This week I had surgery performed on my left arm to create a fistula. What is a fistula? I’m not just talking dirty. Rather a fistula is pretty useful for those doing dialysis. An A/V fistula is created by surgically attaching an artery and a vein together. This makes an access point for dialysis that is safer and more effective than the central lines I have currently.

As you can see in the picture, the incision is fairly large but I was so thrilled my surgeon was able to place the incision in the crook of my elbow. I think it will blend in nicely when it heals. Some people have long scars on their arms from their fistulas and I’m happy I can avoid that. While I think scars are cool, I have plenty already and I’m happy to skip adding more.

It sounds silly because I know these procedures, like the fistula are designed to help me. Each procedure I go through helps keep me alive, which is the ultimate goal. But at the same time, I feel like each procedure gives away some little piece of me. At this point, my body doesn’t even feel like it belongs to me. It is simply a vessel, a failing vessel, that numerous physicians are trying to keep afloat. I just smile, nod, clench my teeth and submit to yet more procedures in hopes of ultimately staying alive long enough to get a kidney transplant.

I don’t know where I have gone. The real me is somewhere deep inside. Trying to find a safe space to chill out until my body returns to normal. I don’t let the real me out much anymore. I can’t handle having her hurt. I can’t manage the emotions she has to contend with. So she is stuck in there, pretending to be the old me. She avoids the drama, the sickness, the pokes, the surgeries, the pain, and the heartache. She is such a small piece of me now. But one day, she will come back.