Skip to main content

The fun of the unfair

As I sat in class this week trying to imagine what it's like to travel down the birth canal, I wondered whether it might not be time to look for a new job. There's no substantive reason as to why I should: I don't hate my job - I would even go as far as saying some days are quite amenable and as my Masters course stipulates I need to be working with children, overall it isn't a bad gig. The problem with my job is that it isn't my dream job, although in 25 years I haven't been able to come up with a conclusive definition of what such a job might be, so right out of the gate actually doing it could be tricky.

It'a my kidney failure's fault, you see - but then I do tend to mostly blame everything on my kidney failure, from my bad hair day to my inability to cook an edible thai broth, and it is most definitely the reason why I cannot reverse park. If only I hadn't gone into kidney failure, I would absolutely definitely be a world renowned songwriter by now, or a much lauded author, or a backing dancer. FOR A HIP-HOP ARTIST. My yen to get as much distance between myself and the restrictions of my condition have, over the years, led me to pursue a range of random and increasingly unlikely career paths. I want to work in PR, its all I've ever wanted to do. Ooh, ohh, no! I ACTUALLY have my heart set on teaching - kids will (probably) love me. Hang about....no, what I REALLY want is to go into play therapy...make that psychotherapy...maybe I want to be a yoga teacher?

In truth, all I want is to have fun, because dialysis is only a little bit amusing sometimes, but Topshop jumpers and packets of Snack-a-Jacks don't buy themselves so I have to work, just like everyone else (why didn't I just blame kidney failure? I could be spending my days on my sofa in the company of the Loose Women. Missed opportunity there). Recently I have started to wonder whether there might be a way in which I could work AND enjoy myself, if such a thing even is possible; my latest hair-brained scheme is to train as a yoga teacher so that when I complete my Masters I could become an uber psychotherpist-cum-yogi-cum-general-spiritual-leader-deity and treat my patients on the inside and (wait for it...) on the outside too. In the meantime, I could drift around London teaching yoga and basically being bendy whilst volunteering with the kids in my free time and wading through my Masters. How, in the name of all that is tantric, could this plan possibly fail?

Well, I've blamed its demise on my kidney failure. Having done a good 20 minutes of research, it appears that those souls wishing to qualify in the Yogic sector can either do a brief, intensive course or a prolonged one that only requires a few weekends of attendance here and there. Anything measured in months is too long for me; now that I have decided to become a yoga teacher I must, and as quickly as possible. So short intensive course it is. Except...it costs the best part of 3 grand and requires students to attend five days a week, for the whole day, for six or so weeks. Unfortunately, the hospital are also quite pernickity about me attending dialysis. I could go to yoga lessons instead of dialysis, but it would mean I'd pretty much end up dead, so, on balance, the hospital looks like it might be the safe bet.

So yoga teacher plans are on ice and in the meantime I shall just have to focus on my Masters and try and fill my boots with some fun in other ways: I'll start by wearing a kooky hat and see where the spirit takes me. Of course, a transplant is the most fun a girl can have - having taken her clothes off, health and safety - but in the meantime, if someday I want to teach yoga, I must remember to be flexible.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Postscript

You wouldn't believe where I am. You could guess, if you've seen the gratuitous images of my self-satisfied gurning face in front of an infinity pool on Facebook...otherwise you might find it hard to imagine the paradise in which I currently find myself. I am in Dubai. Bar Abby Clancey and the cast of TOWIE, is is not everyone's idea of paradise - it actually wasn't mine. It is exciting, exotic and fucking hot, but the skyscrapers and traffic, the desert and cultural  deficiency (not to mention the chavs that clutter up the Ritz Carlton these days, I mean honestly...) suggest you'd be hard-pushed to call it paradise. It is vaulted to utopian heights simply because, four-months after the transplant, I am here. My nearest and dearest suffered for seven years as I dreamily aired my wanderlust. Yet the reward of a post-transplant holiday seemed too extravagant a prize for which to yearn - wasn't a life free from dialysis enough? Wasn't having a drink when t...

The phone rings: Part I

When I open my eyes, I'm not sure where I am and I can't move. The last thing I remember is having an oxygen mask clamped over my mouth and being told to inhale; it was quick and traumatic and now I feel as if I have awoken in that very scene. I am freaking out. "Where am I? What's happened? What have you done to me?" "You've had a kidney a transplant," says a genial Irish voice, as though this sort of thing happens every day. Sunday, 6:10pm It is 6pm and I am on my sofa, writing on my laptop with one eye on  Dinner Date . I feel peckish, so I decide to make myself some bulgar wheat and peas (don't ask) and watch the Strictly results - it's about time Dave goes, the joke has worn thin. The phone rings. A man with heavily accented English asks to speak to "Rosa....Rosymend....Edwards?" and I am about to tell him I am not interested in whatever he is hawking, the words are about to roll off my tongue, when he introduces himself...

The nights are closing in

The final step of my home dialysis journey (bleugh, journey...sounds like I'm on The X Factor) begins on the 22nd July when Nurse Carla will arrive with a sleeping bag and, presumably, some strong coffee, and sit on my sofa all night whilst I perform my first nocturnal session. It is the dialysis equivalent of hiring a wet nurse. During a regular daytime session, nothing should go wrong unless I have lined the machine carelessly with one eye on Only Connect and consequently forgotten to connect/un-clamp/tighten something pivotal. Dermot should behave, stay quiet and not do any of his ghastly alarm-yelping. At night, however, the chances of rolling over onto the tubes and occluding the blood flow, or the needles falling out and slowly bleeding to death, are much higher, what with all the concurrent sleeping I'll be doing; when this happens Dermot senses DANGER and screams at me. Undoubtedly, my first session with Carla will be seamless; I know from experience that it is only ...