I am a wimp. A fool. A terrestrial being with nothing extra about him.
For what seems like an exponential lifetime, I have been a Dialysis patient.
There is no B.D. (before Dialysis) anymore. Its been too long. Too hard. Too infinite.
Childhood, college, the beginning of my career. They all seem like chapters from a book that I checked out from the library ages ago.
All the facets that melded those memories into one cohesive whole: happiness, joy, triumph; they're all just forgotten words now.
But its about to become tremendously worse.
For ages, I've used lidocine to ease my pain. You're right. I'm one of those geniuses of the highest order who receives two needle sticks.
Before two needle sticks.
Excessive? Sure. Redundant? Definately.
But totally, and without a doubt, necessary.
When the lidocaine misses its intended target, the main needle shrieks in terror as it enters my helpless arm.
Every. Single. Time.
You would think any normal human being (i.e. not me) would adjust to this psychologically. Physically. Mentally. Emotionally.
My Fear of needles has become a massively disgusting mass of burden upon my shoulders. It festers there, cowers, whimpers in pain whether a Tech knows their business or not.
Word was given to me on bleach white paper that lidocaine is "not allowed in cases where a buttonwhole access is concerned."
It was highlighted in colorful, mocking orange. As though I would have missed it otherwise.
Chatty Cathy Nurse walked to my side and asked if I had read this.
"Yes," I said as I gathered my crappy possessions. "But I don't believe in it."
As if that would have ended it right there. I could only hope.
She was bounding with verbal, anxious speech. That's actually how she always speaks.
"We had a meeting and that rule is supposed to be followed."
I grabbed my items and shoved the strap over my shoulder, knocking Fear from its perch.
"No lidocaine. No Dialysis. I'll stop if I have to."
There was no emotion in my voice. No waver in my step.
Chatty Cathy Nurse made that sound she always makes when she's not sure how to respond: "Aaah...ohhh..."
I'm sure Happy, Smiley manager will lose those adjectives from her face when she hear this, but Lidocaine has been my only friend in the fight against Fear.
My psyche is held together with second tier Scotch tape and fractured, muddied shoelaces. You take away one of the few friends I have in that Haunting Haven of Hell (TM 2011) and my edge will have been reached.
"I'll stop if I have to."
That isn't an empty threat filled with shallow nonchalance. It is the truth as I know it on this day, the twenty fifth of July, two thousand eleven.