Now that it's almost been two years since I had my right hip replaced, I can't really claim that it's so tragic any longer. It feels good, getting stronger every day, and it's the best decision I ever made (not having pain is such a revelation). So, last night, I took a dance class, and even if I was the elephant in the room, literally, it felt great to race across the room doing that modern jaunt I spent years in high school doing. The body has memory, of this I am convinced. Certain moves, Martha Graham-styles, have stuck with me, even if my mind finds triplets totally and utterly impossible to comprehend.
But what I liked most about the class was the inclusivity. It's a wide open space where you are there moving around as far or as close as you want your body to go. It's a kind of freedom I haven't felt in a long time, an exhilarating kind of joy that's been lost in the pain of my chronic hip failure for far too long, and one that, despite the stiffness in my back today, I'll be happy to continue.
But then my high came crashing down ever-so slightly after my visit with the nephrologist today. The good news? He's convinced that with my creatinine levels coming back down to 80% of normal (115) that the disease is almost in remission. The bad news? The damage the disease caused all those months is causing my kidney filters to leak too much protein through and into my organ. That means I might, depending on the results of yet another 24-hour urine test, have to take medicine for the REST OF MY LIFE.
And I cried. A lot. Because I don't want to take medicine for the rest of my life, not when everything I'm doing is to get better, and no matter what I do, I can't control what the disease has done to my body. And that's the worst thing about life, I think, in general, feeling that no matter what you do, some things will never change. I will always be diseased regardless of how hard I work to feel better.
My body is a bleak house today. Tomorrow, I'm sure, will be a better day.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
My Boy is Ten
My friend Heather took this photo a couple of weekends ago. We went for a walk in the woods. It was a bit cold at first, neither my boy nor ...
-
Let me confess, first of all, that I don't read a lot of short stories. So while I'm a huge supporter of short fiction, I don't... -
So, do you know anyone who'll see this Mel Gibson extravaganza? I probably won't even watch it when it comes to TMN a year from now,...
-
Despite that fact that I'm fully aware that I'm home because I need to rest and, ahem, rest assured I'm doing just that, I have ...
3 comments:
Aw that fucking sucks. No other words for it - fucking sucks. I hate how out of control you feel when your body has other plans. That is good news about the pending remission, though, and you could take lots of heart from that.
But yeah, that fucking sucks. Fucking sucks to infinity.
That sucks. That really sucks.
This whole week sucks.
Well we already talked in person and it's brutal dude. There is always something. I know it gets really really tiring having to be so strong all the time and brace for the next hit. I just hope you know that I'm here for whatever you need. I luvs you Ragdoll!
Post a Comment