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OMG. I don't know what some of those mean, but if you read ebooks, you're good.
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March 15, 2016 - Moving Day
I know, you're thinking, "Moving Day?? After bragging about living at the shore for almost three years, you're getting out of Dodge?"
Not a chance. I live at the beach in New Hampshire. Where could I go that's better than that?
No, see, we're having our dialysis area painted starting tomorrow, so we had to move our dialysis operation to its temporary home in our basement.
Now, let me just say that if someone had filmed this mini-pilgrimage, it would have to carry the disclaimer, "Don't try this at home."
I'm not a big one for catch phrases, and you know I don't like swearing in my posts, so I would best describe the whole process as a saying that rhymes with "Duster Duck."
The highlight of which was getting the cycler downstairs. The bleeding thing feels like it weighs about a thousand pounds.
My house has an elevator, but here's the catch: it doesn't go to the basement.
So, being the inventive little devils that we are, we loaded the cycler onto a rolling chair and wheeled it over to the elevator on the second floor and sent it down to one.
Easy so far.
But it's a really good thing nobody was watching the two of us carry it the rest of the way down to its new home.
It would have been an education in newly invented swearwords, hernia sounds, and various plays on the phrase, "ooh my aching back."
But a move like this is like a hot dog, if you like the end product, you should never watch it being made.
Anyway, as of now, we're ready to rock and ready to roll in our new dialysis center (see below.)
I know, you're thinking, "Moving Day?? After bragging about living at the shore for almost three years, you're getting out of Dodge?"
Not a chance. I live at the beach in New Hampshire. Where could I go that's better than that?
No, see, we're having our dialysis area painted starting tomorrow, so we had to move our dialysis operation to its temporary home in our basement.
Now, let me just say that if someone had filmed this mini-pilgrimage, it would have to carry the disclaimer, "Don't try this at home."
I'm not a big one for catch phrases, and you know I don't like swearing in my posts, so I would best describe the whole process as a saying that rhymes with "Duster Duck."
The highlight of which was getting the cycler downstairs. The bleeding thing feels like it weighs about a thousand pounds.
My house has an elevator, but here's the catch: it doesn't go to the basement.
So, being the inventive little devils that we are, we loaded the cycler onto a rolling chair and wheeled it over to the elevator on the second floor and sent it down to one.
Easy so far.
But it's a really good thing nobody was watching the two of us carry it the rest of the way down to its new home.
It would have been an education in newly invented swearwords, hernia sounds, and various plays on the phrase, "ooh my aching back."
But a move like this is like a hot dog, if you like the end product, you should never watch it being made.
Anyway, as of now, we're ready to rock and ready to roll in our new dialysis center (see below.)
February 16, 2015 - Holy Me...
Never been much of a churchgoer, me.
But, since Christmas was on a Thursday this past year, it follows that Christmas Eve was on a Wednesday, right?
(Don't worry, this'll get more challenging from there.)
You see, I take Wednesdays as a day off from my home hemodialysis routine. I do five treatments per week and normally take Wednesdays and Saturdays off.
So, since I had Christmas Eve off, I couldn't use my usual excuse of feeling like something the cat dragged in as a reason not to attend Christmas Eve service.
My wife, who regularly attends church to pray for the souls of heathens like me, really wanted me to go, and picked right up on the fact that I didn't have a treatment that day and should be good to go.
"Well..." I said, stalling for time. I'm normally pretty good at thinking on my feet, but this one had me stymied. "I'm still feeling kinda down from yesterday...maybe we can go next year."
Pretty weak.
So, off we went. And I should point out that given my tendency to misbehave in placid settings (like church), it was no small feat of courage on her part to goad me into going. I think she might have considered this too late as right before we left the car, she turned to me and said, "Best behavior."
I said, "As God is my witness."
She just rolled her eyes, no doubt now wondering what on earth she could have been thinking.
Anyway, we got into the front room outside the chapel and I just went moseying on in even though we were a few minutes early.
I turned back and the wife was looking at me as if she expected me to burst into flames.
She was still in the front room, so I walked back.
"Afraid you're going to get hit by lightning if you walk in with me?"
"No," she said tensely. "Well, okay a little. But we stay out here and socialize before we go in."
"Ah," I said. "Going to church and socializing. How could this night get any better?"
She ignored that and went to greet one of her church buddies.
So, I did my best to keep from running out the door and tried to do my duty by being present as she kibitzed with others.
"So Bob," some guy who was a complete stranger said to me. "You look pretty good for a dialysis patient."
Now it was my turn to send daggers my wife's way since she knows I don't like telling everybody and their brother that I'm on dialysis.
"Oh thanks," I said. "The wife's slapping me upside the head to get me here tonight probably added some color to my cheeks."
"Ah ha ha ha..." my wife broke in. "He's a great little kidder, isn't he?"
She then hustled me off while the guy still looked like he was trying to figure out whether I was serious.
I managed to get through the service without getting her banned from ever attending again.
But, in the future, I bet she thinks twice before using my dialysis day off as leverage. Just sayin'.
January 17, 2015 - Ten things you never want to hear in a dialysis center:
1. No, the scale's not broken. (That's really your weight.)
2. Your usual chair's not available.
3. Huh, must have infiltrated.
4. The TV is on the fritz.
5. Have you met our new nurse, Boris?
6. Darn, I left my good glasses at home. So, ready for your stick?
7. Is it supposed to swell up like that?
8. I've never seen phosphorous in double digits before.
9. We're gonna have to run you an extra half hour.
10. Need another saline bag over here.
Can you think of any others?
Sept 19, 2014 - The Mother of All Alarms
After you've been on dialysis for a REALLY long time, you start to think that you've seen it all.
(And, perhaps, know it all, although in my case, this trait was something I was born with.)
But, not so bison breath...
The other day we got an alarm on our home machine that we had never seen before, and despite fighting off the inevitable urge to freak out, I'd say our response was pretty close to panic territory.
Most alarms that take place during a home treatment have the good grace to occur right when you're starting out. The most common ones are for air in one of your lines, or a low venous pressure. And despite sounding somewhat ominous, these are generally correctable without having to call 911.
And they happen with enough frequency that you have the alarm code that pops up on the machine's readout memorized, so you instantly know what is happening and what to do about it without having to page through the operating manual, which, if laid sideways in front of a window would blot out the sun.
This time, we were minding our own business, about in the middle of our treatment and everything seemed to be hunky dory. Then, out of nowhere, the alarm from hell started ringing.
The readout said 720, and, needless to say, neither one of us had ever seen it before. And when I say it rang, I mean it kept on ringing ceaselessly. (Most alarms ring twice and give you a chance to address it before ringing again.) Even our old failsafe, the wonderful 'Mute' button didn't work. This infernal thing just kept on ringing, refusing to be muted.
My wife and I both looked at each other and said, in perfect unison, "What do we do now??" a phrase, by the way, that is rarely good to hear when you're treating at home.
So, we were rifling through the interminable manual and calling NextStage at the same time. Meanwhile the bell continued to ring in our ears.
Our setup is close to a window with a beautiful ocean view, but that also faces out onto our driveway. Among the alternatives we were considering was just giving the machine a little nudge and taking pleasure in watching it splatter out onto the pavement. Hey, at least the bell would stop ringing.
But we were able to resist that urge and went through the phone selections for NextStage, finally reaching a person.
Turns out, a 720 alarm means the door to your machine might not be closed all the way. They told us to push down on the arm, turn the machine off and turn it on again. In the middle of treatment. Didn't sound like a great alternative to me.
But we did it, the alarm went off and we were able to resume our session. I have to admit, though that I heard imaginary bells ringing in my ear for the rest of the day.
Now, I'm sure that I closed the door completely during setup, so we asked our Nextstage savior what would cause the alarm. He said that sometimes the machine might get jarred or shaken and the door might come loose. We told him that the only things that were shaking were us when we got a strange alarm that we couldn't shut off. We still have no idea why this alarm sounded.
Anyway, that's a solution to a 720 alarm that doesn’t involve intentional destruction of your machine.
Live and learn.
After you've been on dialysis for a REALLY long time, you start to think that you've seen it all.
(And, perhaps, know it all, although in my case, this trait was something I was born with.)
But, not so bison breath...
The other day we got an alarm on our home machine that we had never seen before, and despite fighting off the inevitable urge to freak out, I'd say our response was pretty close to panic territory.
Most alarms that take place during a home treatment have the good grace to occur right when you're starting out. The most common ones are for air in one of your lines, or a low venous pressure. And despite sounding somewhat ominous, these are generally correctable without having to call 911.
And they happen with enough frequency that you have the alarm code that pops up on the machine's readout memorized, so you instantly know what is happening and what to do about it without having to page through the operating manual, which, if laid sideways in front of a window would blot out the sun.
This time, we were minding our own business, about in the middle of our treatment and everything seemed to be hunky dory. Then, out of nowhere, the alarm from hell started ringing.
The readout said 720, and, needless to say, neither one of us had ever seen it before. And when I say it rang, I mean it kept on ringing ceaselessly. (Most alarms ring twice and give you a chance to address it before ringing again.) Even our old failsafe, the wonderful 'Mute' button didn't work. This infernal thing just kept on ringing, refusing to be muted.
My wife and I both looked at each other and said, in perfect unison, "What do we do now??" a phrase, by the way, that is rarely good to hear when you're treating at home.
So, we were rifling through the interminable manual and calling NextStage at the same time. Meanwhile the bell continued to ring in our ears.
Our setup is close to a window with a beautiful ocean view, but that also faces out onto our driveway. Among the alternatives we were considering was just giving the machine a little nudge and taking pleasure in watching it splatter out onto the pavement. Hey, at least the bell would stop ringing.
But we were able to resist that urge and went through the phone selections for NextStage, finally reaching a person.
Turns out, a 720 alarm means the door to your machine might not be closed all the way. They told us to push down on the arm, turn the machine off and turn it on again. In the middle of treatment. Didn't sound like a great alternative to me.
But we did it, the alarm went off and we were able to resume our session. I have to admit, though that I heard imaginary bells ringing in my ear for the rest of the day.
