Blokey drove himself to his clinic appointment this morning, so I opted to go along too, just because it’s nice to get out of the house every so often. Okay, I would be most definitely lying if I said that was my only reason for going. A lesser reason was so that I could sit in on the appointment and hear what the lovely doctor said. Why? Call me silly, but I have this far-fetched belief that my husband tends to only hear what he wants to hear.
After the appointment it became apparent that my far-fetched belief is not-so far-fetched after all.
This is what Blokey heard:
Doom doom doom, gloomy gloomy gloom-gloom. Biopsy equals rejection equals back on dialysis. Oh, woe is me.
This is what I heard:
Yes, the creatinine is a worry and yes, we would expect a living donation to not be acting like a cadaveric donation in that respect. Yes, this fluid bubble issue is not an issue and we see it often. Yes, we expect that you will have to have a biopsy. BUT … the creatinine might stabilise at a higher rate because wifey is smaller than Blokey. Biopsy does not equate to us believing there is a definite rejection issue. Kidney is working beautifully and all levels (bar the creatinine) point to this. Blokey, you are looking really well. Smiley smiley smiley.
So, I got the impression that she was advocating a biopsy because she believed it wouldn’t show that Our Kidney is rejecting and would put Blokey’s mind at rest and enable them to throw more of the right anti-rejection drugs in his direction. Obviously if it does show signs of rejection that’s a bonus too because they can work with that. Blokey gets the impression that a biopsy can only ever be Bad News.
This is exhausting. Chivvying your husband along and trying to make him see the positive aspects, whilst worrying about it yourself is a very hard job (and as such I should perhaps charge him the going rate for ‘wifey who puts up with lots’). Sometimes I want to slap him. Sometimes I just want to storm out of the room like a spoilt brat. I could cry for England and come very close to winning a Gold. Mostly I just want to huggle him and make it all go away.
At the weekend we belatedly celebrated his birthday with his immediate family. He was fine all day and as soon as they stepped through the door he plastered his perfected Oh, pity me for I am so miserable and nothing ever goes right for me look onto his face. He was still continuing this in the resturant and when I couldn’t take it anymore I turned to him and whispered, Every time you talk like this it’s a slap in the face for me! and he didn’t talk to me for about five minutes. But then he did and everything was hunky-dory.
I was being honest though. I feel like a failure, with a little help from an apparently defective kidney. When he grumbles about how it’s not working as it should be working (for he has done extensive research into this and knows he is right) he might as well be slapping me in the face, or punching me in the tummy, or … kicking me in my one remaining kidney.
It hurts. Lots. I went through this so that we could attempt to live a better life with NO DIALYSIS!!! and although we’ve achieved the NO DIALYSIS!!! aspect (to date) we still have a long way to go before either of us will be happy that it’s working to its best possible potential and ability. I know we’ll get there, but if there’s a magic pill to help us get there a tad quicker that would be most appreciated …