I am a beauty. I am a beast. Dialysis can do that to you. Dialysis is tough. It is not for the faint of heart. We are warriors in many ways.
"I have to use the BATHROOM. NOW!! For the love of God and all that is holy P U L E E Z, let m off so I can use the bathroom!" I can still remember the man's screams. He has been on dialysis for about 3 hours. I am doing a treatment in-center this time. He sits across the room. He is angry. He is lashing out at the nurses, the patient care technicians, the other patients. He is angry at having to sit in the chair for 4 hours every Monday, Wednesday and Friday. He is angry that he cannot move his arm or the 2 needles that are pulling blood out of him and pushing it back into him will become dislodged in some way spewing arterial blood everywhere. Its happened before. It is not pretty. His back aches, he is hungry yet cannot eat or drink anything while there. He is chastised by a nurse for having a cough drop in his mouth and told to spit it out. He is bored as he cannot read (can't hold the books), cannot use his laptop or phone -- "not allowed" they say. When he needs to use the bathroom he has to wait for someone to come and temporarily disconnect him from the machine. They don't like to do it, so they delay in hopes they can make him wait until the end of his treatment. He is cold. He wears sweats, knit cap, gloves and a blanket. He is still cold. His wife is not allowed to visit or even sit next to him while he does his treatment. He tries to sleep, but cannot. There are 24 patients in this big room right along with him. Alarms all around sound off, like a chorus of machines searching for help. The nurses work at the computer, work at the supply station. They chat with one another. They ignore the machines. Most of the patients sleep. They all huddle beneath blankets and mittens and hats. Some listen to music or TV by headphones. They are all quiet until this man's screams break through the lull.
He is angry because his muscles are cramping. He is angry at losing his job, his home, his friends, his economic status and a decent life. He hates the world and everything in it. He cannot escape this place. It is part of his life day in and day out. Day after day. Week after week. Month after month. If lucky enough, year after year.
For the rest of his life.
He acts like a beast. He snaps with snide remarks. He is rude. He is hateful. He is mean, arrogant and testy. He swears now and then but is sure to belittle the nurses that try to care for him. He is a beast.
By the time he slowly walks to his car after his treatment he notes he left home 5 1/2 hours earlier. Another 20 minutes to get home and the day is virtually gone. Home. Snack. Bed. Sleep. Ah, blissful sleep. He chooses an apple with a teaspoon of peanut butter. Can't have bananas. Can't have yogurt. Can't have nuts or crackers. Can't have more than a few ounces to drink so he chooses some ice water. None of it tastes good. He eats anyway knowing he must. He crawls on to his bed and sleep devours him. The beast. The beastly beast.
By morning he feels like a new person. He has a piece of toast and a hard boiled egg for breakfast. Can't have bacon, or cereal, or pancakes or biscuits and gravy. "Not allowed" they say. But he feels so much better. He mows the lawn. He sits on the deck and soaks in the sun while he reads a book. He checks his email. He envelops his wife with a tender hug and a sweet kiss. He tells her kind things and helps her around the house. He sings to the music blasting the air. He watches his kids play in the small pool. He jumps in splashing them with water.. He tells jokes. He checks the oil and fluids in the cars and tinkers around in the garage. He feels thankful. He feels hopeful. He feels content, happy. He feels beautiful. He feels like a beauty.
While he watches the sun set, a small droop in his face appears. Tomorrow is another dialysis day. He feels anxious, nervous. He does not want to go. It has been a good day today. A happy day.
Many of us are both Beauty and the Beast. Can you love us all the same?
Blessings,
Amy
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