Now, I'm sure that I closed the door completely during setup, so we asked our Nextstage savior what would cause the alarm. He said that sometimes the machine might get jarred or shaken and the door might come loose. We told him that the only things that were shaking were us when we got a strange alarm that we couldn't shut off. We still have no idea why this alarm sounded.
Anyway, that's a solution to a 720 alarm that doesn’t involve intentional destruction of your machine.
Live and learn.
July 14, 2014 - Immuno-Personalities
A colleague recently posted a question on a dialysis website about potential changes in personality when you start taking immunosuppressants after a transplant. Having had a transplant myself, I had to be honest and tell her that her fears were well justified.
When I got my transplant, they put me on prednisone. For those of you that don't know, prednisone is a synthetic corticosteroid that is commonly used as a way to suppress the immune systems of people who have had transplants to keep your body from rejecting the organ. Like most immunosuppressants, it has side effects.
When I started taking it, I did everything short of growing hair and fangs and howling at the moon.
The people around me wanted to have me caged. Definite personality change. (Well, ok, I'm a little like that anyway, but it got worse. Seriously.)
The effect was minimized as my body got used to the medicine. Then people only wanted to have me caged around the full moon.
And, heaven forbid you have a rejection episode. One of the treatments is to give you a "pulse," which is an extremely high dose of steroids. Seismic personality shifts and whacko dreams.
One minute, I'd be talking calmly to the nurse, the next I'd be trying to getaway down the fire escape.
Of course, these drugs affect everybody differently, and a lot depends on the dosage. But, I told her that if she woke up and found herself in a cage, there would probably be a logical explanation.
A colleague recently posted a question on a dialysis website about potential changes in personality when you start taking immunosuppressants after a transplant. Having had a transplant myself, I had to be honest and tell her that her fears were well justified.
When I got my transplant, they put me on prednisone. For those of you that don't know, prednisone is a synthetic corticosteroid that is commonly used as a way to suppress the immune systems of people who have had transplants to keep your body from rejecting the organ. Like most immunosuppressants, it has side effects.
When I started taking it, I did everything short of growing hair and fangs and howling at the moon.
The people around me wanted to have me caged. Definite personality change. (Well, ok, I'm a little like that anyway, but it got worse. Seriously.)
The effect was minimized as my body got used to the medicine. Then people only wanted to have me caged around the full moon.
And, heaven forbid you have a rejection episode. One of the treatments is to give you a "pulse," which is an extremely high dose of steroids. Seismic personality shifts and whacko dreams.
One minute, I'd be talking calmly to the nurse, the next I'd be trying to getaway down the fire escape.
Of course, these drugs affect everybody differently, and a lot depends on the dosage. But, I told her that if she woke up and found herself in a cage, there would probably be a logical explanation.
May 14, 2014 - B.P. 101
So, in my younger days, I was asking one of my brilliant doctor buddies about controlling my blood pressure, and, typical stethoscope-brain, he listed off a bunch of medications.
It then became clear to me why some of the most profitable companies in the world manufacture pharmaceuticals.
"Of course," he said, "it's also possible to keep your blood pressure down without medications."
"No kidding? Where do I sign up?" I asked.
He laughed. "It's easy. Here's what you have to do. Maintain your weight, Limit your sodium intake, Exercise for thirty minutes a day, Avoid drinking alcohol, Avoid drinking caffeine, and no smoking."
I said, "You don't get invited to many parties do you?"
He just looked at me quizzically.
Then I asked, "So does this program come with a tunic?"
"How's that again?"
"A tunic, you know. You're basically saying that I have to become a monk."
Now, I was just giving the guy a bit of a hard time because...well because he was a doctor. But his point was that it's really a balancing act if you (like me) have a blood pressure problem and (also like me) detest taking pills.
So over the years, in order to avoid having to take so many pills that Courtney Love would turn up her nose and call me a druggy, I've actually followed most of his advice.
Watched the weight, limited the sodium, kept to my exercise routine, quit drinking, and not smoking.
Wait a minute, you're saying, what about the caffeine??
Well, okay, I chintz on that one, but coffee isn't a habit, it's survival.
Besides, it might be enough to keep me out of monk's school.
So, in my younger days, I was asking one of my brilliant doctor buddies about controlling my blood pressure, and, typical stethoscope-brain, he listed off a bunch of medications.
It then became clear to me why some of the most profitable companies in the world manufacture pharmaceuticals.
"Of course," he said, "it's also possible to keep your blood pressure down without medications."
"No kidding? Where do I sign up?" I asked.
He laughed. "It's easy. Here's what you have to do. Maintain your weight, Limit your sodium intake, Exercise for thirty minutes a day, Avoid drinking alcohol, Avoid drinking caffeine, and no smoking."
I said, "You don't get invited to many parties do you?"
He just looked at me quizzically.
Then I asked, "So does this program come with a tunic?"
"How's that again?"
"A tunic, you know. You're basically saying that I have to become a monk."
Now, I was just giving the guy a bit of a hard time because...well because he was a doctor. But his point was that it's really a balancing act if you (like me) have a blood pressure problem and (also like me) detest taking pills.
So over the years, in order to avoid having to take so many pills that Courtney Love would turn up her nose and call me a druggy, I've actually followed most of his advice.
Watched the weight, limited the sodium, kept to my exercise routine, quit drinking, and not smoking.
Wait a minute, you're saying, what about the caffeine??
Well, okay, I chintz on that one, but coffee isn't a habit, it's survival.
Besides, it might be enough to keep me out of monk's school.
April 15, 2014 - Wind Walking
This just in: Walking into 50 mph gusts of wind is great exercise.
The wife and I found this out the hard way the last couple of days.
As many of you know, we moved to a beachfront home last year. And one of the great joys of living on the ocean is it makes for great walking conditions.
Well, most of the time anyway.
For the last two days winds from the south have been blowing at about 30 mph, with gusts over 50.
So, yesterday, we headed out for a walk as temps were up in the 70's. The initial stage of our jaunt was actually fun, we were walking with the wind. We were really hoofing it and couldn't understand why everyone coming the other way was struggling. We made it to my sister's house about 2.5 miles away. Everything was good.
Then, we headed back.
It was a little bit of a different story. We were really struggling to get any momentum and every once in a while a strong gust would threaten to blow us off our feet. After about a mile, I started playing the Russian Death March in my head.
I'm telling you, if we started rolling on the ground, we might have been blown clear to Maine.
After about two miles, I had enough sand in my eyes and shoes to just about start my own beach.
Then, brilliant old me thought that if I put my arms behind my back and walked hunched over a bit, it would cut down on wind resistance.
"What do you think honey?" I said. "Do I look like one of those speed skaters from Sochi?"
She glanced over. "Maybe," she said. "You also look a little like Groucho Marx."
A while later, I started walking with exaggerated arm swinging with my torso leaning into the wind. "Hey babe," I said. "I think I have a future as a mime."
She ignored that one.
As we got closer to home, one of the beach's big plastic trash bins with a lid was blown over on the sidewalk. Being the good citizen that I am, I walked over to set it upright.
"Look," I said thinking I was oh so clever. "I'll set it up facing the other way. That way it won't blow over again.
So, I pushed it over to the rail, not realizing that I had actually faced the bin opening directly into the wind, and when I let it go, the lid swung over and clonked me right on the head.
My wife looked like she was going to bust.
"Well," I said. "Guess I can cross meteorologist off the list of potential second careers."
"Turn the bin around Einstein," she said. "Then let's get you home before you cause any more damage."
When we got home, we had lactic acid in our legs, half a dune of sand on our persons, and I had a little bump forming on my head.
Pretty eventful for a walk on the beach.
This just in: Walking into 50 mph gusts of wind is great exercise.
The wife and I found this out the hard way the last couple of days.
As many of you know, we moved to a beachfront home last year. And one of the great joys of living on the ocean is it makes for great walking conditions.
Well, most of the time anyway.
For the last two days winds from the south have been blowing at about 30 mph, with gusts over 50.
So, yesterday, we headed out for a walk as temps were up in the 70's. The initial stage of our jaunt was actually fun, we were walking with the wind. We were really hoofing it and couldn't understand why everyone coming the other way was struggling. We made it to my sister's house about 2.5 miles away. Everything was good.
Then, we headed back.
It was a little bit of a different story. We were really struggling to get any momentum and every once in a while a strong gust would threaten to blow us off our feet. After about a mile, I started playing the Russian Death March in my head.
I'm telling you, if we started rolling on the ground, we might have been blown clear to Maine.
After about two miles, I had enough sand in my eyes and shoes to just about start my own beach.
Then, brilliant old me thought that if I put my arms behind my back and walked hunched over a bit, it would cut down on wind resistance.
"What do you think honey?" I said. "Do I look like one of those speed skaters from Sochi?"
She glanced over. "Maybe," she said. "You also look a little like Groucho Marx."
A while later, I started walking with exaggerated arm swinging with my torso leaning into the wind. "Hey babe," I said. "I think I have a future as a mime."
She ignored that one.
As we got closer to home, one of the beach's big plastic trash bins with a lid was blown over on the sidewalk. Being the good citizen that I am, I walked over to set it upright.
"Look," I said thinking I was oh so clever. "I'll set it up facing the other way. That way it won't blow over again.
So, I pushed it over to the rail, not realizing that I had actually faced the bin opening directly into the wind, and when I let it go, the lid swung over and clonked me right on the head.
My wife looked like she was going to bust.
"Well," I said. "Guess I can cross meteorologist off the list of potential second careers."
"Turn the bin around Einstein," she said. "Then let's get you home before you cause any more damage."
When we got home, we had lactic acid in our legs, half a dune of sand on our persons, and I had a little bump forming on my head.
Pretty eventful for a walk on the beach.
March 13, 2014
Happy Kidney Day. Here's a couple of didja knows.
Didja know that 1 in 5 people with high blood pressure have some form of kidney disease? Do what I say on this. (In other words, don't do what I did.) Get it checked out and do whatever your doctor says to get the HBP under control. Treat your kidneys like they're your best friend because, trust me, they are.
