Chronic illness is all about waiting.
Waiting for appointments, waiting for tests and waiting for results. For me I am waiting to find out if I am in fact even eligible for a kidney transplant.
I’ve been waiting to get on the transplant list, waiting until I start dialysis and now that I have started dialysis, I am still waiting… waiting for a kidney. I literally am waiting for someone to die so that I can live.
Don’t get me wrong, this isn’t a pity party. That is the reality of the situation. The blunt reality, but the reality none the less. Those words, ‘I am literally waiting for someone to die so that I can live;’ that very sentence has kept me in therapy for the past 18 months. All the guilt associated with that sentence has resulted in some very sleepless nights. I will say it another way. I will receive an organ, specifically a kidney from someone when they die and then I will live. It is a lot to absorb isn’t it?
And while I wait for this ‘death’ to happen, while I wait for the ‘match’; I have this robot aka the dialysis keeping me alive. My blood (or rather my toxic blood) is leaving my body going through a machine, getting filtered and then returning back to my body all clean and filtered. I mean I am all for natural medicine-gut-healing-kombucha, organic-kale-chips and hemp-seeds, but they aren’t going to keep me alive. That is the job of modern medicine. Of the robot. Of the dialysis.
And if trying to be a mother, a writer and a dialysis patient isn’t enough to wrap your head around on a daily basis; there is also the whole I am waiting for someone to die so I can live thing going on…