I remember this feeling.
The last three years of dialysis, before the transplant, I had a subclavian permacath. But before that, for fifteen years it was the needles.
Every morning I would feel this. Massive anxiety.
There was the upset stomach, my mind going a mile a minute while it runs through every scenario that can happen. Regardless of how many deep breathes were being taken. The mind still ran.
Will there be clots? Will they numb it enough? Will it work alright? Will the needle hit the bottom and hurt or infiltrate even? Etc., etc.
Today, in about an hour, I have the appointment with the surgeon for follow-up.
I know he will say we can start using the graft.
I started having anxiety nightmares about two weeks ago. The kind that carry right over to the morning and hang around all day.
Making me edgy, irritable and just all round unpleasant.
Not helping is the fact that there are several nurses that never saw a graft in the leg.
That means they never put needles in a graft in the leg.
Not feeling good about this.
I hate being the first one that people work on.
It has this implication that when it hurts like hell or they miss, I’m supposed to be understanding and say things like “No. No. It’s okay. We’ll get it in the next needle. It’s a first for us both. Not your fault. You’re doing well.” Which I probably will do in order to attempt to keep us both calm enough to get it done. All of which may not work this time.
I just want them to know what they are doing and do it well so it won’t hurt or freak me out.
So now I will get myself ready for the doctor to give me the news.
Yes. I remember this feeling.