Didja know that there are over 120,000 people in the United States alone waiting for an organ transplant. Of those, over 99,000 are awaiting a kidney transplant. I know it's kind of ghoulish to ask people to indicate that they would like their organs donated in case they die, but do it anyway, or I swear I'll come right over there and suck your blood. (Oh, sorry. My ghoul is acting like a vampire today.)
Happy Kidney Day. Here's a couple of didja knows.
Didja know that 1 in 5 people with high blood pressure have some form of kidney disease? Do what I say on this. (In other words, don't do what I did.) Get it checked out and do whatever your doctor says to get the HBP under control. Treat your kidneys like they're your best friend because, trust me, they are.
Didja know that there are over 120,000 people in the United States alone waiting for an organ transplant. Of those, over 99,000 are awaiting a kidney transplant. I know it's kind of ghoulish to ask people to indicate that they would like their organs donated in case they die, but do it anyway, or I swear I'll come right over there and suck your blood. (Oh, sorry. My ghoul is acting like a vampire today.)
February 25, 2014
For those of you doing home hemodialysis, if you ever get concerned because your arterial pressure is dropping during treatment, try this before you call the fire department.
The problem may be a clot in the pressure pod. (Arterial transducer to those more technically oriented among you.)
If the pod appears to have a bubble and it doesn't look as if blood is flowing through, hit stop, unscrew the pod from the machine, wait until the pod fills up, then re-attach it and hit kidney to continue your treatment. Your arterial pressure should quickly return to normal.
This might be one of those learnings not taught during training, but which can save you and your partner from having a coronary when it happens.
For those of you doing home hemodialysis, if you ever get concerned because your arterial pressure is dropping during treatment, try this before you call the fire department.
The problem may be a clot in the pressure pod. (Arterial transducer to those more technically oriented among you.)
If the pod appears to have a bubble and it doesn't look as if blood is flowing through, hit stop, unscrew the pod from the machine, wait until the pod fills up, then re-attach it and hit kidney to continue your treatment. Your arterial pressure should quickly return to normal.
This might be one of those learnings not taught during training, but which can save you and your partner from having a coronary when it happens.
January 27, 2014
So this youngster at the grocery store says to the lady behind the deli counter, "Can you believe Bruno Mars is singing at the Super Bowl?"
And she looked to me for a reaction.
Having never heard of him, I said, "Is he related to Bruno Sammartino?"
The young lady thought about that for a minute.
Then she wrinkled her nose and said, "Who?" and looked at me like I should be sitting off by myself on a park bench somewhere knitting a scarf.
So this youngster at the grocery store says to the lady behind the deli counter, "Can you believe Bruno Mars is singing at the Super Bowl?"
And she looked to me for a reaction.
Having never heard of him, I said, "Is he related to Bruno Sammartino?"
The young lady thought about that for a minute.
Then she wrinkled her nose and said, "Who?" and looked at me like I should be sitting off by myself on a park bench somewhere knitting a scarf.
November 18, 2013 - That's Gross
Sometimes a perfectly normal everyday occurrence can make the light bulb go on about one of life's little realities.
One time, I dropped a little piece of my lunch on the floor, picked it up and just put it back on my plate.
I looked up and my wife was just staring at me.
"Aren't you at least going to clean that off?" she asked.
I thought for a moment. Then I said, "Nah." And popped it in my mouth.
It tasted okay to me, but she just shook her head.
"That's gross," she said.
That little incident go me to thinking.
Among the wide and varied differences between men and women is our definition of what we find rude, crude, disgusting, inedible, and...well, in general...just plain gross.
This thought had come to me early on, but just recently crystallized in my brain.
I remember I took a date to the movie 'Animal House' when it first came out, the scene where John Belushi says, "I'm a zit. Get it??" sent me into hysterics. I was literally doubled over. Then I realized something was wrong. I looked up and my date wasn't laughing at all. She was just looking at me like I had just thrown up on her shoes.
I'll never forget what she said next.
"That's not funny. That's just gross."
I'm pretty sure that was the last date we ever went on.
Later in life, my wife was helping me pack to go on a business trip. I opened my underwear draw and realized that I only had a couple of pair that were clean.
"Uh oh," she said, "I'll have to throw some laundry in."
"No," I said, "don't worry about it, I have plenty here.
Again, the incredulous look.
"For a finance guy, you don't count very well," she said.
"What do you mean?"
"You're going for six days and you have three pairs of underwear."
"Perfect," I said.
"What do you mean perfect?"
I thought it was really simple.
"Three pairs, flipped inside-out, six days. Voila!"
She just looked at me like I was the lowest form of life.
"That's gross," she said.
Of course, I've made it something of a hobby over the years to observe the differences between men and women dialysis patients.
The definitional issue of what's gross and what's completely acceptable is alive and well in the dialysis community as well.
When I first started on the Big D, I sat next to a female patient on occasion and we would pass the normal amount of small talk while we were being treated.
One time, I was about a half hour from my session being over and I had a bit of a seepage issue.
For non-patients, sometimes you get a little bleeding around the needle. It's generally not a big concern as long as the blood flow isn't enough to carry your chair out into the hallway.
"Bob! You're bleeding!!" said my neighbor.
I looked down and my seepage was enough to soak the pad underneath my arm.
"Oh, it's okay. I'm almost done," I said.
Her look was a combination of amazement and disgust.
"You mean, you're just going to leave it like that??" she asked.
"Yeah, the attendants are all pretty busy, and I'll fix it up after the treatment is over," I said, then went back to reading my book.
She muttered her response, but I could still hear it pretty clearly.
"That's gross," she said.
I just had to laugh.
It just goes to show, gross is in the eye of the beholder.
Sometimes a perfectly normal everyday occurrence can make the light bulb go on about one of life's little realities.
One time, I dropped a little piece of my lunch on the floor, picked it up and just put it back on my plate.
I looked up and my wife was just staring at me.
"Aren't you at least going to clean that off?" she asked.
I thought for a moment. Then I said, "Nah." And popped it in my mouth.
It tasted okay to me, but she just shook her head.
"That's gross," she said.
That little incident go me to thinking.
Among the wide and varied differences between men and women is our definition of what we find rude, crude, disgusting, inedible, and...well, in general...just plain gross.
This thought had come to me early on, but just recently crystallized in my brain.
I remember I took a date to the movie 'Animal House' when it first came out, the scene where John Belushi says, "I'm a zit. Get it??" sent me into hysterics. I was literally doubled over. Then I realized something was wrong. I looked up and my date wasn't laughing at all. She was just looking at me like I had just thrown up on her shoes.
I'll never forget what she said next.
"That's not funny. That's just gross."
I'm pretty sure that was the last date we ever went on.
Later in life, my wife was helping me pack to go on a business trip. I opened my underwear draw and realized that I only had a couple of pair that were clean.
"Uh oh," she said, "I'll have to throw some laundry in."
"No," I said, "don't worry about it, I have plenty here.
Again, the incredulous look.
"For a finance guy, you don't count very well," she said.
"What do you mean?"
"You're going for six days and you have three pairs of underwear."
"Perfect," I said.
"What do you mean perfect?"
I thought it was really simple.
"Three pairs, flipped inside-out, six days. Voila!"
She just looked at me like I was the lowest form of life.
"That's gross," she said.
Of course, I've made it something of a hobby over the years to observe the differences between men and women dialysis patients.
The definitional issue of what's gross and what's completely acceptable is alive and well in the dialysis community as well.
When I first started on the Big D, I sat next to a female patient on occasion and we would pass the normal amount of small talk while we were being treated.
One time, I was about a half hour from my session being over and I had a bit of a seepage issue.
For non-patients, sometimes you get a little bleeding around the needle. It's generally not a big concern as long as the blood flow isn't enough to carry your chair out into the hallway.
"Bob! You're bleeding!!" said my neighbor.
I looked down and my seepage was enough to soak the pad underneath my arm.
"Oh, it's okay. I'm almost done," I said.
Her look was a combination of amazement and disgust.
"You mean, you're just going to leave it like that??" she asked.
"Yeah, the attendants are all pretty busy, and I'll fix it up after the treatment is over," I said, then went back to reading my book.
She muttered her response, but I could still hear it pretty clearly.
"That's gross," she said.
I just had to laugh.
It just goes to show, gross is in the eye of the beholder.
October 16, 2013 - Good Sports, Bad Sports, Out of Sorts
Ah yes. It's that time of year when I can be positively ebullient in my joy. Walk around so positive and cheerful that people want to get their blood sugar checked right after shaking my hand.
Oh, it's also that time of year when I can be so miserable to be around that Ebenezer Scrooge would walk an extra mile to avoid me, fearful that I might bring his mood down.
In other words, it's football season.
The people closest to me in my life have told me that during this time of year, my walking mood can swing wildly depending on how my team does.
Some weeks, I look like a model for the happy face icon.
Other weeks, I walk around with a dark cloud over my head that could practically scare the paint off the walls.
Now, those of you who know me know that I'm a big New York Giants fan, which tells you all you need to know about how my moods have been running lately.
As of this writing, the Giants are oh-for-the-season. A rather stark turnaround from a couple of years ago when they won the Super Bowl.
When they won, I was pre-retirement, still working. And I was amazed at how many people hit me up for a raise the following week, apparently trying to take advantage of my good spirits.
Can't really blame them, they figured they'd get it while the gettin was good.
But, here are some examples of the difference in personal interactions when I encounter people nowadays, depending on my team's result the previous weekend.
Passing a stranger on my morning walk.
After a win:
Stranger: "Good morning. How are you today?"
Me: "Absolutely couldn't be better. And how are you this fine morning?"
After a loss:
Stranger: "Good morning. How are you today?"
Me: "What's it to ya? What are you, some kind of mood stalker or something?"
Meeting the mailman outside while doing chores.
After a win:
Mailman: "Here's your mail today sir."
Me: "Oh, hey thanks. You guys are great. Always on time no matter what the weather. Have a fantastic day."
After a loss:
Mailman: "Here's your mail today sir."
Me; "Geez, can't you see that I'm busy here? And you wanna get off my lawn?"
