Bob's Blog 9-6-14: Dinner Bloopers, Party Poopers

Bob Here.

I've often wondered why dialysis patients don't get invited to more parties.

Then I thought, well maybe I should just speak for myself. For all I know, my fellow patients might be inundated with social invitations. Maybe they bring them on, letting it be known that they would actually LIKE to attend a gallery of friends. Unlike me, that is. I treat potential social gatherings about like I would behave toward to a visit to that proctologist who never trims his fingernails.

Yes, I thought, it's pretty well known among people around me that I am one miserably antisocial dude.

But before I put that reason/excuse to bed in my mind, I started reflecting on the issue a little further.

(Can you tell that I was on treatment and had some time to kill?)

Aside from my sometimes grisly behavior in the company of others, I considered that there may be other reasons why somebody arranging a gala might pass over me specifically and a dialysis patient in general when organizing their guest list.

Perhaps the person might not be familiar enough with our schedules to know whether we'd be on treatment when they were going to hold their party. I mean, we do spend an inordinate amount of time hooked up to our blasted machines, don't we?

Sometimes our lives can feel like they have two stages: Dialysis and getting ready for dialysis. And I think some non-patients think we just live on the machine 24/7.

Then I thought, no, that probably wasn't a valid reason not to include us. Unless you were the guest of honor (highly unlikely in my case), the person holding the get together would probably just schedule it and hope you could attend. (Or, again with me, were busy and would send my socially-adept wife by herself.)

I also wondered whether the fact that we often don't feel good between treatments had anything to do with it.

The host probably wouldn't want an interesting stream of conversation interrupted so one of their guests could go ralph in the back yard.

Nah, that can't be it. Too cold hearted. Only I could come up with that one.

At that point, the light went on.

I knew what it was.

Like many facets of a dialysis patient's woes, it all had to do with the dietary restrictions.

I know, you're all probably thinking, well that's about as hair-brained a theory as I've ever heard.

Well, just wait. I have more.

I know that, when I was in-center and had the full array of foods that I wasn't supposed to eat, I didn't always react well to being around others who could have whatever they wanted. And, of course, I didn't take responsibility for my words or actions, or pass it off to just feeling particularly obnoxious that day. Nope, had to be something going on in the brain chemistry because of all the foods that were restricted.

And, when I considered some of my actions, I thought, well heck, I wouldn't invite me to a party either. Unless I was trying to get even with someone I was mad at on the guest list.

The first time that I became aware that our dietary restrictions could affect others was at a family get together a long long time ago. The host had assembled a nice spread, including burgers, hot dogs, and french fries. I had just started the Big D and to put it mildly, had not yet adjusted to some of my favorite foods that I could no longer consider.

This category included fries, since potatoes are high in potassium, a dialysis dietary no-no.

Now, I should explain just how much I love french fries.

A lot.

If I was to be abandoned on a desert island (a possibility that probably sounded pretty appealing to my host that day), and could only bring along one food, I'd choose crinkle cuts and keep 'em coming.

There have been times since starting dialysis that I would have killed a medium-level friend to be able to have a heaping helping of fries.

So, we were all one big happy family sitting outside around a picnic table, when someone got up to "get some more fries," saying that they were "as good as any fries I've had before."

I thought to myself, "Sure. Go ahead. Get some more fries. Have all the rest. See if I care."

When I looked up, I realized that everyone around the table was staring in my direction. Some were looking at me curiously, as if they were wondering what planet I was from. Others were looking down at their laps uncomfortably.

I looked to my wife for an explanation. Having had a lot of experience with my social catastrophes, she continued eating as if nothing had happened, but whispered under her breath, "You do realize that you said that out loud, right?"

"Huh?" I said.

"About the fries?"

Then I made a weak attempt to salvage the situation. "Ha ha. Just kidding you guys. I uh... I don't even like fries that much. They clog the arteries you know..."

At that point, the wife realized that I was making matters worse and broke in completely changing the subject.

And I realized to my dismay that the guy who went for more fries was eating them about as far away from the table as possible without being arrested for trespassing by a neighbor.

After that, I assumed that my invitation to future family get-togethers would get "lost in the mail," but to my amazement, I still got included.

I guess some people just like living dangerously.

Dialysis patients all know that fluid and food restrictions are put in place for our own good. It's not like whoever came up with the idea of treating kidney failure just had a sick sense of humor. There are a vast array of serious short and long-term consequences for not controlling what we eat.

But that doesn't mean we have to like it.

And, to put it mildly, different patients will react differently to the...ah, shall we call it...adjustment period once we actually have to start following these rules.

Of course, once we've settled into a routine and are able to think about the issue calmly, that is, without considering homicide when someone asks to have their water glass refilled, we can kind of understand the discomfort others might feel being around us. A lot of times, it's just a lack of understanding about what seems to be a bread and (just a little) water diet.

Just the same, my adjustment period was a little rougher than most and you couldn't really have blamed the wife if she wasn't exactly thrilled with the thought of being seen with me in public.

But, give her credit, she still agreed to a casual dinner out during this time frame, although she probably regretted this decision afterward.

It was shortly after I started dialysis and our waiter was a prim and proper sort. A nice young man, but his mien was sending up red flags all over the place for the Mrs.

She knew very well that when someone acts so polite around me that I have a tendency to do or say something vile to see if I can get a reaction out of them.

But I was, at least initially, on my best behavior, keeping in mind her courage for letting me out of the house.

She eyed me warily when he took our drink order, knowing that the strict fluid restriction was a facet of being on dialysis that had lately been bringing on a spate of bad behavior.

But I just pleasantly asked for a glass of water. I could hear my wife exhale audibly with relief.

Then Mr. Goody Two Shoes said, "Would you folks like to start with an appetizer, perhaps our renown potato skins with cheddar cheese?"

I gripped my menu a little tighter. In addition to the potatoes, cheese is loaded with phosphorous, which also needs to be controlled.

"No thanks," my wife broke in quickly. "No appetizer tonight. Thank you."

She said it with such sudden ferocity that the kid walked away still looking at us as if he was questioning our sanity.

We were both pretty quiet in the time it took for him to come back and take our order.

"How are we doing over here?" he asked, still sickly sweet pleasant, but perhaps a tad more reserved when he returned. "Our specialty is our personalized pan pizzas. You can get extra cheese, extra tomato sauce, your choice of toppings - pepperoni, sausage, even anchovies..."

At this point, the wife just put her head in her hands. Remember what I said about french fries? Well, pizza was right up there as well. And, all the toppings he mentioned were high in sodium. And tomato sauce also has a lot of potassium.

"Yes," I said. "Bring me a personalized pan pizza."

"Here we go," said the wife under her breath.

"But, no pepperoni, sausage, or anchovies on mine," I continued. "In fact, you'd better hold the extra cheese. And the extra sauce. In fact, no cheese. No sauce. Oh, and is the crust made with whole wheat? Better not risk it. Better hold the crust too. Right honey?"

The wife was just looking at me like she was thinking about the most painful way she could put me to death.

"Now, that's what I call personalized," I said with a smile, snapping my menu closed.

The kid/waiter was just staring at me agape, unsure of what he should write down.

"Just bring us a couple of burgers, plain, no fries," said the wife. And the kid made a beeline to the kitchen.

Of course, my discomfort with the renal diet has eased some over time. And, on home hemo, the diet restrictions are less oppressive.

Still don't get that many party invitations though.

Hmmm. Makes you wonder, doesn't it?

Thanks for reading. Take care.