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It'll be alright on the nights

Never have I had so much to write, and so little time to write it. I penned this entry last week on the bus to work (by hand! The humanity!) and still it has taken me a solid ten days to commit anything to blog. This is due in no small part to Tinder (that will get an entry all to itself) but my internship is keeping me in the office until at least 6:30 most days and my brand new nocturnal dialysis regime - you know, the one that is supposed to free up all my time - is consuming any remaining free moment.

About a month ago I typed out a post that had the working title of "My Life Has Been Ruined and I Demand Your Pity". I never posted it. I spared no detail enumerating the various teething problems I'd been having, none of which felt like teething problems at the time but hulking, insurmountable obstacles that suggested dialysis wasn't my bag and I should just rent a cottage by the sea and wait for death. It turned out most of the problems were caused by human error - the human in question being myself - although when my bottom needle started bleeding at 3am during a session a couple of weeks ago it was just bad luck. By 5:30 I had managed to get the bleeding under control and detach myself from the machine, but the blood that covered the floor, the walls, my bed and myself had to wait until the morning for my attention. I am slowly growing used to having a bedroom that looks less like a Cath Kidston window display and more like a scene from Drive.
I hope you're not squeamish....
My fistula, meanwhile, has been restored to its former glory. The operation was deemed a success, although I elected to dialyse at home by way of a test run, only to find the needling site had shifted and I was in no position to start tunnelling like a Welshman to try and find it. This resulted in a night spent dialysing at the hospital, though the fact that I only slept for thirty minutes was offset by a proficient nurse who managed to access the fistula first time and an Egg McMuffin for breakfast.

Hospital nights....

...but a new improved fistula....
....and a breakfast of Kings
My induction to a night time regime has been a bigger adjustment than I'd anticipated: going to bed is now a new and foreign experience, although I am learning to sleep, albeit on my back with my left arm held stiffly aside. Dermot is also very noisy at night; when my now dearly deceased hamster Hammy gnawed his bars I could put his cage in the bathroom, but I am more heavily invested in Dermot. On a good night, his rhythmic, mechanical hum almost has a soothing quality to it, but he is wont to ruin it by doing his alarm-yelp because something is twisted/blocked/bleeding all over the floor. Apparently there is also a way of turning off the illuminated screen but the techs need to come out and do it so I have resorted to hanging a cardigan over the monitor. Cutting edge stuff.

The Dialysis Illumination
It has been a rocky start, but surely that means things can only improve. Perhaps if I stopped going out and getting drunk all the time things wouldn't be so hectic; I appear to have made up for the last six years in the last two months. By October my beloved internship will have come to an end, I shall be back at uni and I'll be looking for a job; the seasons will change, X Factor will start and it will be Christmas again before you know it. My hope is that in this time, dialysis will weave seamlessly into my everyday existence and cause me no more consternation than a bathroom-bound hamster.

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