Supermarket lobster

One reason I didn’t use to seek out dialysis blogs is because I knew it would be of no help to read something along the lines of what I’m writing now.

I woke up at 3AM this morning in the usual cold sweat that I’ve had every time I’ve been dialyzed. When your clothes cling to your body and you feel clammy like this, it’s doubtful you’re going to be able to fall back asleep. Around 4:30, I figured I’d try to get back to sleep for the final hour. And then the ridiculously bright overhead fluorescents came on a 4:45. So much for my intentions.

I asked the techs to pull me off dialysis shortly before 5, 45 minutes short of my scheduled time. The official reason on the form they filled out was “restlessness”.

If they had asked for my blunt assessment, I’d have said, “Can’t f’in take it anymore. Overnight dialysis is not going to work for me. Dialysis is not going to work for me. I understand why elderly people decline dialysis and just die, because coming in to lay here like a pod-person every other day is no way to live”. Understandably, most people who are undergoing dialysis don’t feel as I do. I think perhaps it’s because they’ve got something to live for. Their lives have meaning. They have things to look forward to.

Folks, my life has been a momentous failure. Scratch that, it’s just been a failure. There’d have to be something of exceptional noteworthiness for it to have been momentous.

Don’t worry; I’m not going anywhere. But I’ve got the optimism of a supermarket lobster.

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