Blokey’s work have been brilliant with the fact that he has to partake of haemoD in order to stay alive. Their brilliant-ness comes in the form of turning a blind eye when he leaves an hour earlier than he rightly should, three days a week. In return Blokey rarely has a day off sick (great, innit?!) Many people on haemoD don’t work (often they’re retired, sometimes they’re too ill) and often Blokey has had to remind medical staff that he is able to, and does, work full-time.
HaemoD lasts for four hours (for Blokey – for others it may be slightly less time, or slightly more and is dependent on various factors.) After haemoD it’s not unusual to have to wait ten to fifteen minutes for bleeding to stop, or BP to get back to something resembling normality. Blokey then has a drive home of (approximately) forty minutes (dependent on traffic and weather conditions, and roadworks which tend to shut roads at night.) Let’s add that forty minutes to the four hours and then add on the fifteen minutes recovery time. Now let’s round it up to a nice fat five hours.
Five hours, three times a week. Fifteen hours, not including the time it takes to travel from work to the hospital and ensure that he gets there On Time so that he doesn’t get told off.
You can imagine his annoyance when he gets there, the machines are all prepped, all patients from the previous stint have buggered off home and the nurses are having a good gossipy laughter fest instead of letting people get hooked up in order to live another day.
He mentioned this to his Neph at their tri-monthly bi-yearly quadruple meeting thing. It’s the one thing which really irks him muchly, perhaps because he’s had a busy day at work and just wants his haemoD to be over so that he can be at home, snuggling up with me on the settee.
Still, he only has seven sessions of haemoD left.
At the tri-monthly bi-yearly quadruple meeting thing he said, It’s not really worth me bringing up the sandwich situation with only two weeks to go, is it? To which Neph replied, No. And then continued with, We’re actually reassessing the whole sandwich shebang and are going to stop providing them. They’re costing the dialysis unit fifty thousand smackeroonies a year.
No wonder the NHS has no money.
Blokey received his Post-transplant Dietary Advice sheet at the same meeting. It mentioned all the foodstuff he’ll be able to eat without worrying … Bananas! Nuts! MILK! Vegetables! Fruit! Chocolate! Coffee! Cheeeeeeese! He really needs to dose up on calcium once we’ve had the transplant.
He can’t have his steak the way he likes it (rare – eugh) and he won’t be allowed soft cheeses or Mr. Whippy ice-cream! Forever? I don’t know. But I can see us eating Mr. Whippy ice-cream at the weekend when we go to the seaside. And I suspect that a nicely-rare (eugh) steak will be on the menu at some point in the next eighteen days.
It’s okay, I’m calm.