Dining with Dialysis

Tonight we attended the annual dialysis patient appreciation dinner.  

Nice things first, to get them out of the way:  Erik is very lucky to have a great team of nurses, trainers, doctors, nutritionists and yes even a social worker.  Everyone was helpful and informative, and the other patients at the dinner of the year were very nice.

That being said.  It was a home dialysis patient appreciation dinner people.

I am surrounded by people who get me and who decided to join in on this blog fun:

Debbie suggested the title "Dancing with Dialysis."  I almost stole it, but let me tell you what there was nothing going on that even remotely resembled dancing.

Laura wanted to know if Erik got to stand up and say "Hi my name is Erik and I'm on dialysis"  which was both a fabulous and valid question.  For a brief moment I thought they were going to make us go around the room and introduce ourselves and I was trying to figure out if I could fake an aneurysm and sneak away to Nick who was on standby in case I needed a fleeing vehicle. 

During a potty break (translation:  I went up to the first floor for fresh air and internet access to check Facebook) I found out that my cousin was working in the pharmacy in the other hospital right down the street.  As I made up all the reasons in my head why I should leave and go visit her, and beg her to sedate me, I saw her.  The social worker.  I had immediate visions of some secret alarm being launched that meant "non supportive spousal abandonment in process, could be armed or drug seeking."  So I smiled and went back to my seat.  

I started the evening with a perfectly respectable plan.  I was just going to be nice and pleasant and keep my mouth shut.  That lasted as long as it took us to walk from the parking garage to the dining room.  As we walked in the room, and before I realized I was talking out loud, I announced "I'm not eating here."  I am not a buffet girl.  Lest you think I'm all kinds of high maintenance I'll have you know I ate it and enjoyed it.  I just like to make dramatic announcements.

The only bad part, really, was that I had worked and talked nonstop all day so I totally forgot to have lunch and was on the verge of collapsing from dehydration when we got there.  I sucked down 3 bottles of water like my life depended on it.  Quite frankly, it may have.  This was in a room full of people who are on very strict fluid intake restrictions.  One person was eyeing my water bottle all longingly and sad like.  I felt like I just walked into an AA meeting with a bar tray full of jello shots.  I really don't like to make people feel bad.  I just like to secretly document ridiculous things they say.

Clearly Erik was feeling better as he provided some entertaining commentary and observations.

1.  Did you bring your notebook to write down comments?  No, duh, give me a little credit.  I have an electronic notepad on my phone.

2.  When we leave we can go eat somewhere.  This was his calm reaction to my irrational announcement as noted above.

3.  Aren't you not supposed to wear white pants yet?  24 years and the man is finally trained.  For the most part.

4.  Do you think they will have karaoke?  One can only dream.

5.  During the get to know your peers questions and prizes time they asked who in the room had been married the longest.  Erik raised his hand and yelled "me."  Can you beat 37 years they asked.  Erik's response?  Oh, no, it only feels that long.  

We willingly sat at a table with strangers - in lieu of sitting at an empty table and completely highlighting my anti social tendencies - and I was reminded that Erik is a nice person and likes to talk to people.  He had our table sharers whole life story and dialysis history before I could even complete my breakdown over the fact that there was no internet service is this basement ball room.

His nurse came over to ask about our supply delivery.  I would have just said "we got it, thanks."  Erik had a full conversation about this and then, and then, told the nurse about the poor delivery guy from Baxter that had to go up a flight of stairs with a landing, a turn, and another flight and he felt bad for him.  THEN he proceeded to relay a story shared by the delivery man, wherein he described in detail some house in Akron where he had to go up two long flights of stairs, make a sharp turn and go up another little flight that ended right smashed up at the door with no extra landing, some long drawn out detailed nonsense like that. 

And guess what happened next?  

Really.  Guess.

Erik's new friend at our table said "hey, that's my house!"  

No lie.  Erik was telling a gossipy story about the lovely lady sitting two seats over from him at our table.  This is my life.  This material just presents itself whether I want to process it or not.  Hands down the best part of the night.  And I didn't need internet service to document this little gem on my electronic notepad.