Thursday, December 08, 2005

Blood Soaked Bastard

That was me earlier today.

For the last few weeks, Dialysis has not paid me any mind. I arrived, I endured the needles, I watched scantily clad women on the E! Channel and then I scurried off to work.

That was, until today.

I believe Dialysis was just sick of the Anti-California chill we've been experiencing lately and he only stopped in to warm his blackened heart.

It was actually my fault when it came right down to it.

I wore my new short-sleeved Eddie Bauer white twill shirt. (I only go into deep descriptions because this is the first new shirt I've bought for myself in months. Yes, I'm taking a bow right now.)

I had decided at the beginning of the treatment that I wanted to try and use a larger needle.

Larger Needle = Better Dialysis Treatment = Flirting Power At Maximum

Or so I thought.

When Neckish Blonde Tech pulled the needle from the arterial side (where the blood flows into my arm) blood soaked the gauze right through. She finally managed to replace it with a fresh one, so I held it for a while and then attempted to stand up.

This is when Dialysis struck.

He weaved his way through the highly populated center and clamped his sharp, decaying teeth on both my calves simulateously.

The pain was overwhelming.

I thrust my body back into the chair and then quickly stood back up, all the while holding both my needle sites. When cramps hit your legs you need to apply pressure to them to curb the pain.

As I was tending to my legs, Dialysis struck again in my chest and neck.

That's right...neck cramps. Where's the Guiness Record people when you need them most?

There was one benefit to all of this bewildering pain: all my favorite neckish tech's and nurses came to my defense. As I sat back down again, Raven Haired Tech pushed my foot to apply pressure to the calf while Hot Librarian Tech monitored my vitals.

This must have caught Dialysis by surprise, because all the cramping started to cease.

But Dialysis didn't give up on me.

As I was standing upright once again to have my blood pressure taken, I felt really dizzy.

Then my arm felt moist.

Dialysis must have flicked the gauze on the arterial side because blood was squirting in all different directions.

There was blood on the side of my new shirt, on the chair and down upon my shoes.

I apolgized to the tech wiping my blood from the floord. He said he'd seen much, much worse.

For some reason, they didn't make me feel any less guilty.

Dizziness and fatigue combined their forces to create a weakness I could barely endure. I thought about calling in sick to work, but I never do.

Three hours down. Sixty minutes until showtime. Twelve minute drive to the station. The next forty lieing on the floor of my office until airtime.

And 48 hours until the vicious cycle repeats itself all over again.

1 comment:

  1. You feel guilty for bleeding, huh? Dude, that's what I call world class issues.