Bob's Blog 6-1-13: What? No Dialysis?

Bob Here.

The other day, I was lost in thought about a subject that I'm pretty sure is fairly common among dialysis patients.

What would my life without dialysis be like?

Now, I know most of you are immediately picturing yourselves dancing around just enough to look foolish and realize that you're too old to be dancing like this.

Right?

Well, there's no way I'm going to sit here and try to convince you otherwise. For most of us, no dialysis is the equivalent of Nirvana.

You know. The most fun you could possibly have with your clothes still on.

Or (for most of us, at least), the most fun clothed or not.

While I agree with the concept, I couldn't help but wonder what would be involved with the transition to a "normal" life. And, as you can probably tell, these ponderings are a function of how long one has been on treatments.

For someone who just started, life without the Big D is a recent memory.

But, for someone who has been on a long time, it's more like remembering life in someone else's body.

Dialysis is so ubiquitous, that it tends to dominate our lives.

If you let it, that is.

I make it a point to not walk around thinking of myself as a "dialysis patient."

I'm a person first. One who needs dialysis to stay around, but I don't let that define me.

It's a small thing, but important to my mental well-being.

Which is frequently called to question, by the way.

I recently had a doctor's appointment, and since you all know that I don't care for doctors in most circumstances, you can imagine that I was uncomfortable.

And my discomfort usually manifests itself as bad behavior.

A scary looking nurse came out and called me back.

She had a frizzy, pinkish hairstyle that made her look like a piece of cotton candy that talks.

There was no small talk, she took me back to a room and said, "Strip down to just your underwear."

Of course, I couldn't leave that alone.

I said, "Ah, you sure know the way to a man's heart."

She gave me a look that said she thought the best way to this man's heart was through his chest with a sharp knife.

But, she ignored my wisecrack and said, "After you're ready, we'll get your weight."

I said, "Geez, I had a big breakfast, I hope my phone number doesn't come up on the scale."

She just stared at me, not even cracking a smile.

"Or my zip code," I added.

So she herded me back to the room and left, saying, "The doctor will be right in."

"Thanks," I said, "I'll miss you," resulting in another hateful glare.

The doctor was one of these guys with no personality whatsoever.

I tried small talk and cracking a few jokes, but didn't get anywhere in breaking through his facade.

Finally, I decided to roll out the heavy artillery - the veritable blonde joke, figuring, hey everyone likes blonde jokes, right?

Well, except maybe blondes, that is.

"So doc," I said, "do you know how to drown a submarine full of blondes?"

He just looked at me warily. "No, how?" he asked.

"You knock on the door, ha ha ha ha..."

He tried not to laugh, but I saw a little bit of a smile before he turned away and pretended to check my chart.

I thought that was at least a partial success.

At the end of the visit, he said, "OK I'd like to see you again in four...no let's make it six months."

I wondered if my being obnoxious had caused the two-month extension.

Anyway, I've found that there's a fairly common theme among my favorite non-dialysis daydreams.

Most of them revolve around finding myself in odd situations because of dialysis habits dying hard. I'm used to dialysis intruding on some common situations.

In one of them, the wife and I are sitting on the beach, reading books and enjoying the ocean air.

I suddenly jump up out of my chair. "Oh crap," I yell. "I'm late for my treatment."

So, I urgently pack up all my stuff, manage to crate off the chair, blanket, cooler, books, and carry bags and start trucking up off the beach, all heavily weighted down.

I'm about half way there, when I look back and realize the wife is still sitting in her original spot. She hasn't even looked up from her book.

"What are you doing??" I holler. "We have to go!!"

She just shakes her head, looking down.

Then it dawns on me. I don't need dialysis anymore.

I'm so used to my schedule revolving around treatments that I can't get it through my thick skull that I can live a normal life now.

I trudge on back to my original spot, unpack all my belongings and sit back down.

"I was wondering how long it would take for the light bulb to go on," says the wife, still not looking up.

I realize that if I want to sit on the beach all day, I can do it.

That's one of the parts of being on dialysis that causes you to daydream about what it would be like without it - that there's no escaping it. You have to maintain your treatments whether you're at home, at work, or on vacation. That's why we patients may sound a tad obsessive when we talk about our illness.

Another time, we were at a restaurant with a buffet and I drifted into daydream land again.

I'm in the buffet line ahead of a nice-looking lady. I get to the salad ingredients.

"Huh. Tomatoes? That'll be the day," I say half to myself.

I look back at the lady and she just smiles politely.

I'm about five feet down the line when it strikes me.

"Wait! I love tomatoes!! And I can have them!!" I yell brushing her aside, running back to the bowl. "Ah, tomatoes on my salad. It's been awhile," I say, now half talking to the bowl.

I look back at the lady and she's giving me a look that says she thinks I should be off in a home somewhere making log cabins out of popsicle sticks.

After loading up on tomatoes, I rush to re-take my original place in line.

"Thanks," I say to my follower. "Sorry about that." She nods politely again, but is looking at me a little more doubtfully now.

One of the side dishes in the buffet is pasta in a super-cheesy sauce.

Absent mindedly, I blurt out, "I'd have to take a truck full of binders if I had any of that..." and keep moving on.

Again, after another few feet, I blast back towards the pasta bowl.

"What am I saying?? I don't need binders any more!" And I start shoveling the cheesy stuff on my plate, emptying the bowl and enraging the other people behind me who'll now have to wait for it to be re-filled.

I jump-run back to my place in line, when my compadre, the lady who was behind me in line says, "Would you mind if I stay ahead of you now? When you bolted for the pasta, you stepped on my foot and spilled my plate all down my front."

She then shows me an impressive collection of colorful buffet foods down the front of her Sunday outfit.

Always the smoothie, I stammer, "Oh, no. Of course not...I'm so sorry," grabbing a napkin, making a move to wipe off her front, realizing suddenly what I'm about to do and stopping myself before getting charged with lewd and inappropriate behavior.

"That's alright," she says and virtually runs through the rest of the line, just picking up a couple of things to replenish the spilled food and hurrying back to her seat just to widen the distance between us.

I look back and realize that everyone else who was behind me has stopped their progression in the buffet line and is just staring at me as if I had just sprouted a pair of antlers. They're all staying back, giving me a wide berth.

"Heh heh," I say sheepishly to the group. "Just had a bit of a change in my diet...don't need to watch my potassium or phosphorous anymore."

If anything, this makes them worry about me a little more, so I move along, so to keep from causing mass starvation.

Yep, the dietary restrictions are a bit hard to overcome, once you've been subject to them for so long. I've found that recently, as I've moved to home hemo. The treatments are more frequent, allowing you to ease up on your diet some. But I've been hesitant to fully incorporate some former no-no's into my personal menu.

To be able to move on entirely? As in my no dialysis scenario?

Well, that's just the stuff dreams are made of.

Thanks for reading. Hope at least some of your day dreams eventually come true.