my fatal flaw. I don't know whether Batman actually has a fatal flaw, but most superheroes do (perhaps his is just particularly nuanced). Kidney failure is my fatal flaw, but summer is my enemy.
Seeing as in this country we only benefit from roughly 40 minutes of clement weather per annum, it is easy forget for ten months of the year how tough summer can be as a dialysis patient until the temperature starts to rise and it all comes flooding back. To put it simply: when it gets hot, I get thirsty. And when I get thirsty, I'm fucked.
I have tried all the tricks recommended to me over the years: I suck ice cubes; I drink ice cold water; I take minute sips; I drink consciously and nurse my drinks. But when you are thristy - really, really thirsty - and all you want is some liquid, and yet you still can't have any...anyone who has ever been on a diet can understand how you desperately crave the only thing you are not allowed, although whereas too much to eat means a little extra time at the gym, having too much to drink has some fairly serious implications. At the onset of summer, I develop a superpower of being able to hear a Coke can being opened a mile away. There have been occasions when I have literally had to restrain myself from accosting strangers in the street and beating the bottle of Evian out of their hands. Batman would probably be quite critical of that sort of thing.
The blisteringly hot weather at the start of this week saw people the country wide breaking the glass on their In Case Of Sunshine emergency wardrobes and revel in the wearing of floaty dresses and having bare limbs. For the average dialysis patient, hot weather presents a dilemma: stay cool by wearing a sleeveless top but reveal your hideous fistula to the world; or, cover up you arm under long sleeved items and consequently perspire to death. The latter at least offers the added benefit of extra fluid excretion.
At work, I have no choice. The kiddies are already suspicious of the fistula and sniff around it like dogs at a barbeque; they would explode with excitement and horror if I actually exposed it. It would invite question after question and I am Bruce Wayne at this point, remember, so I'll just have to perspire and hopefully not expire. School, I can just about manage, but when I get on the tube it gets tricky. The Tube in summer is unbearable and travelers would be well advised to wear as little clothing as possible, but I can't bear the open disgust on Joe Public's face as they stare without the least bit of discretion, so my preference is to always keep the fistula under wraps. This is probably why Batman drives everywhere.
Like everybody else, I spend most of the year yearning for summer sunshine and then complain as soon as it arrives. For the most part, to look at me you'd never know I was on dialysis just as you'd never guess Bruce Wayne was actually Batman (although doesn't anyone wonder why he is never available for a drink on each and every night that Batman saves the city?). In summer, however, once you can get past the layers of fake tan I have smothered on my skin like Ronsil, my fatal flaw is obvious to all who behold me and my cover will be blown: I'll be the one in the corner of the garden, wrapped in a coat, sucking on an ice cube
So at school, I'm Bruce Wayne: benevolent, charming, discreet (admittedly, he was a lot richer than I am). Come 1:30, however, when I arrive at the hospital, I'm Batman, ready to begin my secret life of dialysis. The similarities between us are multiple. We both drive a car: Batman has the Batmobile, and I have a four year-old silver Ford KA. We both have to conceal our secret lives so Batman wears a mask and I, too, cover up the fistula that would blow my cover with an array of cardigans. We diverge slightly in that Bruce Wayne adopts his alter ego to fight the powers of evil in Gotham City and I adopt mine to get my blood cleaned and watch ER for four hours in London Bridge. But I like to think I play my part in fighting the social injustices in this world: I once phoned the police to complain about a really noisy house party across the road.
Batman's nemesis was The Joker and I don't really have one. But I could get one. Maybe it's kidney failure? That was what I thought initially, but I quickly realised the illness isn't my enemy - its my fatal flaw. I don't know whether Batman actually has a fatal flaw, but most superheroes do (perhaps his is just particularly nuanced). Kidney failure is my fatal flaw, but summer is my enemy.
Seeing as in this country we only benefit from roughly 40 minutes of clement weather per annum, it is easy forget for ten months of the year how tough summer can be as a dialysis patient until the temperature starts to rise and it all comes flooding back. To put it simply: when it gets hot, I get thirsty. And when I get thirsty, I'm fucked.
I have tried all the tricks recommended to me over the years: I suck ice cubes; I drink ice cold water; I take minute sips; I drink consciously and nurse my drinks. But when you are thristy - really, really thirsty - and all you want is some liquid, and yet you still can't have any...anyone who has ever been on a diet can understand how you desperately crave the only thing you are not allowed, although whereas too much to eat means a little extra time at the gym, having too much to drink has some fairly serious implications. At the onset of summer, I develop a superpower of being able to hear a Coke can being opened a mile away. There have been occasions when I have literally had to restrain myself from accosting strangers in the street and beating the bottle of Evian out of their hands. Batman would probably be quite critical of that sort of thing.
The blisteringly hot weather at the start of this week saw people the country wide breaking the glass on their In Case Of Sunshine emergency wardrobes and revel in the wearing of floaty dresses and having bare limbs. For the average dialysis patient, hot weather presents a dilemma: stay cool by wearing a sleeveless top but reveal your hideous fistula to the world; or, cover up you arm under long sleeved items and consequently perspire to death. The latter at least offers the added benefit of extra fluid excretion.
At work, I have no choice. The kiddies are already suspicious of the fistula and sniff around it like dogs at a barbeque; they would explode with excitement and horror if I actually exposed it. It would invite question after question and I am Bruce Wayne at this point, remember, so I'll just have to perspire and hopefully not expire. School, I can just about manage, but when I get on the tube it gets tricky. The Tube in summer is unbearable and travelers would be well advised to wear as little clothing as possible, but I can't bear the open disgust on Joe Public's face as they stare without the least bit of discretion, so my preference is to always keep the fistula under wraps. This is probably why Batman drives everywhere.
Like everybody else, I spend most of the year yearning for summer sunshine and then complain as soon as it arrives. For the most part, to look at me you'd never know I was on dialysis just as you'd never guess Bruce Wayne was actually Batman (although doesn't anyone wonder why he is never available for a drink on each and every night that Batman saves the city?). In summer, however, once you can get past the layers of fake tan I have smothered on my skin like Ronsil, my fatal flaw is obvious to all who behold me and my cover will be blown: I'll be the one in the corner of the garden, wrapped in a coat, sucking on an ice cube
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