Of course, later on, after calming down some, I feel pretty ashamed of acting up like this, and I start thinking that I take my sports a little too seriously. I always promise myself that I'll do better going forward.
Then, when the game comes on that Sunday, I'll be calm for maybe the first five minutes.
But after that, I'll convert to the same old crazy, irrational lunatic who swears that screaming at the TV makes a difference in the game's outcome.
So, here's hoping the G-Men get their first win soon. Otherwise, the mood police might be sizing me up for a padded room somewhere. Oh boy...
Ah yes. It's that time of year when I can be positively ebullient in my joy. Walk around so positive and cheerful that people want to get their blood sugar checked right after shaking my hand.
Oh, it's also that time of year when I can be so miserable to be around that Ebenezer Scrooge would walk an extra mile to avoid me, fearful that I might bring his mood down.
In other words, it's football season.
The people closest to me in my life have told me that during this time of year, my walking mood can swing wildly depending on how my team does.
Some weeks, I look like a model for the happy face icon.
Other weeks, I walk around with a dark cloud over my head that could practically scare the paint off the walls.
Now, those of you who know me know that I'm a big New York Giants fan, which tells you all you need to know about how my moods have been running lately.
As of this writing, the Giants are oh-for-the-season. A rather stark turnaround from a couple of years ago when they won the Super Bowl.
When they won, I was pre-retirement, still working. And I was amazed at how many people hit me up for a raise the following week, apparently trying to take advantage of my good spirits.
Can't really blame them, they figured they'd get it while the gettin was good.
But, here are some examples of the difference in personal interactions when I encounter people nowadays, depending on my team's result the previous weekend.
Passing a stranger on my morning walk.
After a win:
Stranger: "Good morning. How are you today?"
Me: "Absolutely couldn't be better. And how are you this fine morning?"
After a loss:
Stranger: "Good morning. How are you today?"
Me: "What's it to ya? What are you, some kind of mood stalker or something?"
Meeting the mailman outside while doing chores.
After a win:
Mailman: "Here's your mail today sir."
Me: "Oh, hey thanks. You guys are great. Always on time no matter what the weather. Have a fantastic day."
After a loss:
Mailman: "Here's your mail today sir."
Me; "Geez, can't you see that I'm busy here? And you wanna get off my lawn?"
Of course, later on, after calming down some, I feel pretty ashamed of acting up like this, and I start thinking that I take my sports a little too seriously. I always promise myself that I'll do better going forward.
Then, when the game comes on that Sunday, I'll be calm for maybe the first five minutes.
But after that, I'll convert to the same old crazy, irrational lunatic who swears that screaming at the TV makes a difference in the game's outcome.
So, here's hoping the G-Men get their first win soon. Otherwise, the mood police might be sizing me up for a padded room somewhere. Oh boy...
August 9, 2013 - DIY Dialysis
It seems that whenever a DIY dialysis patient comes along, the people who normally carry out the treatment become a little unnerved.
To set some context, I recently moved out-of-state, an experience that I'm sure will be the subject of many posts in the future.
As you may know, I normally do home dialysis, with my wife and I carrying out my treatments with no intervention from any medical professionals, a scary concept in its own right.
While I was moving, however, my home dialysis machine was in transit somewhere between Dallas, TX and Hampton, NH, an expanse of approximately 1,800 miles. So, I had to have in-center dialysis treatments while waiting for my machine to arrive.
Now, when you do home dialysis you inevitably end up taking care of much of the stuff normally done by the in-center nurses and attendants.
It's like, no medical training whatsoever? No problem. <Gasp>
Anyway, when we got to our new home, I went trucking off to a nearby dialysis center for my treatment. This center didn't have a home program so most of the people weren't familiar with the process.
The male nurse who was going to look over my session seemed like a real solid guy with great experience.
So, I was all prepped, but when he came over to get started, I said, "Oh, by the way, I'm going to put my own needles in."
His reaction was what you would have expected if I had said that I thought he was secretly Abe Lincoln travelling incognito.
He was just staring at me in stunned silence. When he found his voice, he stammered, "Wh...what do you mean?"
I said, "Don't worry. I put my own needles in. I do this five times a week, so it's really not a problem."
He didn't look convinced, but watched in amazement as I "self-cannulated," as we call it in the dialysis world.
"Wow," he said. "That's the first time I've seen a patient do that."
A few hours later, when my session was over and my needles pulled, he was off tending to another patient, so I lifted my gauze to see if the bleeding had stopped and when I saw that it had, I put my own bandages on and got up to leave.
"See ya, thanks for your help today," I hollered over to him.
He came running over as if I had said the place was on fire.
"What? What happened? What's wrong?" he said with a total look of panic.
"Nothing," I said. "Everything's fine. I put my bandages on and I'm ready to go."
I got the "I'm the first earthling seeing a space alien" look one more time.
"Wow," he said again. "That's the first time I've seen a patient do that too."
I just laughed. "Thanks again for all your help today," I said.
"I don't know what you’re thanking me for," he said. "I didn't hardly do anything."
I laughed again and went on my way.
So, it seems even dialysis professionals can be amazed at patients doing DIY Dialysis.
It seems that whenever a DIY dialysis patient comes along, the people who normally carry out the treatment become a little unnerved.
To set some context, I recently moved out-of-state, an experience that I'm sure will be the subject of many posts in the future.
As you may know, I normally do home dialysis, with my wife and I carrying out my treatments with no intervention from any medical professionals, a scary concept in its own right.
While I was moving, however, my home dialysis machine was in transit somewhere between Dallas, TX and Hampton, NH, an expanse of approximately 1,800 miles. So, I had to have in-center dialysis treatments while waiting for my machine to arrive.
Now, when you do home dialysis you inevitably end up taking care of much of the stuff normally done by the in-center nurses and attendants.
It's like, no medical training whatsoever? No problem. <Gasp>
Anyway, when we got to our new home, I went trucking off to a nearby dialysis center for my treatment. This center didn't have a home program so most of the people weren't familiar with the process.
The male nurse who was going to look over my session seemed like a real solid guy with great experience.
So, I was all prepped, but when he came over to get started, I said, "Oh, by the way, I'm going to put my own needles in."
His reaction was what you would have expected if I had said that I thought he was secretly Abe Lincoln travelling incognito.
He was just staring at me in stunned silence. When he found his voice, he stammered, "Wh...what do you mean?"
I said, "Don't worry. I put my own needles in. I do this five times a week, so it's really not a problem."
He didn't look convinced, but watched in amazement as I "self-cannulated," as we call it in the dialysis world.
"Wow," he said. "That's the first time I've seen a patient do that."
A few hours later, when my session was over and my needles pulled, he was off tending to another patient, so I lifted my gauze to see if the bleeding had stopped and when I saw that it had, I put my own bandages on and got up to leave.
"See ya, thanks for your help today," I hollered over to him.
He came running over as if I had said the place was on fire.
"What? What happened? What's wrong?" he said with a total look of panic.
"Nothing," I said. "Everything's fine. I put my bandages on and I'm ready to go."
I got the "I'm the first earthling seeing a space alien" look one more time.
"Wow," he said again. "That's the first time I've seen a patient do that too."
I just laughed. "Thanks again for all your help today," I said.
"I don't know what you’re thanking me for," he said. "I didn't hardly do anything."
I laughed again and went on my way.
So, it seems even dialysis professionals can be amazed at patients doing DIY Dialysis.
July 30, 2013
I'm on a brief hiatus. Going through the torturous exercise known as moving. Once settled into my new abode, I'll start up with my blogs and 'What's New' updates. Thanks for your patience.
July 17, 2013 - Dude, Where's My Car?
I was reading about a guy who ran the New York City marathon, then realized that he forgot where he parked his car, and was stuck with no money, keys, or phone.
I thought, "How dumb is that?"
Then I remembered an incident in my life and I thought, "Be careful where you cast stones, boy."
It was quite a while ago and I was in a job where I had to travel constantly.
I was living in Boston at the time, and my usual week consisted of flying out on Monday, working on the road all week, and flying back in on Friday afternoon.
It got to the point where days, weeks and months all blended together. And most of the times when I came back on Friday, I had the mental capacity of a leafy green vegetable.
So, one time I got back into town and practically crawled through the parking garage to my car.
Except my car wasn't where I had parked it.
I thought, "No. Don't do this to me. Not today."
I stood in one spot for what seemed like an eternity. I'd like to tell you I was thinking about what to do, but, truth be told, I wasn't capable of thinking about anything more complicated than tying my shoe at the time.
Eventually, I resolved myself to the fact that my car had been stolen and I started trucking on back towards the terminal.
I headed to the Mass state police office on the first floor looking like I had been left in the dryer too long.
The trooper at the desk sized me up as I walked in, and when I told him my car had been stolen, he looked doubtful and just grunted an, "uh huh," in response. He asked me where I had parked and the license plate and description of my car.
Then he said, "Do you travel a lot?" I didn't know what that had to do with anything, but I nodded yes.
"Just go have a seat and we'll be right with you," he said.
"No reports to fill out or anything?"
He just nodded toward the chairs in response, so I went and sat down. He went in the back room and I could hear him talking on the radio, but couldn't make out what he was saying.
I waited for a while. The cop was just casually going about his business at the front desk.
I was getting impatient when another trooper came walking in.
"Sir, your car is up on the third floor of the garage," he said to me. "Would you like me to take you there?"
Now, I was really befuddled. "The third floor? But I parked on the second..."
Then it hit me like a ton of bricks. I had gone to the space where I had parked the week before.
"Oh crap," was all I could think of to say.
The officer at the desk looked like he was ready to bust out laughing.
"How did you know?" I asked him.
He just shook his head without looking up. "You just had that look about you," he said.
I didn't ask whether he meant the weary traveller or just clueless in general, since I was taught not to ask a question you didn't want the answer to.
Then I just slunk out of the office, feeling about an inch tall.
That just goes to show, no matter how ridiculous someone's circumstances might be, I've probably been there and done that too.
I was reading about a guy who ran the New York City marathon, then realized that he forgot where he parked his car, and was stuck with no money, keys, or phone.
