"I don't mind being alone, but I don't like to feel lonely."
For the past few weeks I've come to the conclusion that I will probably die within the next year or so. I know that sounds as if my Inner Drama Queen is talking, but I've reached this point in a surprisingly rational and unemotional way.
As I've previously written before how peritoneal dialysis is a lifesaver but that it comes with some serious drawbacks. The process itself leeches certain essential things (like protein) from the body even as it removes most of the fluid buildup that my kidneys would handle if they were still functioning. Then there are other side effects that seem particular to my circumstances, such as what feel like hard subcutaneous growths in my calves. What's more, exercising on the treadmill makes me feel as if things are getting worse and not better. Instead of the typical muscle weariness that routine exercise brings, spending 20 minutes on the treadmill now leaves me feeling as if I'm not going to be able to continue walking.
I'd like to mention all of this to my nephrologist this coming Monday, but I've learned to guard against such honesty. She is, after all, bound by law to report potential suicidal red flags. And I do not want to spend 72 hours in a local psych ward as a "reward" for being honest. I'm not sure she would understand that I'm perfectly capable of recognizing suicidal tendencies. These thoughts I'm having a just a logical conclusion given all of the signs I can see.
I could be wrong, of course, but my health isn't getting better. Hell, it's not even maintaining. What's a Gay Boy supposed to do?
Now for Another Hot Guy.
As I've previously written before how peritoneal dialysis is a lifesaver but that it comes with some serious drawbacks. The process itself leeches certain essential things (like protein) from the body even as it removes most of the fluid buildup that my kidneys would handle if they were still functioning. Then there are other side effects that seem particular to my circumstances, such as what feel like hard subcutaneous growths in my calves. What's more, exercising on the treadmill makes me feel as if things are getting worse and not better. Instead of the typical muscle weariness that routine exercise brings, spending 20 minutes on the treadmill now leaves me feeling as if I'm not going to be able to continue walking.
I'd like to mention all of this to my nephrologist this coming Monday, but I've learned to guard against such honesty. She is, after all, bound by law to report potential suicidal red flags. And I do not want to spend 72 hours in a local psych ward as a "reward" for being honest. I'm not sure she would understand that I'm perfectly capable of recognizing suicidal tendencies. These thoughts I'm having a just a logical conclusion given all of the signs I can see.
I could be wrong, of course, but my health isn't getting better. Hell, it's not even maintaining. What's a Gay Boy supposed to do?
Now for Another Hot Guy.