Dialyzing...Not Socializing?

Bob Here

For the last several years, I've been trying to think of a way to blame being on dialysis for a certain condition that has actually affected me for a long time.  It has well pre-dated my starting treatments.

The condition can be described in highly technical and scientific terms, but for the sake of simplicity, I'll just refer to it by its street name.

It's called being...well...antisocial.

Now, understand, I'm not a recluse who sits locked in a closet with fingernails that are three feet long or anything.

But, more and more as I get older, I find myself avoiding certain types of social situations.

Like anything that involves interacting with other people in person.

This development has come along much to the consternation of my wife, who, I daresay is one of the most social people walking on God's green earth.

Put her in the middle of a bunch of strangers and within five minutes she'll know some deep personal facts about every one of them and have a slew of potential new BFF's.

When I'm put with a bunch of people I don't know, I'm checking for the nearest exit door.

My wife could tell you about many instances where we would arrive together at a social function, she would instantly engage with people she had never met before, she would turn around to find me and let me in on some interesting tidbit she had just learned about her new friend, just to find that I had discretely bailed and was nowhere to be found.

Of course, she'll tell you about it with grit teeth, but I promise you’ll get a full description, expletives and all.

Anyway, lately, I've found myself using the fact that I'm on dialysis as a crutch to avoid these opportunities to schmooze with others.

And, on top of that, it's become easier to gear up my excuses now that I'm doing home hemo five days a week.

How's that for looking on the bright side of things?

My top two favorite alibis whenever a potential group interaction arises are:

Well, I don't really feel up to it, or

Nah, think I'm going to set up early for our next treatment.

Recently, however, I got caught in the lie when I had begged off going to a party because I didn't feel good, then a couple of days later we were meeting with my nephrologist and I was effluent in my praise of how great I felt now that I was doing home hemo.

The inconsistency struck me too late, and when I glanced over at my wife, she looked like she was thinking about the most painful way she could put me to death.

I was thinking, oh am I going to pay for this later.

But it's interesting to see how she brings up the subject of getting out among others, when she knows it will meet with a lot of resistance.

Not too long ago, she strategically approached me after one of my favorite sports teams had won a game, knowing full well that this was when I would be most agreeable.

"Hi honey," she bounded up to me, all sunshine and light.  "I have to tell you something."

"Oh yeah?  What?"

"Well...I just want to warn you, it's probably something you're not going to like very much."

"Okay," I said agreeably, still basking in my team's win.  "Fire away."

"No, I mean, you're really not going to like this."

"Did you wreck the car?"

"Oh no.  Nothing like that."

"Well then, what is it?" I asked, my bright mood fading.

"Well...."

"What?  You put the cat in the washing machine?  You threw out my favorite underwear?  You secretly think you're Batman?  What??"

"We have a party we have to go to..."

I just sat there looking at her for a moment.

"When you say 'have to,' what exactly do you mean?"

"It means we have to go."

"What'll happen if we don't?" I asked, with emphasis on the 'we.'

"It's a very important party for a friend of mine and we have to go."

"Well, what day is it?"

"This Saturday."

"Oh, well, I was thinking of setting up early for Sunday's treatment..."

"No, no.  We have plenty of time on Sunday," she said.  "And don't give me any of your crap about not feeling good either.  We don't do treatments on Saturday."

"Well..."

"And, you just told the doctor how great you feel."

"Aw geez..."

"It'll be fun.  And we're leaving about six."

After that, the subject was pretty much closed.  But I had to admit to myself that I was pretty impressed with her strategy.  I mean she didn't even bring up the subject until the last minute, and she was prepared to counter all of my stock, dialysis-related excuses.

So, I spent the next day or so wracking my brain thinking of another way to get out of going.

But my attempts were pretty lame and were instantly shot down.

She was watching TV, when I walked into the room and said, "I think I should have my fistula checked."

She didn't even look up.  "You just had a fistulagram.  Everything is fine."

A little while later, I went back in.  "Have you noticed I've been cramping a lot lately?"

"Forget it."

So, I skulked out again.

The day of the event, I was acting like someone peed in my Cheerios the whole afternoon.

That evening, I was going through a litany of reasons for me getting out of going and they had a strong hint of desperation.

"What if our grandson gets sick and they need us?...My mother might call...Our son might get shipped out...There's a game I want to see...The cat might get a fur ball..."

Finally, she had had enough.  "Knock it off!  We're going!"

Then I was doing my best sulking act.  When it was time to go, she said, "Now we're going and we're going to have fun.  Stop acting like a big baby."

I said, "I'm not acting like a baby.  Now zip up my coat for me and let's go."

She got a little giggle out of that.

I should point out that I've always told her I have no problem with her attending these functions on her own.  But I think her level of insistence that I attend depends on how many of her friends have told her that their husbands are going.

I know some of the other guys don't want to attend either, so it seems like we all ought to have some form of collusion that might get us all out of being tortured.  Of course, we'd have to do it without the wives sensing a conspiracy, no easy task.

So, about the impact of dialysis on this trend of antisocial behavior.

I'd like to sit here and blame it all on the Big D.

The problem being, of course, that I was never much into socializing before I started treatments.

My idea of a big night out was calling out for pizza and catching a WWE special on pay-per-view.

But I do think I've gotten worse since starting dialysis.  I mean, there are truly times when you're just too tired or run down to put out the effort to be social.  And then, of course, there's the time that dialysis takes up, especially with the more frequent cadence of home hemo.

When I was still in-center, I was an antisocial fiend.

Aside from my regular neighbor, who came to be able to understand my single-syllable responses to most queries, I really didn't like talking during treatments.

Occasionally, I would get an attendant who seemed intent on striking up a conversation.

Usually it was someone new, or someone filling in.

In other words, someone who didn't really know any better.

"It's not that I'm not interested in what you're saying," I said once.  "I really am ignoring you."

Later, I recognized that that was a bit rude and apologized, saying that my treatment had me all out of sorts.

And just about any dialysis patient will tell you that there really are times when the idea of social interaction is about as appealing as having your gums scraped.

So, how'm I doing?  Am I doing a good job using a long-term illness to explain away a fundamental part of my personality?

Hmmm...might be something I can bring up at my next party!

Thanks for reading.  I hope all your social situations are good ones.

Take care.