I thought, "How dumb is that?"
Then I remembered an incident in my life and I thought, "Be careful where you cast stones, boy."
It was quite a while ago and I was in a job where I had to travel constantly.
I was living in Boston at the time, and my usual week consisted of flying out on Monday, working on the road all week, and flying back in on Friday afternoon.
It got to the point where days, weeks and months all blended together. And most of the times when I came back on Friday, I had the mental capacity of a leafy green vegetable.
So, one time I got back into town and practically crawled through the parking garage to my car.
Except my car wasn't where I had parked it.
I thought, "No. Don't do this to me. Not today."
I stood in one spot for what seemed like an eternity. I'd like to tell you I was thinking about what to do, but, truth be told, I wasn't capable of thinking about anything more complicated than tying my shoe at the time.
Eventually, I resolved myself to the fact that my car had been stolen and I started trucking on back towards the terminal.
I headed to the Mass state police office on the first floor looking like I had been left in the dryer too long.
The trooper at the desk sized me up as I walked in, and when I told him my car had been stolen, he looked doubtful and just grunted an, "uh huh," in response. He asked me where I had parked and the license plate and description of my car.
Then he said, "Do you travel a lot?" I didn't know what that had to do with anything, but I nodded yes.
"Just go have a seat and we'll be right with you," he said.
"No reports to fill out or anything?"
He just nodded toward the chairs in response, so I went and sat down. He went in the back room and I could hear him talking on the radio, but couldn't make out what he was saying.
I waited for a while. The cop was just casually going about his business at the front desk.
I was getting impatient when another trooper came walking in.
"Sir, your car is up on the third floor of the garage," he said to me. "Would you like me to take you there?"
Now, I was really befuddled. "The third floor? But I parked on the second..."
Then it hit me like a ton of bricks. I had gone to the space where I had parked the week before.
"Oh crap," was all I could think of to say.
The officer at the desk looked like he was ready to bust out laughing.
"How did you know?" I asked him.
He just shook his head without looking up. "You just had that look about you," he said.
I didn't ask whether he meant the weary traveller or just clueless in general, since I was taught not to ask a question you didn't want the answer to.
Then I just slunk out of the office, feeling about an inch tall.
That just goes to show, no matter how ridiculous someone's circumstances might be, I've probably been there and done that too.
July 10, 2013 - Embarrassing Food Episodes
One of the best aspects of doing home dialysis is that your dietary restrictions are eased.
Come to think of it, that's probably THE best aspect. By far.
Having been on in-center dialysis for seven years before I started home, and going without most of my favorite culinary groups for all that time, I developed some food cravings that could melt an iceberg.
So, aside from now being able to satisfy these hankerings, I've also reduced the possibility of being subject to embarrassing food episodes.
These events usually took the form of living vicariously through people who could eat normally.
This could manifest itself as something fairly innocent, like leering at someone eating a piece of pizza and mumbling, "MMMM, that looks good," to asking overly detailed questions about someone's dining choice.
One time, we were at a family gathering and a relative whom I hadn't seen for a while was digging into a container of french fries smothered in ketchup.
Now, I love love love potatoes in any format, but I could live on french fries and ketchup for years and never complain. Of course, both are no no's for dialysis patients because of high potassium content.
So, I found myself sidling up to her.
"Those look really good," I said.
She smiled, "Oh, do you want some?"
"Oh no. No thank you. Not on my diet."
"Really?" she asked.
"Yeah, dialysis patients have to watch their intake of high potassium foods." This was bordering on too much information, but I was still eyeing her fries.
"Are those cooked crispy or soft?" I asked.
"Um...crispy," she said, shifting in her seat a little.
"Oh yeah," I said dreamily, "That's how I like them too."
She just nodded.
"Are they crispy throughout, or just on the outside?"
"Um...just on the outside. I think I hear someone calling me."
"Oh sure. How about the ketchup? Is it spicy? Like Heinz? I always liked KETCHUP better than CATSUP. You know. Like Hunts."
At this point, she got up to walk away. "I think ketchup and catsup are the same thing, just different names," she said. "See you later."
"Yeah," I said, still calling after her. "I really like crinkle cuts better than the shoestrings. Don't you?"
She just smiled, nodded and quickened her pace.
"Steak fries are pretty good too!" I yelled.
Pretty embarassing.
But, on home hemo, with more frequent treatments, the dietary restrictions are less onerous. And thus, the potential for self embarrassment, much lower.
One of the best aspects of doing home dialysis is that your dietary restrictions are eased.
Come to think of it, that's probably THE best aspect. By far.
Having been on in-center dialysis for seven years before I started home, and going without most of my favorite culinary groups for all that time, I developed some food cravings that could melt an iceberg.
So, aside from now being able to satisfy these hankerings, I've also reduced the possibility of being subject to embarrassing food episodes.
These events usually took the form of living vicariously through people who could eat normally.
This could manifest itself as something fairly innocent, like leering at someone eating a piece of pizza and mumbling, "MMMM, that looks good," to asking overly detailed questions about someone's dining choice.
One time, we were at a family gathering and a relative whom I hadn't seen for a while was digging into a container of french fries smothered in ketchup.
Now, I love love love potatoes in any format, but I could live on french fries and ketchup for years and never complain. Of course, both are no no's for dialysis patients because of high potassium content.
So, I found myself sidling up to her.
"Those look really good," I said.
She smiled, "Oh, do you want some?"
"Oh no. No thank you. Not on my diet."
"Really?" she asked.
"Yeah, dialysis patients have to watch their intake of high potassium foods." This was bordering on too much information, but I was still eyeing her fries.
"Are those cooked crispy or soft?" I asked.
"Um...crispy," she said, shifting in her seat a little.
"Oh yeah," I said dreamily, "That's how I like them too."
She just nodded.
"Are they crispy throughout, or just on the outside?"
"Um...just on the outside. I think I hear someone calling me."
"Oh sure. How about the ketchup? Is it spicy? Like Heinz? I always liked KETCHUP better than CATSUP. You know. Like Hunts."
At this point, she got up to walk away. "I think ketchup and catsup are the same thing, just different names," she said. "See you later."
"Yeah," I said, still calling after her. "I really like crinkle cuts better than the shoestrings. Don't you?"
She just smiled, nodded and quickened her pace.
"Steak fries are pretty good too!" I yelled.
Pretty embarassing.
But, on home hemo, with more frequent treatments, the dietary restrictions are less onerous. And thus, the potential for self embarrassment, much lower.
June 26, 2013 - What Do We Do Now?
There is a lot to be said for doing one's hemodialysis treatments at home.
I've talked about them before, you know. More flexibility in your schedule; eased dietary restrictions; more comfortable environment; etc., etc.
There have been, however, a couple of instances since I started home hemo at the beginning of this year where my wife and I found ourselves looking at each other, uttering a phrase that you really don't want to hear when you're responsible for your own medical treatment.
"What do we do now?"
Hearing that (or saying it) conveys a sense of what could delicately be called helplessness, and if we had to be more truthful, could be called outright, wild-ass, head-for-the-door panic.
Now, there haven't been all that many of these occasions in the last six months, considering that we've decided to take on a very complicated and medically intense process on our own without any help from doctors, nurses, attendants, or EMT's.
But when it has happened, it's a wonder that one or both of us hasn't had to be carted off on a stretcher afterwards.
The most recent example involved my attempt to establish a second "buttonhole" insertion site for my venous needle. Without getting too sticky detail-wise, buttonholes are where you insert the needle in the same place every treatment. It supposedly makes the insertion easier and minimizes the yelps of pain when the needles are going in.
So, I had worked at establishing the site for about a week and was ready to try the buttonhole needle (which isn't as sharp as the regular needle) for the first time.
"Okay, here we go," I said. My wife was sitting next to me watching with a look that was a combination of apprehension and avoiding the urge to run off and hurl.
The needle went in about half way and stopped.
"Hmm, didn't go in all the way," was my brilliant observation. The wife shifted in her seat, angling toward the phone in case she had to call for help.
So, I pulled it out a little bit to try and re-position it. Seemed like a good strategy at the time.
That is, until blood started gushing out of the site, running down my arm and covering the arm of my chair.
So, I shoved the needle back in as far as it would go. The gushing stopped, but the line still wasn't primed and then I was just left sitting there holding the needle but knowing that we couldn't proceed with the treatment.
That's when we looked at each other and both emitted the dreaded phrase at the same time.
"What do we do now?" we said.
Lacking any other solution, we decided to pull the needle out, stop the bleeding and use a regular needle at another site, all of which, believe it or not, worked perfectly.
Amazing what can happen when the panic subsides after hearing that terrible set of words.
There is a lot to be said for doing one's hemodialysis treatments at home.
I've talked about them before, you know. More flexibility in your schedule; eased dietary restrictions; more comfortable environment; etc., etc.
There have been, however, a couple of instances since I started home hemo at the beginning of this year where my wife and I found ourselves looking at each other, uttering a phrase that you really don't want to hear when you're responsible for your own medical treatment.
"What do we do now?"
Hearing that (or saying it) conveys a sense of what could delicately be called helplessness, and if we had to be more truthful, could be called outright, wild-ass, head-for-the-door panic.
Now, there haven't been all that many of these occasions in the last six months, considering that we've decided to take on a very complicated and medically intense process on our own without any help from doctors, nurses, attendants, or EMT's.
But when it has happened, it's a wonder that one or both of us hasn't had to be carted off on a stretcher afterwards.
The most recent example involved my attempt to establish a second "buttonhole" insertion site for my venous needle. Without getting too sticky detail-wise, buttonholes are where you insert the needle in the same place every treatment. It supposedly makes the insertion easier and minimizes the yelps of pain when the needles are going in.
So, I had worked at establishing the site for about a week and was ready to try the buttonhole needle (which isn't as sharp as the regular needle) for the first time.
"Okay, here we go," I said. My wife was sitting next to me watching with a look that was a combination of apprehension and avoiding the urge to run off and hurl.
The needle went in about half way and stopped.
"Hmm, didn't go in all the way," was my brilliant observation. The wife shifted in her seat, angling toward the phone in case she had to call for help.
