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Fistulaleakage

Posted May 27 2009 9:41pm
Its amazing how many how many words you can create using a device that simply doesn't want to inhabit my body.

Ok, that's not completely true.

All last week was half and half: one 17 gauge needle for the Fistula, one for the Catheter Succubus.

Everything went fine all five days last week (yeah, I skipped a day yo)

This week, starting with the ever popular Monday, we've arrived at two seventeen gauge needles.

Monday's have become the complete bane of my existence. Because of a flavorful combination of tangy sleep apnea and bittersweet Dialysis, I find myself in bed for fourteen to fifteen hours most weekends.

Then when Monday rolls back into my life, I must arise five hours earlier to perform a radio show no one listens to on a radio station that is at the beginning of the end.

Every Monday transforms my bathroom into a Vomitorium. I don't care if I wake my roommate up because he's a Know-It-All Goon. I take a shower, cleanse myself of the previous twenty minutes and celebrate this accomplishment by vomiting again.

Every Monday. Its always the same. No deviation (except for how many times my skinny little toothpick arm reaches for the Snooze button)

So lets return to the present, shall we?

I don't know which it is, but something likes to fuck with me.

Fate. God. The cast of that awful show "According to Jim." You name it.

I was eight days into my new Foolish Fistula. Up to two seventeen gauge needles now. Very little pain. My body was not so agitated upon arrival. I was pretty calm during needle insertion.

But you see, this cannot last. It never does.

Dialysis sits in a corner, waiting to pounce.

And tonight was his night.

I hadn't seen Him in a while. Maybe he's a fan of "American Idol." Who knows?

He's roughly three foot two, barely ninety pounds and his spine has curved so much he resembles a demented letter "C" from Sesame Street. Streaky green hair. Yellowish skin. A bad case of sores and lesions spread across his body like a blanket. His teeth are all sharp and seemingly filed that way every day of His miserable existence.

He used to toy with me using Cramps. As any Dialysis patient will admit to, Cramps can sometimes push your body so far that you cry out like a torture victim.

It happened the other night to Lovely Petite Patient. As her screams and exclamations of pain increased in volume, so did the uncomfortable pit in my stomach.

I felt for her, because I've been in her very same condition.

One item of note that Dialysis gives you a break on is learning how to avoid Cramps. It all comes down to math and gut instinct about your eating and drinking habits for the preceding week.

Dialysis was squealing with glee, bounding from one counter top to the other, speaking without any spaces.

"LookwhatIdidtoherI'mamazingwithmassivepoweroverallofyouandthere'snothingyoucandoyou're
stuckhereforyearsandyearsandyears."

I crank up "Lost" to sixteen in order to ignore his proclamations. His words all slurred like verbal snakes. His grin never leaves His revolting face.

Tonight was my turn.

As I entered the clinic floor and my nose hair curled at the ever present stench of untreated gout and unwashed ass, I caught a glimpse of Him hiding with the fifteen gauge needles. One of his teeth protruded out a little too far past one of the packaged pain sticks and I knew there could be trouble.

Best when you first learn of his presence just to ignore Him. My God and all that is Holy in Heaven, he despises that. Sometimes you can hear a hissing sound, but often that turns out to be him urinating wherever he pleases.

And mocking me for that lack of ability.

I had Jolly Happy Tech tonight and Chatty Cathy Nurse. My goodness that woman is going to talk for three more years after she passes.

I'm still getting used to the return of Burning Lidocaine. We hadn't spent time together for quite some time.

My first mistake was flinching at the second Lidocaine insertion. I could hear him rummaging his way toward me, stalking me in the closest available cabinet.

That awful staccato laugh echoed in my ears as both needles were inserted peacefully and without incident.

For the next two hours, everything was copacetic. I concentrated on the neck bleeding TV's on the ceiling wondering how anyone can watch "The Insider" on a regular basis. Are people so empty in this country they need to know minute-by-minute bowel functions of Gweneth Paltrow? Thank goodness "Family Guy" was elsewhere on the polluted TV landscape.

In case you're wondering aloud why I wasn't watching a DVD. Its because Fate felt that "Paul Blart: Mall Cop" shouldn't be ingested by my entertainment deprived cells.

I love dopey comedies, so sue me.

For the past two months I have been forbidden to lift weight due to the presence of Foolish Fistula, so both arms resemble classic wooden bats.

This becomes an important fact when it came time for needle removal. Dialysis leaped behind the chair next to me and sounded like he was fondling himself He was so excited.

Needle One. Needle Two. Both exited and performed their duties admirably.

That's when Dialysis attacked.

As I was holding the two slices of gauze in place to clot the bleeding, He bit down with voluminous fury on the upper part of Foolish Fistula.

The pain was revolting. My entire body started to mimic a seizure in order to free his powerful grasp.

The only remaining limbs were flailing, so I darted my right leg up quickly and shot him directly over the chair into Section C. I could hear Him stuggling behind me, trying to laugh it off, but it was no use.

As the pain increased exponentially in my arm, Dialysis was struggling to flip back over to my side of the divider. I could hear Him attempting to grasp onto the side of a prepped Dialysis machine, knocking all the clamps and needles to the floor.

One final smack to the clinic floor and Dialysis was done for the night.

And so was I.

I couldn't raise my arm above my waist as I stood. It felt as though Dialysis had left an invisible yet highly powerful iron clamp on my arm and I couldn't shake it loose.

I decided there was no sense wasting time in the chair, so I completed my usual Dialysis return.

My weight had shrunk to 57.3kg which surprised no one in particular. I decided to take a little stroll to where I last heard Dialysis, intending to kick him again in the groinal area just for fun.

The items were all back in their proper place on the machine and nothing was askew.

That bastard Dialysis had won again.
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