Wednesday, August 03, 2005

I Hate Everything

Right now, I feel nothing.

A half hour ago, I was blanketed completely by a woolen coat of pain.

My body couldn't wait the final fifteen minutes to see me through a complete dialysis treatment. The cramping started in my thigh and increased as it found it's way along both my legs.

I tried raising my hand like a third grader who knows the answer, but to no avail.

The adorable Filipino tech who I shamefully flirt with drifted nearby, but was either tired of listening or simply ignoring my pleas to STOP THE MACHINE.

Finally, my savior, Julie, witnessed my misery and proceeded to stop the process of fluid elimination.

But they wouldn't go away.

The cramps remained, running along the lengths of my legs and then back up again through the length of my body.

Words do not give this pain justice. Descriptions are useless. Verbs and nouns simple pawns to the level of pain I endured tonight. Every pore on my body gave way. Sweat was everywhere.

And then it was over.

It was then I realized why I haven't been sleeping for the last ten days.

Through all the hospital stays, through all the ER visits over the years, I've attempted to put on a brave face.

This involves taking all emotions that wish to bubble and gurgle to the surface and storing them deep down in the bowels of my soul, where light and happiness have never ventured.

But a human body, and especially a dialysized one, can only take so much.

After a while, these emotions have to find a destination and manipulate a manifestation in another part of one's being.

Mine have become depression and insomnia.

Regular people seek out friends and family to talk these things through.

My family has suffered enough and I'm afraid my friends would all disappear if I shared what I'm truly, honestly feeling deep within the recesses of my inner soul.

Everything is now in black and white, a muted grey where nothing has the flavor of life to it anymore.

There is a general debate scurrying through the halls of dialysis which asks the question, "Is stopping dialysis considered suicide?"

I would have to answer an emphatic NO.

The one thing that really bothers me the most about this whole experience, the one that towers over and mocks the rest, is that I'm not even Stacy anymore.

I'm just Sta.

That would be pronounced "stuh."

"Stuh" isn't a word, or a person or anything in between.

But it is what I don't want to be anymore.

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