Hard love.
“Fee, you need to get use to this. Kidney failure isn’t just for Christmas. You can’t cringe every time we come near you with a needle.”
I am quickly learning that my care isn’t going to be delivered with kid gloves or lollipops. It is usually delivered with brut force and a side serving of harden up princess.
Their view is that I need to get use to all the tests. I need to get use to all the needles. Because that is my life now. There is no escaping the stabbing and the poking. It is all part of my new ordinary. And according to my nurses the sooner I get use to it, the better off I will be.
So on Monday I did my best to suck it all in. I walked into the dialysis clinic with confidence. I eye balled my nurses asking them all how they are and proclaimed in a loud voice that I was well. Actually I was very well in deed and not nervous at all, I yelled across the room. Now that was a complete and utter lie. And I am fairly sure that a few of the nurses saw straight through me but decided to play along as they took pity on me and my feeble attempt at pretending that I was suddenly fine with all that they were about to throw at me.
Within ten minutes I was back in my usual horizontal position with a blood pressure cuff on one arm and needles sticking out of the other one. So far I was doing well and keeping strong. It wasn’t until they were pressing down on my recently cut open veins with a cold and hard ultrasound machine that I broke. The pain shooting up my left arm was too much to take. My eyes quickly filled and before I knew it I felt the warm salty drops of my tears rolling down my cheeks. The pretending game was over. I had failed my goal of going through an entire hospital visit without any tears or crying.
But it was at that moment that it all started to make sense. The hard love approach all of a sudden clicked for me when the nurse grabbed my hand, leaned in close and said to me in the softest whisper,
“Fee, well done. You are brave, we all know you are. Keep going.”
Oh, now I get it. As long as I try. As long as I give it all a go. As long as I show that I am there wanting to live and that their efforts and hard work looking after me are worth it, I get their support. I get their care. And I like it this way. It all now makes sense.
Hard love, I get you.