on feeling useful

Blokey is happy.  He is so happy that I even remarked upon it last night.  This was a mistake; less than an hour later he was snarling and swearing at the little people on his computer monitor because his Star Wars: The Old Republic game was going wrong.

*sigh*

I’m wary of writing this (Fate does enjoy being tempted, I’m sure) but it’s a trifle odd.  At the moment Blokey takes his plethora of pills every morning and every evening.  He’s now down to monthly visits to the transplant clinic.  On the face of it, he’s doing remarkably well. Oh, and he can now drink! I don’t just mean alcoholic beverages, but also ANY fluid without us having to worry about fluid retention and toxic overloads.  It’s taken a while to get to the ‘I can drink whatever I want [except cranberry juice – not because of the transplant, but because of the warfarin] whenever I want’ frame of mind, but we have got there.  We’ve been to two weddings in the space of two weeks and he didn’t get sleepy, I didn’t have to prod him awake or nag him about fluid.  We were an ordinary couple enjoying ordinary days out.

He even popped off into work on Tuesday evening (a Bank Holiday over here due to the Jubilee) without grumbling about the forty mile round trip, because he needed to sort out the servers for the folk who are based in other countries.

He will always be ill.  A transplant is only another form of treatment and not a cure; we will always live with the knowledge that his body will eventually reject Our Kidney (although let’s hope Fate doesn’t want this to happen for a good number of years yet) and we are prepared for that as much as we can be.  I will never let his mother proclaim that he’s a) cured and b) no iller than she is ever again.  I will only allow her to say that when she has something terminal, which she no doubt will have, one day (you can’t smoke that many cigarettes and have that sedantry a lifestyle without becoming terminally ill, surely?  Although we all know how unfair Fate can be …)

I suppose I feel a tad redundant.  I’m not having to worry as much as I used to and instead of consoling Blokey in his woeful-ness I’m now having to keep up with the energetic man he’s become.  It feels – essentially – that he’s getting on with his life; he’s continuing with his OU degree, has a potential promotion in the offering at work and looks amazingly healthy compared to this time last year. I need to find my niche in this new dynamic. I’ve spent so many years worrying about Blokey that now I don’t have to worry as much I feel as though I’m floundering around.

See that lion pacing in his cage at the zoo?  That’s me, that is.  I know I want more out of life but I’m not yet sure how to get it, or even if Fate will deem me worthy of having it.

I feel a little bit lost right now.

(Day 233, NO DIALYSIS!!!)

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