Bloodlines

An artistic expression of Kidney Dialysis

This post is part of the Symposium and this edition’s theme is isolation.

The Soaring Twenties Social Club (STSC) are a collective of creative folk who want to make the internet human again through their own authentic art.

It’s a great pleasure to be part of something real. Especially when a lot of the internet seems hollow these days.

My entry is based on a piece of artwork I created in 2022, called Bloodlines. This post comes in two parts. 1. I’ve written a short poem about my experience of kidney dialysis and 2. a section about the thought process behind the painting, alongside some WIP pics I took as I was painting.

Bloodlines

18 beds and 18 people, a ward full of faces but I feel so alone.

Confined to a sterile bed and an entwinement of tubes.

These confinements amplify my shyness as if the tubes are tied tightly around my throat. Choking me. I cannot speak.

I wince. Eyes-tight-shut. A short, sharp intake of air numbs the pain of the 2-inch needle puncturing deep into my blood vessel.

My left arm is black and blue from the broad needle deep inside my fistula. Vein and artery, amalgamated.

Blood flows strong like the Vistula, the floodgates are open, let the treatment commence.

The bloodlines are keeping me alive. The mechanical kidney, a washing machine for my blood. It’s a miracle of modern medicine.

Fluids are heavily restricted. Urination is minimal. Two-point-five litres of excess water urgently need expelling from my body.

Hidden under a thin, white blanket, 3 layers of clothing, a beanie hat and a hoodie. My blood feels icy. Cold from the inside out, nothing can warm me.

Longing for sleep, but my left arm must remain still or the treatment could fail.

I look around the ward and I see 17 dreary faces. I look into my iPhone screen reflection and see a dreary face looking right back at me.

I unlock my phone with facial recognition and enter a safe haven, my digital sanctuary, away from the stark reality.

It’s easier to hide in a virtual world until the treatment is over. 4 hours tied to a hospital bed is more palatable this way.

Focus on the small screen and I can forget where I am. I get the mental sensation of socialising but my vocal cords remain dormant.

Perpetual scrolling, I laugh at a funny meme inside my mind, and I think I’m smiling, but my expression is vacant. I catch my dull face in the screen reflection once again.

Scrolling through update upon update creates the illusion of connection.

I feel like I have spent quality time with old friends and acquaintances.

Neurons fire in my brain, creating my false reality.

A dopamine hit satiates, but it is never nourishing.

Twitter, Facebook, Gmail, YouTube, LinkedIn, TikTok, Instagram, and then back to Twitter once more.

What am I searching for? I’m in a trance, an involuntary loop. Searching for a connection.

I WhatsApp a friend. Then get annoyed if they reply too often.

What have I become? Reduced to a raw bundle of nerves. Chasing. Reacting. An automaton.

At least this digital chase has made the time fly by. I have 5 minutes left and then my blood is squeaky clean, purified.

For now anyway, in 45 hours, I’ll be back again, for another spin-cycle on the blood-washing machine.

Behind the painting

I painted this self-portrait because I wanted to show a personal, vulnerable side of myself and my Chronic Kidney Disease (CKD) journey. It’s taken from a reference photo that I took during one of my first dialysis sessions at the hospital in 2021.

It was an emotional time, I felt scared, bewildered, exhausted and sad but also relieved to be receiving treatment as it would make me feel better over time. When I got home after the first few sessions, I burst into tears as soon as my wife greeted me at the front door. It was not only exhausting on my body, I felt emotionally spent. Having to commute to Oxford from Swindon for 90 minutes each way, along with enduring the 4-hour dialysis sessions three times per week, was particularly challenging.

I started painting this artwork in January 2022, only six weeks after starting dialysis treatment. With just enough energy to get to the studio amidst the cold winter. I had a strong urge to paint, to express this tough time onto canvas. The large blank canvas intimidated me at first, but the drive to paint was stronger than the fear I felt.

I’m hoping the artwork reveals a sensitive side as an artist, a vulnerable side. Being able to expose the tough times through my art will hopefully uplift others, or at least provoke some kind of emotional reaction that leads to positive action or reflection.

Here are a few work-in-progress photos of Bloodlines