I have written every day (excluding Wednesday’s and Saturday’s) for
Just Jot It January #JusJoJan
2020 and now I come to it:
I write to start my year off because I don’t have a clue what else I’m doing really.
I wonder what’s next for me, what sorts of
might be in my future, these next eleven or twelve months, but do I really want to know?
They say it’s inevitable anyway. Still, I am scared. Not of life in general. No, I’ve learned to be open to it all.
It’s when I’m going along and I get a call. Was I too cocky?
A sudden rising in my blood levels, the kind the nephrologists test for, the kind I’ve learned to watch too, as well as my family members do.
I’ve been at 70-80 or somewhere there about, for over twenty years now. I’ve been stable, no matter whether or not the rest of my life has felt that way.
Now I fear the kind of changes that could come, if that number were to keep rising, rising up above 100 and counting.
It’s an alteration within my blood that the doctors look at. I sit here, listening to a poet reading her poems to me, writing down words and phrases that strike me especially and I think, as she describes her medical history using words: muscles, veins, blood
She refers to her body being explored by Miss Frizzle and her school bus full of curious children and I think of my creatinine.
I can’t touch it, leaving the blood safe inside me, in my veins, but I don’t wish to explore it further. I want to leave it to a twice-a-year thing, no closer than that.
I don’t write poetry like Alana, but I think in terms of it.
I scare myself, hopefully, for no reason. A recheck and it will all be good again, go back down to the level I brag on.
My weekend is slightly ruined though, as I weight. Nothing I can do. Don’t worry too much, I tell myself, others might say. No point anyway.
I think of that girl I was, once so sick, my brain unable to do math. A zero on the test. It was time for dialysis to remove all that toxic sludge from my body.
I am not that girl now, a woman approaching middle age. I want to go out now and experience it all. So grateful for the fact of dialysis, but I run from any thoughts of being stuck to machines multiple times every week.
I want to walk along the Thames, to go back out west, to tackle my
Of course, money is my biggest, but those machines threaten to hold me down.
I feel the mark on my chest where the tube once hung, connecting to tubes that carried my blood to be cleansed. Family stayed by my side, friends sat and we talked. I dreamed of one day visiting Ireland and Prince Edward Island and more with my grandparents, my family, a partner maybe.
Now I want to run from that little girl, into my future, but I know it will all come full circle.
I hear/read about the future of organ donation, of artificial kidneys, but I don’t hold my breath.
I think of lists with my name on them and rising blood levels and I want to sleep.
It’s in the waking that the thoughts come rushing back.
So many changes lately: people in my life leaving, missteps and moves questioned, and now…here I sit and I wonder over that magic number over the weekend.
It will all be okay. It will all be okay. It will, it will.
I don’t tell my brother, one who can best understand the fear that comes creeping back in. He’s on the west coast right now and I don’t want to bother him or disturb the freedom and lack of worries while he’s out there. And so I burden you, blog, with this one, for now.
Breathe Kerry, just breathe.