Monday, March 24, 2008

The Dialysis Variety Show

I shuffle in with the same energy I do each night because I hold in my conscience that for the next two hours I will be placing my skinny ass in the bowels of hell.

I walk by Pouty Lipped Blonde and make sure to keep my gentle glances to myself. The last three treatments I have said "hello" she has responded by giving me a dirty look and acting like I crapped on her cat.

Apparently I'm not attractive enough to say hello to you. Huge loss for you because for the patients I like, I can make treatment time go by in a flash.

I place my comfort items on the little push up table they provide, an ironic adjunct to the size of the chair itself. Realistically, I could place two Stacy's in the chair and still have enough room to squirm.

Most patients find the chair's too tight, which entertains me for some diabolical reason.

Wallet goes underneath DVD player. Keys and cell phone in the little cup holder. DVD's to the side of said player. Occasional Juicy Fruit gun on arm rest.

Techs always tell me they know when I've been there because it smells like gum.

It's better than being recognized for "other" smells if you catch my drift and blow it back.

Ritualistically I go to the bathroom and weigh my addled little frame.

63.2kg. 62.7kg. 61.9kg.

When it's as low as say 61.3kg, I've been throwing up and unable to keep anything resembling fluid down. 63.7kg? I had a fun weekend. Wink.

Most nights I feel royally spent. The fluid clings to my limbs and facial muscles as though we're betrothed. As I place my tiny pimply ass in the chair I place my mind in a virtual state of denial.

"I'm not here, I'm bathing in the glory of a naked Winona Ryder slowly making her way toward my chair."

"I'm not here, I'm on an endless winding roller coaster that's making it's way around the world, stopping only for snacks and to let other beautiful neckish women onboard."

"I'm not here, I'm having the most amazing Italian dinner on the balcony of my home overlooking the cascading waves below. Short Haired Lovely is sitting across from me smiling with THAT look in her eye."

The Lidocaine needle enters my arm and bursts my fantasy all over the clinic floor. Dialysis peers from inside one of the supply shelves and snickers endlessly. For the next two hours, He's a winner.

Both sides of my access are seemingly numb and my body becomes less rigid.

In the history of the last four years of Dialysis treatments, I have never glanced, not once, at my needles.

Never. Ever. No way. Ugh, ugh.

I try to see where Dialysis has gone to because he's no longer hiding near the fluid bags. Where the hell has that yellow toothed wonder gone?

"Ow!"

Oh, there he is.

Somehow, on numerous occasions, and with no sense of warning, the Lidocaine misses.

And thus, an additional needle syringe is needed. Dialysis is rolling on the floor cackling with glee. He's in the lead and he's not backing down.

Once the needles are placed the tech starts to hook up the lines while I place my DVD player in my lap. It's time for another frickin' movie.

I've come to the realization that I may be tarnishing my love for cinema simply because my body knows that if I'm starting a film, Dialysis has begun.

I haven't been to an actual theater in two years. This saddens me to no end.

I'm about to crank up another Netflix grabber when Smelly Aging Hippie turns his TV up to full volume. He can't use headphones because he's a whiny little man who believes "headphones hurt my ears."

Apparently common courtesy is foreign to you sir. This also happens to entertain Dialysis to no end. He bounds about the clinic, his stringy hair leaving dust clouds wherever he wanders.

Dancing about like a fool, he cups each ear as he plants his foot, knowing full well he's mocking me.

Sigh.

Tomorrow they'll seat me next to Snoring Obese Guy. Or Crappy Pants Dude. Or Farty Flirty Schmuck. Or I'm Hot, You're Not Chick. Or Clinically Obese Woman. Or Red Afro Maven. Or Bearded Egotist Douche. Or Civil War Maven. Or Dirty Look Freak. Or Beefy, Preening Fool. Or Cell Phone Addict. Or Drunk Tall Creature. Or Hot Waifish Woman.

I know in the deep recesses of my heart that these aren't real people. Merely annoying creations that Dialysis has created to make my life extremely miserable.

And after four years on the transplant list, there's only one way to defeat Dialysis and put Him away for good.

God given Kidney Transplant.