Bob's Blogs

Random Ramblings '18

12/29/2017

Bob Here.

Normally, my written thoughts are a focused conglomeration supporting a central theme. But, for some reason, when the New Year rolls around, I feel the need to unload an accumulation of random ramblings, some having to do with the all-encompassing, far-reaching, and ever-present force in my life (that would be dialysis), and some just about existence in general.

Speaking of existence in general, does anyone else get the feeling that the world has gone bat-crap crazy?

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The Mumbles

6/21/2017

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Bob Here.

Dialysis patients have different means of communication than other members of society.

During my long tenure as an in-center hemodialysis patient (I now do treatments at home), I was witness to some rather unique methods of getting messages across that I'm pretty sure aren't used by any other segment of the population.

Several years ago, a gentleman was a few minutes into his treatment when he discovered that his needles had infiltrated. For those of you blessed members of the "non-dialysis patient club," infiltration occurs when one or both of your needles decide to really mess things up by going through your access vessel and into your surrounding tissue.

This unseemly act causes blood, dialysate, saline, and everything short of the kitchen sink to go into your arm instead of merrily finding its way through your vessel where it belongs.

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Random Ramblings

12/30/2016

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Bob Here

Happy New Year to all as I empty my attic of thoughts, some dialysis-related, some just random ramblings which may show signs of PESD.

(Post-Election Stress Disorder, that is.)

Being on dialysis, I'm all too familiar with very long, very painful processes. But this election season turned out to be the ultimate test of endurance.

For you lucky non-dialysis folks, it was probably akin to having your gums scraped for six months in the dentist's chair.

I honestly think they should scrap all the antiquated forms of torture being used in the field. Waterboarding? Hah, I say. Just strap our adversaries to a chair and force them to watch an ongoing stream of political ads. They'll give up all their secrets, their children, their mother, whatever we want. And in a relatively short amount of time. I promise.

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Company Loves Misery

10/10/2016

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Bob Here

Home dialysis is a very lonely activity, and you know what?

Most home patients wouldn't have it any other way.

If I may be so bold as to project my personal feelings on all my brothers and sisters doing home treatments (don't worry, nothing dirty), I daresay most folks would just as soon not subject our loved ones, or anybody else for that matter, to the monotonous, tedious, humdrum, and frequently nauseating routines in which we partake in order to avoid an early membership in that big kidney-failure group in the sky.

And, more times than not, our isolationist desire works out just fine.

And then (drumroll, please), company arrives.

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Party Flavors

6/29/2016

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Bob Here.

There's really no graceful way to decline something offered to you at a party because said item is not one of the scarce allowable foods on the dialysis diet.

I can say for sure, though, that men and women employ entirely different strategies when confronted with such dietary dilemmas.

Now, the fact that I'm worrying about this tells you that it's an issue with some bite. (Get it? Bite?)

As one traverses this vast world, one comes to realize that there are people who worry about social graces and there are those who don't find it objectionable to wipe their mouths on one's sleeve. Or, for that matter, someone else's sleeve.

My betrothed would gladly testify to my belonging in the latter group.

Okay, it's been a while since I wiped my mouth on someone else's sleeve. But that may be because the wife immediately ensures there is an ample supply of napkins whenever she musters enough courage to be seen with me in public.

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Miss Me Yet?

3/4/2016

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Bob Here.

I remember the day I told the charge nurse in my dialysis center that I had decided to start training to treat at home.

This, of course, meant that, when my training began, I would no longer be a charter member of the regimented M,W,F first shift brigade, and that the in-center staff would no longer be subjected to my childish tomfoolery and misbehavior, which was manifested in direct proportion to the degree of dialysis-level boredom I was feeling on a particular day.

Just a week or so prior to my big decision, that same nurse was over fiddling with my lines during an excruciatingly long treatment.

"Did you ever think about free will?" I asked her.

"What?"

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What, Me Worry?

2/5/2016

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Bob Here.

How often in our lives do we have one of those moments when we say to ourselves, "Gee, if only I had known that earlier?"

You know, like the time you drove around for an hour with your 'Check Engine' light on and ended up with your prized vehicle burning down to a cinder on the side of the road? You end up thinking, gee, if only I had known that's what would happen I would have either taken it to a service station or seen if I could get a good buy on a fire extinguisher.

Not that I know anyone that has happened to. <Ahem>

One of those epiphanies struck me recently when it occurred to me that we worry too much about things that we either a) cannot change, or b) don't really matter anyway.

You have to admit that most of the things that give us pause in this world are not truly worth worrying about.

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This, That, and Another Thing

1/1/2016

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Bob Here.

Happy New Year to all.

Passing along a few random thoughts while wondering whatever happened to Gabe Kaplan.

We can put a man on the moon, but we can't figure a way to dialyze somebody that doesn't involve needles the size of Godzilla's toothpicks?

Travelling while on dialysis never ceases to be an adventure.

It kills me when the airlines say they have a "very full flight." I always thought of "full" as being an absolute. The flight is either full or it isn't. Unless they're seating extra people in the overheads, how can a flight be "very full?"

E-cigarettes? To me, inhaling any foreign substance into your lungs sounds a little crazy. Then again, shoving two one-inch, 15-gauge needles into your own arm five times a week doesn't exactly seem real normal either.

I am going to forget this football season ever took place. So if you start a conversation with something like, "Hey, how about that game last night, huh?" you will now understand my corresponding blank stare.

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She Said, He Didn't

12/4/2015

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Bob Here.

When one is doing in-center hemodialysis, every once in a great while one finds him/herself with some idle time where one can observe the psycho/social dynamics taking place in the room.

Translation: Sometimes you're bored stiff and you stick your nose into other patient's business.

And, let's be honest, it happens a lot more than 'every once in a while.'

Every single three-per-week treatment? That might be a bit of an exaggeration.

Maybe two out of every three weekly sessions?

Now we're getting warm.

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Maybe Next Halloween...

11/6/2015

Bob Here.

It's scary to think about how someone would look if they dressed up as a dialysis patient for Halloween. Isn't it?

I think it's safe to say that kidney failure and dialysis do weird things to a person's body and mind.

I was somewhat prepared for the shape-shifting aspects of this disease after I had a kidney transplant.

At the time, one of the drugs they were using to suppress your immune system (to keep your body from giving the transplanted organ the boot) was prednisone.

Prednisone, for those of you who don't know, is a corticosteroid. It is used to treat a number of ills in addition to preventing rejection. It's an anti-inflammatory, which is really ironic considering some of the side effects.

We'll get to the physical changes that prednisone causes in a minute.

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