So, I pulled it out a little bit to try and re-position it. Seemed like a good strategy at the time.
That is, until blood started gushing out of the site, running down my arm and covering the arm of my chair.
So, I shoved the needle back in as far as it would go. The gushing stopped, but the line still wasn't primed and then I was just left sitting there holding the needle but knowing that we couldn't proceed with the treatment.
That's when we looked at each other and both emitted the dreaded phrase at the same time.
"What do we do now?" we said.
Lacking any other solution, we decided to pull the needle out, stop the bleeding and use a regular needle at another site, all of which, believe it or not, worked perfectly.
Amazing what can happen when the panic subsides after hearing that terrible set of words.
June 18, 2013 - Good News From The Lab
Scientists in Pennsylvania implanted a crucial blood vessel into the heart of a six-year-old girl, possibly saving her life.
Other than just being incredibly good news, what's really remarkable about this story is that the blood vessel they used was built in a laboratory.
This is yet more progress towards the ability to grow kidneys, lungs and other organs for transplant in the future.
While scientists say the use of these lab-grown "solid" organs is still five to ten years away, there are more and more instances of the technology helping people right now.
A girl in Peoria, Illinois recently got an experimental windpipe that used a synthetic scaffold covered in stem cells from her own bone marrow.
Other examples include dozens of people thriving with experimental bladders made from their own cells, surgeons using a patient's own cells to repair cartilage in the knee, and burn victims being treated with lab-grown skin.
They've also developed the basis for replacement ears in a lab at Wake Forest University.
(When I mentioned this to the wife, she mumbled something that sounded like, "Think they'll listen any better than the real ones?")
I'll continue to be on the lookout for updates to this technology.
Scientists in Pennsylvania implanted a crucial blood vessel into the heart of a six-year-old girl, possibly saving her life.
Other than just being incredibly good news, what's really remarkable about this story is that the blood vessel they used was built in a laboratory.
This is yet more progress towards the ability to grow kidneys, lungs and other organs for transplant in the future.
While scientists say the use of these lab-grown "solid" organs is still five to ten years away, there are more and more instances of the technology helping people right now.
A girl in Peoria, Illinois recently got an experimental windpipe that used a synthetic scaffold covered in stem cells from her own bone marrow.
Other examples include dozens of people thriving with experimental bladders made from their own cells, surgeons using a patient's own cells to repair cartilage in the knee, and burn victims being treated with lab-grown skin.
They've also developed the basis for replacement ears in a lab at Wake Forest University.
(When I mentioned this to the wife, she mumbled something that sounded like, "Think they'll listen any better than the real ones?")
I'll continue to be on the lookout for updates to this technology.
June 12, 2013 - The Hobgoblin Known as Hemoglobin
One of the many things that your typical dialysis patient obsesses about is their hemoglobin level, something that a non-patient probably isn't even aware exists.
The reason we think about it so much is that when our hemoglobin gets low, which happens frequently, it sucks big time.
(Boring Primer Alert)
You see, this is a problem for people with kidney failure because the kidneys produce a hormone called erythropoietin, which is required for red blood cell production. Hemoglobin is a protein found in red blood cells that helps transport oxygen throughout the body.
So, when your kidneys fail, the whole process goes to crap.
Low red blood cells, or anemia, low hemoglobin, poor oxygen within your cells. And a generally poor attitude toward anything involving movement.
Typically, this condition is counteracted in dialysis patients with injections of Epogen (or Epo), which is the man made form of erythropoietin. Epo can be infused during treatment for in-center patients. Home patients have to give themselves injections.
(Oh boy, another needle! Just what we need.)
Dialysis centers are very careful about the amount of Epo they gave you, first, because two much can also be bad news, and second, because the drug costs about a zillion dollars per ounce.
Recently, my hemoglobin levels were too high, so I was instructed to reduce my Epo dosage for a couple of weeks. At the end of the period, of course, my level plummeted and I basically found out how a used dishrag feels.
It was tiring for me to walk from the den to the utility room, a total expanse of maybe ten feet. I made the mistake of trying to play tennis in my Senior Men's League, and was a useless slug out on the court.
When I reported these symptoms to my in-center contact, they upped my Epo and I was back to my usual energetic self. I felt like Popeye after popping a can.
Of course, it was probably too late to repair my relationship with my tennis doubles partners, who, understandably, tried to subtly avoid teaming with me for a couple of weeks until I proved myself worthy again.
So, patients, if suddenly a simple act like blowing your nose makes you want to lie down for a while to recover, you might want to check your hemoglobin. It goes a long way towards explaining energy levels in dialysis patients.
One of the many things that your typical dialysis patient obsesses about is their hemoglobin level, something that a non-patient probably isn't even aware exists.
The reason we think about it so much is that when our hemoglobin gets low, which happens frequently, it sucks big time.
(Boring Primer Alert)
You see, this is a problem for people with kidney failure because the kidneys produce a hormone called erythropoietin, which is required for red blood cell production. Hemoglobin is a protein found in red blood cells that helps transport oxygen throughout the body.
So, when your kidneys fail, the whole process goes to crap.
Low red blood cells, or anemia, low hemoglobin, poor oxygen within your cells. And a generally poor attitude toward anything involving movement.
Typically, this condition is counteracted in dialysis patients with injections of Epogen (or Epo), which is the man made form of erythropoietin. Epo can be infused during treatment for in-center patients. Home patients have to give themselves injections.
(Oh boy, another needle! Just what we need.)
Dialysis centers are very careful about the amount of Epo they gave you, first, because two much can also be bad news, and second, because the drug costs about a zillion dollars per ounce.
Recently, my hemoglobin levels were too high, so I was instructed to reduce my Epo dosage for a couple of weeks. At the end of the period, of course, my level plummeted and I basically found out how a used dishrag feels.
It was tiring for me to walk from the den to the utility room, a total expanse of maybe ten feet. I made the mistake of trying to play tennis in my Senior Men's League, and was a useless slug out on the court.
When I reported these symptoms to my in-center contact, they upped my Epo and I was back to my usual energetic self. I felt like Popeye after popping a can.
Of course, it was probably too late to repair my relationship with my tennis doubles partners, who, understandably, tried to subtly avoid teaming with me for a couple of weeks until I proved myself worthy again.
So, patients, if suddenly a simple act like blowing your nose makes you want to lie down for a while to recover, you might want to check your hemoglobin. It goes a long way towards explaining energy levels in dialysis patients.
June 8, 2013 - Open Mouth, Insert Foot
So, we're participating in the neighborhood garage sale last week, and this man and woman stop by and start browsing the stuff we had set up in our garage.
"What's this?" she asks, holding up a mounted rolling pin that my wife decided to get rid of.
"It's a rolling pin. Or in other words, a way to ensure the husband here doesn't get out of line," I said, indicating her companion.
They just looked at each other strangely.
"This is my brother," she said after an uncomfortable delay. "My husband just died. He was healthy, then he got sick and died suddenly."
I just stood there quietly while the couple walked away.
"Do your teeth or tongue ever get in the way?" asked my wife.
"Huh?" I said, still a little stunned.
"You know," she said. "When your foot goes plunging in."
Now, I wish I could tell you that this was an isolated incident. But let's just say that foot and mouth disease and I are no strangers to each other.
In the last house we lived in, our neighbors across the alley went walking one day, pushing a baby in a stroller. They were nice folks, both a little on the heavy side, physically.
I was working in my yard and I ran over to see the baby.
"Ah babysitting today, huh?" I said. "Nice way to burn a Saturday. Awww, cute little thing. That's very nice of you to take care of him. Whose child is it anyway? Your brother's? Looks a little like him. He's definitely got his eyes. Gonna be a ruggedly handsome little dude."
They just looked at each other.
"First of all, it's a SHE," the guy says. "And it's OUR baby. Didn't you realize that my wife was pregnant?"
Surprisingly, despite the fact that I get myself in these situations pretty frequently, my ability to respond has not improved measurably over the years.
"I uh...well I...I mean, sure...but I uh..." I stammered.
"Uh oh, think I hear the wife calling me," I said running in the other direction. "You know how it is...Happy Wife, Happy Life heh heh..."
Then I disappeared into the nearest corner.
When I told my wife about it later, she just looked at me and shook her head.
"Well, I was just trying to be nice," I said.
"Next time, try doing it with your mouth shut," she said.
Hmmm. Maybe that's the only cure for this condition...
So, we're participating in the neighborhood garage sale last week, and this man and woman stop by and start browsing the stuff we had set up in our garage.
"What's this?" she asks, holding up a mounted rolling pin that my wife decided to get rid of.
"It's a rolling pin. Or in other words, a way to ensure the husband here doesn't get out of line," I said, indicating her companion.
They just looked at each other strangely.
"This is my brother," she said after an uncomfortable delay. "My husband just died. He was healthy, then he got sick and died suddenly."
I just stood there quietly while the couple walked away.
"Do your teeth or tongue ever get in the way?" asked my wife.
"Huh?" I said, still a little stunned.
"You know," she said. "When your foot goes plunging in."
Now, I wish I could tell you that this was an isolated incident. But let's just say that foot and mouth disease and I are no strangers to each other.
In the last house we lived in, our neighbors across the alley went walking one day, pushing a baby in a stroller. They were nice folks, both a little on the heavy side, physically.
I was working in my yard and I ran over to see the baby.
"Ah babysitting today, huh?" I said. "Nice way to burn a Saturday. Awww, cute little thing. That's very nice of you to take care of him. Whose child is it anyway? Your brother's? Looks a little like him. He's definitely got his eyes. Gonna be a ruggedly handsome little dude."
They just looked at each other.
"First of all, it's a SHE," the guy says. "And it's OUR baby. Didn't you realize that my wife was pregnant?"
Surprisingly, despite the fact that I get myself in these situations pretty frequently, my ability to respond has not improved measurably over the years.
"I uh...well I...I mean, sure...but I uh..." I stammered.
"Uh oh, think I hear the wife calling me," I said running in the other direction. "You know how it is...Happy Wife, Happy Life heh heh..."
