The Big D.

I'm two weeks into hemodialysis, and it's not getting better. 

The nurses are nice. The people are friendly. But it is a sad, lonely process. 

I'd like to paint a picture for you. I will add as much detail as I can so that I can educate my readers on how dialysis works. 

As I walk into the clinic, I am greeted at the door by a technician. She holds my bags for me while I step on a giant scale. 

My weight is taken and the results print out on a tiny piece of paper. 

The room is full of loud beeps and alarming sounds. They constantly go off. Some for low blood pressure. So for clogged arterial lines. 

Right now, I am placed in the "Covid" room even though I do not have the virus. The clinic is currently too full, so I take the only place they have open. 

As I make my way to the closed off room, I pass by an elderly man. He always says good morning to me. I smile and say hello. He wears a winter hat, sweatshirt and a white blanket. I know how cold he is because the A/C is set to a brisk 68 degrees everyday. And when you have your blood drained out of your body for 3 hours, that's too damn cold. 

I open the door to my closed off room. I sit down in my chair and nurse Tiffany gets to work. 

Every session she does the following:

-takes off my old gauze bandage from my central venous line in my neck. 

-cleans my healing wound with alcohol. 

-cleans all of my line tubing 

-pushes saline into my entrance and exit line

-takes my blood pressure

-hooks my lines up to the machine and starts my treatment 

As I watch a cup and a half of blood leave my body within seconds, I cringe. 

It's terrifying to know how quickly I could bleed out should something go wrong. 

For the next three hours I sit as a machine drains my blood, cleans it, removes some fluid and returns it back. 

For about an hour I read or text. And then the loneliness sets in. 

There's a TV but the volume doesn't work. Around this time I start to shiver. Even with a hat and heavy blanket, it's freezing. 

Around hour 2.5 I start to cramp up. My feet contort into strange shapes and hold there while my muscles seize. It fucking hurts. 

This is also when my blood pressure drops. Too much. 

It makes me feel woozy and nauseous. Nurse Tiffany comes in when my machine alarms her. Unfortunately she has to return some fluid (saline) back to my body. It's the only way to bring my blood pressure back up. 

It defeats the purpose though because I'm trying to lose fluid. Then I remember: this machine is NOT a kidney. 

My kidneys don't work. 

And I NEED A NEW ONE. 

At the end of 3 hours, Tiffany flushes out my lines, re-bandages my neck and checks my bp again. 

I'm usually very hungry, thirsty and tired. 

This is where the real fun begins. 

Since I'm only allowed 32 ounces of fluid, I haven't drank anything. But since I'm dying of thirst, 8 oz feels like nothing. 

I drink it slowly, but it doesn't help. When a person is really thirsty, it becomes an primal need. 

Let me say this: IT IS SO HARD NOT TO DRINK WHEN YOUR BODY SAYS ITS THIRSTY. 

I cannot express this enough. And it breaks my heart that all of my dialysis friends have to experience this. It is by far one of the hardest things to do. It's almost breaking me. 

After I get home and eat, I usually fall asleep sitting up. I try fighting the fatigue but end of losing the battle. 

I wake up feeling lost and disoriented. It's late in the afternoon, and my day is almost over. 

I do this routine every M-W-F now. And to be perfectly honest--it sucks. Big time. 

My friend Kelly is getting tested to see if she's a match for me. However, it's early in the process and there are not guarantees she's the one. So, I'm still looking for potential donors who would step up in the event she doesn't match me. 

If you are interested in donating to me, and have type O blood, call 859-323-2467.