Bob's Blog 12-7-13: Ouchy. Man, You're Grouchy

Bob Here.

Next time you come across a dialysis patient, especially an older one, try to bring a little joy to their life by smiling brightly, patting them on the back and saying something super cheerful like, "Hey, let's make it a great day, shall we?"

Then get ready to duck.

And/or run for your life.

You see, I've done extensive personal research on this area, and I've come to a startling realization and breakthrough medical discovery.

And it is as follows:

The combination of aging and dialysis can do a number on your disposition. To the point of becoming almost dangerous to others.

Like most groundbreaking discoveries, this concept needs a scientific, highly technical name that will bring across the essence of the finding.

So, we'll call this one the "cranky pants" syndrome.

I know, absolutely breathtaking, huh?

Now, don't get me wrong, either of these phenomena by themselves, aging and dialysis, is enough to make a cheerful Christmas cowboy into a guy who makes Ebenezer Scrooge look like the Happy Homemaker.

But, heaven forbid, if you combine the two, it becomes downright hazardous to the health and well-being of the people around you and in your life.

Being the keen observer of human behavior that I pride myself on being, I've postulated previously about the connection between getting older and the general souring of one's overall outlook on life.

The difference here being that I was always watching it happen to other people.

It gives you a whole new perspective on the concept when it's actually happening to you personally.

I first felt the "CPS" coming on prior to going on dialysis in my early 50's.

Suddenly, things that would have easily just rolled off my shoulders a short time ago were now sending me into orbit, and I didn't really know why at the time.

I remember one day, I had to call a service provider because there was an error on one of my accounts.

Now, I've always believed in being very polite and cooperative in such instances, felling that the person on the other end of the call is just doing their job. They are, after all, a person, and people in general like to be treated with respect and are probably more likely to cooperate with someone being nice to them on the phone.

So, I really don't know who the nutcase was who made the call that day. His voice sounded like mine, but other than that....

The call started off normally enough. I was my regular genial (at the time) self.

Then the lady on the other end said something about not being able to find my account number, and I heard someone yelling, and it took me a few seconds to realize that it was me.

"HOW CAN YOU NOT BE ABLE TO FIND MY ACCOUNT NUMBER??? I'VE HAD MY ACCOUNT THERE FOR TEN (bleeping) YEARS..."

Needless to say, my newfound friend was a bit taken aback by this outburst.

"I...I'm sorry sir. Here it is now. It was just a little slow coming up on my computer," she said.

I quickly came back to earth.

"Hey, I'm sorry," I said. "I work around computers, so I know how they can be."

"Sure," she laughed, sounding a little uneasy.

So, then Dr. Jekyll presided over the call for the next few minutes and everything was going along swimmingly.

Alas, we came to the reason for my call, that I thought I had been over-charged for the previous month.

"Hmmm," she said carefully. "It does look like this total is correct according to our records..."

"WHAT???" said the crazy man re-emerging.

I then went on to suggest that she and her entire billing department had the collective IQ of a powdered donut, that whoever was responsible for their service software should be prohibited from reproducing, and that if stupidity were electricity the guy who ran her company could light up the eastern hemisphere.

My rant was going on for some time, but it was like I was outside my body watching this complete lunatic carry on.

Anyway, my call got cut off when she hung up on me.

After I had calmed down, I was like, ok, who was that wild, irrational fool making that call?

Then I realized...the onset of Cranky Pants Syndrome had occurred.

I had been thinking about why this happens as we get older.

Are we so set in our ways that the slightest variation can push us off our rocker, so to speak?

Not exactly sure, but it seems that few are immune to this change in personality.

But, throw in the big monkey wrench known as dialysis and you really get into dangerous territory.

Between the long treatments and the bleeding, cramping, nausea, fainting, upchucking, itching, infiltrating, diet restricting, thirsting, etc., etc., etc., dialysis does a pretty effective job of magnifying whatever CPS symptoms that are already taking place.

And we have a tendency to take it out on whatever poor soul has the misfortune to have to interact with us at the wrong time.

As with life in general, I had observed this taking place in others when I first started dialysis, and always felt for the attendants, nurses, social workers, and dieticians when they had to deal with someone who was acting like they had just been rubbed down with hydrochloric acid.

I always thought, I'll never be like that.

Now, I'm like, "Wrong, bison-breath."

Once, while I was in-center, I was having a treatment that seemed to be taking forever and a day.

For some reason, I had come into the center in a foul mood. I was on the early shift and even though I usually have an upbeat and positive attitude, on this day I just marched over to my chair without engaging in some of my normal repartee with the staff.

My usual attendant, with whom I was used to trading good-natured barbs, came over.

"Who peed in your cheerios?" he asked.

I just snorted and grumbled something inaudible in response.

"Is that English?" he said and walked away.

A little later, my treatment seemed to be going on and on endlessly and my frame of mind wasn't getting any better.

Most of the staff sensed that I was not to be trifled with and over time a kind of radioactive zone developed around my chair.

The charge nurse of the center was the only one with enough courage to try and advance through the danger area.

She came over and was entering something onto the computer.

"So Bob," she said, broaching me very carefully. "How's the work on your house coming?"

She knew I was having my master bath remodeled and figured that was a safe subject to use to break the ice.

I said, "I think the guy I hired to paint used to cut up paper dolls for a living."

"Oh," she said. "Sorry to hear that."

"That's not all," I said. She now looked like she was really sorry she asked.

"I'm gonna have to redo the molding, the wallpaper my wife picked out makes me want to hurl, the shower door leaks all over the #%*&@* floor, and the general contractor overseeing the whole job couldn't produce a beer fart in a whirlwind."

Now she's just staring at me in wonder.

"And that's the good news," I said, then went back to reading my book.

A little later, the guy sitting next to me, who I was pretty friendly with, said, "Is your bathroom job really going that badly?"

I thought for a minute. "Nah," I said. "It's really moving along pretty well."

Then I was wondering why all the venom had come out before.

On my way out that day I made sure to apologize to the nurse.

"Chalk it up to the Cranky Pants Syndrome," I said. "Dialysis just makes it worse, you know."

"Ah," she said, smiling knowingly. "The old Cranky Pants Syndrome, eh?"

I just laughed.

Ok, so maybe it isn't such a new concept, and maybe I can't take credit for discovering it.

Fact is, CPS has probably been with us throughout history.

It may have even started a few wars, who knows?

So, if you come across a dialysis patient of a certain age and they seem a little out of sorts, perhaps you can give them the benefit of the doubt if they don't respond to your offered niceties.

Oh, and, don't forget to duck.

Thanks for reading. Take care.