Then I disappeared into the nearest corner.
When I told my wife about it later, she just looked at me and shook her head.
"Well, I was just trying to be nice," I said.
"Next time, try doing it with your mouth shut," she said.
Hmmm. Maybe that's the only cure for this condition...
May 22, 2013 - Winging It
"Guess I'll have to wing it..."
There are times when those are not exactly the words you want to be hearing.
Don't get me wrong. I spend 32 years in big business. Despite the public's perception that big businesses do everything based on extensive studies and data, the veritable gut feel still has a huge place in modern business decision making.
So winging it is a valuable business tool that I availed myself of many times in my career.
But, a couple of weeks ago when I was experiencing the pleasure known as a colonoscopy, the anesthesiologist who was putting me under uttered those words just as I was hitting fuzzy territory. She had given me the shot and I was almost out. I was only vaguely conscious of the conversation going on around me.
But my ears perked up instantly, when the doctor said, and I quote, "Guess we'll have to wing it..."
I think my head came up off the pillow too, because she laughed a little and said, "No, don't worry. It has nothing to do with your procedure."
Then she patted my head lightly and a few seconds later, it was lights out.
Personally, I think the phrase should be banned in places like OR's, nuclear power plants, and aboard airplanes.
I mean, even if you're really going to do it, I think we can all agree that we're better off not knowing.
"Guess I'll have to wing it..."
There are times when those are not exactly the words you want to be hearing.
Don't get me wrong. I spend 32 years in big business. Despite the public's perception that big businesses do everything based on extensive studies and data, the veritable gut feel still has a huge place in modern business decision making.
So winging it is a valuable business tool that I availed myself of many times in my career.
But, a couple of weeks ago when I was experiencing the pleasure known as a colonoscopy, the anesthesiologist who was putting me under uttered those words just as I was hitting fuzzy territory. She had given me the shot and I was almost out. I was only vaguely conscious of the conversation going on around me.
But my ears perked up instantly, when the doctor said, and I quote, "Guess we'll have to wing it..."
I think my head came up off the pillow too, because she laughed a little and said, "No, don't worry. It has nothing to do with your procedure."
Then she patted my head lightly and a few seconds later, it was lights out.
Personally, I think the phrase should be banned in places like OR's, nuclear power plants, and aboard airplanes.
I mean, even if you're really going to do it, I think we can all agree that we're better off not knowing.
May 14, 2013 - One of Each
One of the really great aspects of doing home hemo is the easing of your dietary restrictions.
Okay, maybe it's the greatEST aspect.
The theory being, of course, that since you're treating more often (five times per week vs. three when you're in-center) you're less likely to have a dangerous (potentially deadly) overload of potassium, phosphorous, fluid, and/or sodium.
When I first found out about this, all I could think about was diving head first into a big plate of chicken parmesan.
Then washing it down with a pepperoni pizza.
But, I've found myself taking a more measured approach to my new freedom. Let's face it, when you're on such a strict diet for almost seven years, just suddenly getting all loosey goosey is not easy.
I wanted to slowly sample a few things that had been verboten and make sure that they weren't going to cause a seizure.
I found that I was doing okay and wasn't even messing up my labs in a serious way.
It's been nice re-aquainting myself with my favorite foods, but I still have to keep myself from ordering one of each when reading from a menu.
Now, if you'll excuse me, there's a bacon cheeseburger calling my name.
One of the really great aspects of doing home hemo is the easing of your dietary restrictions.
Okay, maybe it's the greatEST aspect.
The theory being, of course, that since you're treating more often (five times per week vs. three when you're in-center) you're less likely to have a dangerous (potentially deadly) overload of potassium, phosphorous, fluid, and/or sodium.
When I first found out about this, all I could think about was diving head first into a big plate of chicken parmesan.
Then washing it down with a pepperoni pizza.
But, I've found myself taking a more measured approach to my new freedom. Let's face it, when you're on such a strict diet for almost seven years, just suddenly getting all loosey goosey is not easy.
I wanted to slowly sample a few things that had been verboten and make sure that they weren't going to cause a seizure.
I found that I was doing okay and wasn't even messing up my labs in a serious way.
It's been nice re-aquainting myself with my favorite foods, but I still have to keep myself from ordering one of each when reading from a menu.
Now, if you'll excuse me, there's a bacon cheeseburger calling my name.
May 8, 2013 - Bad Monday
If whoever is overseeing my health from the Big Upstairs worked in the NFL, surely they'd be getting 15 for piling on for this past Monday.
Of course, there's dialysis. Y'know. Long term, five times a week, no end in sight, blah, blah, blah.
But, the second tier of my misery was the universally-dreaded colonoscopy.
The last one I had was five years ago. It was all clear, so I didn't need another one until now. And since I'm on a transplant list, I can't just slough it off for another year (or three) like I normally would. My records have to stay current for me to stay on the list.
And, all I can say about whoever invented the prep procedure for a colonoscopy is that they had a really sick sense of humor.
From the time between 4 p.m. on Sunday when I started the procedure to 7 a.m. on Monday, I got to know what it feels like to be a waterfall fixture in a fountain.
It was really hard to get a feel for the games I was watching on TV when I had to run to the can every five minutes.
Then, on top of everything else, I came down with a nasty head cold on Monday.
Now that's one type of threesome that truly nobody would want to be a part of!
If whoever is overseeing my health from the Big Upstairs worked in the NFL, surely they'd be getting 15 for piling on for this past Monday.
Of course, there's dialysis. Y'know. Long term, five times a week, no end in sight, blah, blah, blah.
But, the second tier of my misery was the universally-dreaded colonoscopy.
The last one I had was five years ago. It was all clear, so I didn't need another one until now. And since I'm on a transplant list, I can't just slough it off for another year (or three) like I normally would. My records have to stay current for me to stay on the list.
And, all I can say about whoever invented the prep procedure for a colonoscopy is that they had a really sick sense of humor.
From the time between 4 p.m. on Sunday when I started the procedure to 7 a.m. on Monday, I got to know what it feels like to be a waterfall fixture in a fountain.
It was really hard to get a feel for the games I was watching on TV when I had to run to the can every five minutes.
Then, on top of everything else, I came down with a nasty head cold on Monday.
Now that's one type of threesome that truly nobody would want to be a part of!
April 29, 2013 - You Want Me To Do What??
Part of doing home hemo is self-cannulation.
At first, that's just about as horrible as it sounds.
Self-cannulation means that you have to put your own needles in.
When I was first studying up on the possibility of having my treatments at home, I learned that it involved putting your own needles in. I remember saying to the trainer, "You want me to do what??"
As any hemodialysis patient will tell you, the needles we're talking about here are not like the tiny little things they use when you have a blood test.
These are 15-gauge garden hoses. They are an inch long. And you need two every treatment.
It's bad enough when someone else is sticking you with them, but doing it to yourself is a whole new exercise in self-punishment.
Now, you can have your partner do it as well, but my wife, who has been a real stalwart throughout this transition to home treatments, let me know right away that her sticking me was not an option.
So, I gritted my teeth and started doing it myself, all the while doing my best to talk myself into the premise that the benefits of home hemo were worth the ordeal.
But I'm here to tell you that when you do this five times per week, it actually does become routine.
I'm no longer in danger of either hurling or passing out cold when it comes time to insert.
Progress folks. Progress.
Part of doing home hemo is self-cannulation.
At first, that's just about as horrible as it sounds.
Self-cannulation means that you have to put your own needles in.
When I was first studying up on the possibility of having my treatments at home, I learned that it involved putting your own needles in. I remember saying to the trainer, "You want me to do what??"
As any hemodialysis patient will tell you, the needles we're talking about here are not like the tiny little things they use when you have a blood test.
These are 15-gauge garden hoses. They are an inch long. And you need two every treatment.
It's bad enough when someone else is sticking you with them, but doing it to yourself is a whole new exercise in self-punishment.
Now, you can have your partner do it as well, but my wife, who has been a real stalwart throughout this transition to home treatments, let me know right away that her sticking me was not an option.
So, I gritted my teeth and started doing it myself, all the while doing my best to talk myself into the premise that the benefits of home hemo were worth the ordeal.
But I'm here to tell you that when you do this five times per week, it actually does become routine.
I'm no longer in danger of either hurling or passing out cold when it comes time to insert.
Progress folks. Progress.
April 24, 2013
Someone once asked me, "Would you rather go to the dentist or have a dialysis treatment?"
Hmmm. Tough choice.
But, the worst of all worlds would be to have both. On the same day. Ugh.
Couldn't face that eventuality, so I always schedule my dentist appointments on an off day for the Big D.
Like today, for instance.
I normally take Wednesdays and Saturdays as my off days for my five-day per week home hemo regimen.
Today's Wed, but I have to go to the dentist.
In other words, my day off is basically hosed.
But I still think it's better than having both on the same day, don't you?
(Trying to talk myself into this.)
Someone once asked me, "Would you rather go to the dentist or have a dialysis treatment?"
Hmmm. Tough choice.
But, the worst of all worlds would be to have both. On the same day. Ugh.
Couldn't face that eventuality, so I always schedule my dentist appointments on an off day for the Big D.
Like today, for instance.
I normally take Wednesdays and Saturdays as my off days for my five-day per week home hemo regimen.
Today's Wed, but I have to go to the dentist.
In other words, my day off is basically hosed.
But I still think it's better than having both on the same day, don't you?
(Trying to talk myself into this.)
April 20, 2013
Here's a little more information about the bioengineered kidneys developed in the lab.
The technology involves stripping organs of their cells, called decellularization. (Hey nobody ever said scientists had to be real creative with names.)
The process uses a detergent to wash away living tissue, leaving just a network of proteins that retains the complex structure of the blood vessels and other components of the organ.
In addition to the rat kidneys decellularized in the initial research, the group decellularized pig and even human kidneys.
To make the regenerated rat kidneys, human cells were seeded into the blood vessel portions of the organ, and kidney cells from newborn rats were used for the other parts. The kidneys were then put into an incubation chamber for five days, allowing the kidney to grow.
I'm beside myself with excitement over the breakthroughs of this new technique.
