Well, the die officially has been cast: After considerable negotiation (and a bit of whining on my part), we have set the date and time for the operation that will insert a permanent catheter through my midsection and into the peritoneal lining of my abdomen. It's 9 a.m. Tuesday, Nov. 24, and if you'd like to send up a little Thanksgiving prayer about that time I certainly wouldn't oppose it.
My nephrologist, Dr. Attia, assures me that this doesn't mean dialysis will begin right away. But my kidney function continues to deteriorate, he says, and when the time does come he wants the dialysis port to be fully healed and ready for operation.
I think it never actually dawned on me that my recent consultation with Dr. Michael Neuwirth, the surgeon who's going to do the implant procedure, would mean plans were in place to do the operation so soon (see "The Doctor With X-Ray Eyes," Oct. 30). I'm not ready. I don't think I'll ever be ready.
When I got the call from Dr. Attia's office, I was told they wanted to do the operation next week. Whoa, too quick! Besides, I plan to be out of town on business next week. I suggested the week after, but Dr. Neuwirth is on vacation. (Whew.) That pushed the creation of my second belly button back to our current compromise date of Nov. 24.
If I've learned anything over this past year or so of infirmity, it's that the body is nothing more than a housing for our soul and spirit – and not a particularly sturdy one, at that. We spend so many years of our youth protecting it and pampering it, trying to keep it smooth and sleek, yet as we grow older we end up patching holes and replacing parts anyway. But there's something about this catheter that really has me rattled.
I think it's because an appendage sticking out of my gut might make me feel weaker, or sicker, more vulnerable – less whole. I had a very soft and intimate conversation with Karen the other night before we went to bed and suggested as much to her.
She looked me in the eye and said, "That won't matter, Jimmy. It'll just be something different. You'll always be sexy to me." What a magnificent life partner I have.
1 comment:
Jimmy if you are like me the only time you feel like you are really different from everyone else is when the doctor looks at you and says " I don't think you realize how well you are doing for as sick as you are". In that moment you feel very vulnerable, very scary, very or I do not know, but it is the only time I feel like a "sick" person.
I do not have a life threatening ,at least this year, disease. i have Ulcerative colitis with systemic disease that affects my liver, skin, eyes,and joints besides my entire GI system. I have been what i call real sick intermentently over the past 20 years especially, but I do not think of myself as real sick. Except for that occasional doctor I see that does not really know me and is astounded by the fact that I still work and attempt a life. I do not like to even talk about it much. most folks do not understand. Have you felt like people treat you different after they find out? I have. Any way changes are hard especially when it seems so invasive and so....out there. Your support system sounds wonderful! hang on to and get actively involved in other things as soon as you feel able....it will help you feel like a regular person!
nancy
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