Why is it when you have things to do it all goes wrong? This morning has been tough, even for me. I surprise myself sometimes with how I deal with what I have to go through, today I was being tested, but I don’t like to lose.

After sleeping pretty much most of the day yesterday I woke up this morning to the sound of my alarm expecting to feel refreshed, wishful thinking! Dazed and feeling exhausted, I mean proper exhausted, the kind when breathing even feels difficult. I know why it is, my haemoglobin is low again but this morning I can do without it. I must get our cat Frank to the vet, then I can plug myself in. It’s not my normal way to plan things; I normally plan my day so that I do dialysis first then if I have the energy I’ll do what I need to do in the afternoon. This way there is no pressure on me. If it takes me an hour to connect myself to the machine then fine. But not today, I needed to be on and off my machine in time to pick Frank up. There’s the problem, right there, me. I’ve set myself up to fail right from the start.

After dragging myself out of bed, having a quick shower which I struggle to breathe my way through (laboured breathing can be a sign of anaemia, low iron stores and low haemoglobin, a symptom of kidney failure. Click here to read more on Renal Anaemia) I throw on some clothes and make my way past my dialysis room to grab the cat. Frank gets to the vets on time, I make it back home in one piece and start setting up my machine. Plenty of time to clean my blood, remove excess fluid and catch forty winks before collecting Frank.

I lined my machine, laid out my needles and flushed everything through with saline, my usual routine, nothing different from what I had done two days before. I checked my weight and my blood pressure, programmed the machine and then sat down ready to start needling.  Dave (my fistula) is cleaned and using my fingers I feel for the pulse, the ‘thrill’. It’s buzzing nicely and I line up my needle ready to pop it in. It slides in but I know I haven’t hit the spot as it doesn’t feel easy, it feels resistant so I pull out and try again. I check my angle of the needle, reposition my arm and try again and again and Again. After five minutes I clean my fistula, reload my needle with saline and start over. The last time I dialysed it went in first time, I try to remember my position then, the angle I used but everything appears to be the same. It’s obviously not because another fifteen minutes has passed and I’m still no further forward. In fact I feel I’ve taken ten steps backwards.

I take a break, walk around the kitchen and have a little talk with Dave. ‘Come on, be nice to me please’ I plead with my arm. If anyone was to hear me they’d think I had gone crazy and had someone held hostage under my jumper. I do a few stretches and sit back down. I clean my arm and try a new needle, this usually works. Like muscle memory I think the needles remember! Nope not this time, this time I tried everything I had been taught, the frustration was building with every attempt and I could feel myself getting upset. My arm, which usually doesn’t hurt was starting to hurt, telling me to stop and normally when you get tired, when things hurt you stop, you do something else. But with dialysis you can’t really do that, it needs to be done. Thoughts of what I will need to do if I can’t get my needle in creep in and I resist the temptation to be drawn into putting Plan B into action.

I wouldn’t say I’m stubborn but I am determined and very proud. There was no way I was going to let something that I’ve done almost every other day for the past seven months get the better of me. ‘I can do this’ I tell myself, ‘stop putting so much pressure on yourself, cut yourself some slack’. I reach for the sweets. Being diabetic I have an emergency stash, today was an emergency of a different nature. One rhubarb custard down with a little shuffle of my cushion on which my arm is rested and I go again. Effortlessly the needle slides in, laughing at me as it took its place perfectly in my fistula. The blood released immediately and the colour of my blood filled the long plastic tube attached to the needle. Only forty-five minutes late!!! The relief arrives and Plan B is safely put back in its box.

One down, one to go. For haemodialysis you need to insert two needles, one to take the blood out (done) and one to put the blood back in once it’s been through the machine. I wasn’t in the clear just yet. Clean, position, feel the thrill, line up, insert, Bobs your uncle. The second needle was simple, the way the first was meant to go. The next four hours flew past with no problems, what was all the drama about?!? Now I just need to remember how I did it for next time, wish me luck…