Tethered

Independence Day has an odd ring this year. Reflecting on a life of interdependence.

We are tethered to a machine. It is called the Cycler. Overnight, for ten hours, with plastic tubing from machine to toilet, plastic tubing from stomach port to machine. Bodily waste drained out, peritoneal cavity filled with fluid, left to dwell for ninety minutes, drained out, refilled, four times, machine sometimes buzzing, beeping, clicking, always humming. Larry cannot walk any farther than fifteen feet. Enough to reach the bathroom, not enough to leave the room. A machine to do what healthy kidneys do. Dialysis. It is all miracle and mystery. The process keeps him alive. The cycler and two boxes of solution accompany us for any overnight away from home. Trips require planning, fifteen boxes are sent ahead, delivered, and waiting.

We are tethered to clocks and calendars and record keeping. To bed by 9, awake at 7:00. Home each day by four pm for another exchange of fluids. Monitoring blood pressure, heart rate, taking temperature, recording numbers.  Inventorying supplies, reordering once a month, sterile gauze, face masks, antiseptic solution, mini-caps to close the port, antibiotic for changing the dressing, hand sanitizer, bottles of liquid soap. Placing the order, planning to be home on delivery day, between the hours of 10 and 12. Two monthly appointments for lab work, to receive a shot, stock up on protein supplement, to see the doctor and nutritionist and social worker and nurse. We are tethered to the medical community. They help him stay alive.

We are tethered to each other. No space for independence. Learning interdependence. Working to stay cheerful and optimistic. Tired, always tired. Waiting for the call that would change everything. Tethered to our phones. Always tethered.