bedroom frivolity

The buzzing woke me up last night.  I was dreaming about wondering why my dad didn’t know who Carlos was (when it was pretty obvious; my SiL had put Love, Carlos the Cat … I could see it quite clearly in the email she’d sent him) when suddenly my brain is just filled with buzzing noises.  I discovered Blokey sitting up, bashing his alarm clock and looking  perplexed.

It’s not your alarm, I sleepily mumbled. 

He continued to try to turn his alarm off by taking the battery cover off in an attempt to remove the batteries.  I sat up.

It’s not your alarm, baby! (a bit louder this time.)

Mysteriously, my alarm chirped in three minutes later.  I thought it was his this time, and he thought it was the machine.  For a smattering of seconds I realised it must be Friday.  Why else would my alarm be going off?  Nope, I definitely watched the Big Brother eviction last night … it must be Saturday.

*sigh of relief*

So at six-thirty this morning I was crawling around in the cupboard under the stairs, with my bum in the air and some very unladylike language finding its way out of my mouth.  Yesterday we’d tidied the cupboard. 

I never need to use the manual bags of extraneal, put them towards the back.

Ha. Ha.

Blokey spent the whole of Thursday at the hospital; another day off work.  Fluid in; drain it off.  Repeat copious amounts of times.  All dandy.  The nurses scratch their heads in puzzlement and send him home with instructions to increase the amount of fluid that the machine puts in each time, from 2.2 litres to 2.5 litres.

Again, Ha. Ha.

Thursday night must have been the worst we’d had since Blokey started peritoneal dialysis.  I’m surprised the machine didn’t choke on its own buzzing.  The first two fills/dwells/drains took twice the time they should have done, which means the last two fills/dwells/drains didn’t really have time to dwell, so he couldn’t have dialysed properly. 

He rang the hospital.  They’ve finally agreed to let him borrow another machine for Monday night.  For months they’ve been saying that he obviously just isn’t cut out for PD and for months I’ve been saying maybe it’s the machine.  Oh no.  The machines are never faulty.

It probably isn’t faulty, but it’s a relief that they’re at least giving him the opportunity to rule it out.  And if it does turn out to be the machine?  Oh, angry post will follow!  If it is him then I think Blokey’ll be back on HD pretty soon. And however much I grumble about the PD I’d much rather he was happy about the way he has to keep himself alive.

Oh, and the good news?  He’s been activated on the transplant list.  Huzzah!

(I know you already know from the forum, but I’m going to post this elsewhere and now I can just copy and paste it *grin*)

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2 comments

  1. Blokey was on M/W/F in centre haemo. And it sounds like he hated it? Can you describe (from what he has said to you) what it was like for him?

  2. I think I’ve answered your question (in a roundabout way) in my most recent post. Boredom, manky sandwiches (the best ones go out earlier in the day!), being stuck next to the most annoying person there … He gets on well with the nurses (he fixes their laptops) but they irk him when it appears they’re ignoring him. Oh, and the tellyboxes a) don’t work, and b) are stuck on the same channel at the same volume all session as they’re out of reach and have no remotes. (apparently they’ve got flat screens in storage but no money to get them set-up … and this is supposed to be one of the best hospitals in the UK) …

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