It had been a while since feeling sick enough to go to the hospital for kidney pain, and I couldn’t help thinking about all the possibilities that lay ahead. I was reviewing my symptoms in my mind and thinking about the full spectrum of what my disease means to my life. The pain had started out as it always does, just a typical throbbing aching inside the back of my body. Deep inside. Because of this illness I know exactly where my kidneys are located within my body. I had also been feeling really run down lately and my skin was not looking as bright as it aught to. The dark circles under my eyes had gotten darker, but now my color just looked sort of “off” and the texture was sort of waxy and bumpy. Still, I didn’t think this was any more serious than any other episode of pain. I assumed that one of the cysts had burst and was making me feel ill.
A few days later I was feeling a bit worse. And now when I licked my lips I noticed a very bitter taste. I thought at first I must have gotten something from my hand onto my lip but the taste didn’t go away and continued to get worse. My brother told me it was probably a cold messing with my sense of taste because I had now developed a cough. But by day three of the bitter taste I was sure it was my actual lips and not my sense of taste because foods tasted fine. I licked my finger after eating something and noticed my hands were bitter. I tasted my arm, and that was bitter too. At this point I began to freak out (on the inside, on the outside I played it cool). I googled the bitter tasting skin in relation to kidney diseases and there it was! Among the first few medical sites was listed my illness, I clicked it, to read that the bitter taste was the toxins being excreted through the skin the taste was from the additional potassium in the sweat.
Did this mean my kidneys were no longer working properly?
I had a grooming appointment on the upper west side. I sucked up my pain and went to work and from there I went to the E.R. at the Veteran’s Hospital.
While on the bus to the hospital I thought about what it would mean for me if they were no longer working. I don’t feel like dying yet. There are things I want to do, however, I must be realistic; some of these goals will never be achieved. I haven’t found a mate, and being alone when sick only makes you feel that much more deeply alone. And let’s be honest here, no one will likely want me as a mate knowing I will probably just die leaving them sad and alone. People don’t like pain so it’s easier to just not get attached to me. I will not have a family or grandchildren to tell stories to about the “good old days.” It crossed my mind the cruel comments people have made about me being sick in the past. As one beau was dumping me he said he’d send me flowers on my deathbed, and told me to enjoy my slow painful death. He decided to dump me in such a cruel manner after his job offered him a transfer to the west coast. A sweetheart before him said taking me to the E.R. was a hassle and he didn’t want to be bothered because it threw off his whole day. I was living with him and for some reason I even thought he loved me. I think, I thought he loved me because we were together when I was diagnosed and he chose to stay with me even though I was sick. He later dumped me for someone healthy, who could have children (it would be extremely dangerous for me to try).
All these thoughts and memories were playing through my mind as I sat in the E.R. getting tests done. They sent me up to get a CTscan and Xrays, they drew several vials of my blood and took urine samples. I was given IVs and admitted over night. The last time I spent the night in a hospital was when I was first diagnosed and had to be med-evaced back to the states from Iraq. This illness ended my military career.
I thought about what it would mean to have to die in a hospital. It didn’t seem that bad. The doctors and nurses are always so nice to me at the VA hospital. One of the nurses even sat and kept me company while I tried to go to sleep, so I wouldn’t be lonely. I thought about it and decided I would rather die in a hospital than in the “comfort” of my home. I wouldn’t have to hear any silly arguing about trivial things, I would be made comfortable and if it hurt too bad I could be given medicine to not hurt anymore. My family wouldn’t have to be inconvenienced by having to care for me. I know that is something former mates probably thought about when deciding not to stay with me. I don’t want to put any strain on anyone.
In the morning they ran my vital signs again and I was told that all my tests were relatively normal. Nothing had changed since the last CTscan or MRI I had done a little over a year ago. I had no signs of a cyst bursting other than the symptoms but still that was most likely the cause of my feeling so ill. The bitter taste to my skin was my body detoxing the garbage from inside the cyst, but the kidneys were still working fine.
I thought about how no one would want to even kiss me because I taste bitter. No one will want to date me if they don’t even want to kiss me, and surely they will not want to marry me, if they don’t even want to date me.
I used to think I was invincible. I never even knew of mortality until I went to Iraq, and I never fully understood my own until I was diagnosed with Polycystic kidneys. Some people are lucky to already have a family of their own before they get sick. I will die alone. With no family no children no grandchildren no one to remember me the way I had hoped to be remembered. But at least I can look forward to being comfortable in the hospital and that’s not too bad actually.