So much so that I'm ignoring my newfound urge to rummage through garbage and gorge myself on cheese.
Just kidding about that, but seriously, I'll continue to track these new developments.
I'd be lined up to be a volunteer when it comes time for human experimentation!
Here's a little more information about the bioengineered kidneys developed in the lab.
The technology involves stripping organs of their cells, called decellularization. (Hey nobody ever said scientists had to be real creative with names.)
The process uses a detergent to wash away living tissue, leaving just a network of proteins that retains the complex structure of the blood vessels and other components of the organ.
In addition to the rat kidneys decellularized in the initial research, the group decellularized pig and even human kidneys.
To make the regenerated rat kidneys, human cells were seeded into the blood vessel portions of the organ, and kidney cells from newborn rats were used for the other parts. The kidneys were then put into an incubation chamber for five days, allowing the kidney to grow.
I'm beside myself with excitement over the breakthroughs of this new technique.
So much so that I'm ignoring my newfound urge to rummage through garbage and gorge myself on cheese.
Just kidding about that, but seriously, I'll continue to track these new developments.
I'd be lined up to be a volunteer when it comes time for human experimentation!
April 15, 2013
Happy Tax Day everybody. May all your returns be positive.
Very encouraging news in this morning's paper. Seems some researchers in Mass General Hospital created a functioning rat kidney in the lab.
Now, some of you are out there waiting for the punchline, but no joke, it actually happened.
While it's a ways off, the scientists said the technology may one day lead to the ability to create replacement organs for people with kidney disease.
For all of us long term residents of the transplant list, this is music to our ears.
The researchers made the kidney with donor cells that they managed to make regenerate themselves.
Projecting how they would use this technology on people, a scientist said they may use decellularized pig kidneys and seed them with human cells.
Now, there's all kinds of jokes running through my mind about rolling around in the mud and eating slop out of a trough, but again, I'm trying to stay serious here.
They may be able to take some of your own cells and generate a functioning kidney with no rejection. Again, this is off in the future, but hey, you have to start somewhere.
I'll be sure to track any new developments and update you here.
Happy Tax Day everybody. May all your returns be positive.
Very encouraging news in this morning's paper. Seems some researchers in Mass General Hospital created a functioning rat kidney in the lab.
Now, some of you are out there waiting for the punchline, but no joke, it actually happened.
While it's a ways off, the scientists said the technology may one day lead to the ability to create replacement organs for people with kidney disease.
For all of us long term residents of the transplant list, this is music to our ears.
The researchers made the kidney with donor cells that they managed to make regenerate themselves.
Projecting how they would use this technology on people, a scientist said they may use decellularized pig kidneys and seed them with human cells.
Now, there's all kinds of jokes running through my mind about rolling around in the mud and eating slop out of a trough, but again, I'm trying to stay serious here.
They may be able to take some of your own cells and generate a functioning kidney with no rejection. Again, this is off in the future, but hey, you have to start somewhere.
I'll be sure to track any new developments and update you here.
April 9, 2013
Went out of town over the weekend, and it really made me appreciate the flexibility that home hemo provides.
The wife, bless her heart, got up super early with me to help with my treatment at an ungodly hour on Friday. My flight was mid-morning that day.
Got in Friday afternoon. Took care of some business at my out-of town destination. Flew back on Sunday. Had my treatment at home Sunday afternoon.
While I was away, it was like (dare I say it?) I wasn't even on dialysis. I was away from home, knew I didn't have to treat while I was there, and had total flexibility of what I wanted to do.
Sweet. Really sweet.
I was a little leery about whether home hemo was right for me. But it's looking better.
Went out of town over the weekend, and it really made me appreciate the flexibility that home hemo provides.
The wife, bless her heart, got up super early with me to help with my treatment at an ungodly hour on Friday. My flight was mid-morning that day.
Got in Friday afternoon. Took care of some business at my out-of town destination. Flew back on Sunday. Had my treatment at home Sunday afternoon.
While I was away, it was like (dare I say it?) I wasn't even on dialysis. I was away from home, knew I didn't have to treat while I was there, and had total flexibility of what I wanted to do.
Sweet. Really sweet.
I was a little leery about whether home hemo was right for me. But it's looking better.
March 31, 2013
Worked up a good sweat at the gym this morning.
(I know. Happy Easter to me, right?)
All patients on the Big D know how valuable that can be.
You don't have to be a doctor to know that very drop of sweat is one less drop you have to take off in your next treatment.
Doing home memo, this becomes more important, as the treatments are more frequent. I've found that my exercise routine is a critical part of keeping my fluid under control.
(Obviously, you'll want to check with a physician before increasing your physical activity in any material way.)
I rarely take off more than 0.5 k. I credit this to exercising regularly, and, perhaps just as important, watching my sodium intake.
Let's face it - fluid restriction is one of the most onerous parts of living with dialysis. As a group, we patients generally walk around in a constant state of thirst. Taking in a lot of sodium in your diet makes this worse.
There's a lot written about the effect of sodium on the body, some of it controversial.
But there's no controversy about sodium making you thirsty. (Or in the case of dialysis patients, thirstiER.)
So, watch your sodium intake and if you can sweat off some fluid, all the better. It will lead to gentler treatments.
Worked up a good sweat at the gym this morning.
(I know. Happy Easter to me, right?)
All patients on the Big D know how valuable that can be.
You don't have to be a doctor to know that very drop of sweat is one less drop you have to take off in your next treatment.
Doing home memo, this becomes more important, as the treatments are more frequent. I've found that my exercise routine is a critical part of keeping my fluid under control.
(Obviously, you'll want to check with a physician before increasing your physical activity in any material way.)
I rarely take off more than 0.5 k. I credit this to exercising regularly, and, perhaps just as important, watching my sodium intake.
Let's face it - fluid restriction is one of the most onerous parts of living with dialysis. As a group, we patients generally walk around in a constant state of thirst. Taking in a lot of sodium in your diet makes this worse.
There's a lot written about the effect of sodium on the body, some of it controversial.
But there's no controversy about sodium making you thirsty. (Or in the case of dialysis patients, thirstiER.)
So, watch your sodium intake and if you can sweat off some fluid, all the better. It will lead to gentler treatments.
March 27, 2013
Glorious morning here in TX.
Beautiful, sunshiny day.
Oh, and no dialysis today!!
Since going to home treatments earlier this year, I've been taking Wednesdays and Saturdays off.
So, guess which days of the week are my new favorites?
Glorious morning here in TX.
Beautiful, sunshiny day.
Oh, and no dialysis today!!
Since going to home treatments earlier this year, I've been taking Wednesdays and Saturdays off.
So, guess which days of the week are my new favorites?
March 22, 2013
Quick tip for anyone in the early stages on home memo.
I was told that buttonholes generally bleed less than regular sharp-needle insertion sites.
So, I couldn't figure out why mine were taking twice as long to stop. Figured I must have been hosing it up somehow.
Lo and behold, I was right.
Turns out, I was pressing too hard with the gauze. It was constricting my vessel, and when I let it go to see whether it had stopped - kablooey!
(It didn't actually make that sound, but that's the kind of sound I thought gushing blood would make.)
It took me almost 25 minutes to stop for one of my treatments.
So, I eased up the pressure. Enough to keep the gauze on, but not enough to strangulate my fistula.
Since making that change, it has never taken me longer than 5 minutes to stop, and there's practically no blood on the gauze.
Just wanted to post in case anyone else is having a similar issue.
Quick tip for anyone in the early stages on home memo.
I was told that buttonholes generally bleed less than regular sharp-needle insertion sites.
So, I couldn't figure out why mine were taking twice as long to stop. Figured I must have been hosing it up somehow.
Lo and behold, I was right.
Turns out, I was pressing too hard with the gauze. It was constricting my vessel, and when I let it go to see whether it had stopped - kablooey!
(It didn't actually make that sound, but that's the kind of sound I thought gushing blood would make.)
It took me almost 25 minutes to stop for one of my treatments.
So, I eased up the pressure. Enough to keep the gauze on, but not enough to strangulate my fistula.
Since making that change, it has never taken me longer than 5 minutes to stop, and there's practically no blood on the gauze.
Just wanted to post in case anyone else is having a similar issue.
March 20, 2013
What's New?
Well, this website for one thing.
This is all new to me, so I'll be making changes and adding updates on the fly.
I published my book in 2012, and have been blogging about the challenges of being on dialysis through my blog on WordPress and on the Ihatedialysis website. I wanted to consolidate everything on my own site, and since I'm what could be politely referred to as 'technically challenged," I can't promise perfection, but I'll keep trying.
A lot of changes over the last few years. I started my second stint on dialysis in 2006. My first time was in 1989. I got a kidney transplant from my wonderful mother in 1990. That led to some great years, but the kidney failed and it was back to the Big D for me.
I retired at the beginning of 2011, and started my writing journey.
I'll do my best to keep you up to speed on the lifestyle issues that we dialysis patients have to face down.
You'll notice right away that I take a somewhat irreverent point of view about dialysis. Please don't be taken aback by that, I know that kidney failure is obviously a very serious issue. But, one of the ways I get by is by being able to laugh about my circumstances. Dialysis pervades just about every aspect of a patient's life. Anything that wide-reaching is ripe for a spoof.
Thanks again for visiting. Please tell all your friends about my site and check back frequently.
What's New?
Well, this website for one thing.
This is all new to me, so I'll be making changes and adding updates on the fly.
I published my book in 2012, and have been blogging about the challenges of being on dialysis through my blog on WordPress and on the Ihatedialysis website. I wanted to consolidate everything on my own site, and since I'm what could be politely referred to as 'technically challenged," I can't promise perfection, but I'll keep trying.
A lot of changes over the last few years. I started my second stint on dialysis in 2006. My first time was in 1989. I got a kidney transplant from my wonderful mother in 1990. That led to some great years, but the kidney failed and it was back to the Big D for me.
I retired at the beginning of 2011, and started my writing journey.
I'll do my best to keep you up to speed on the lifestyle issues that we dialysis patients have to face down.
You'll notice right away that I take a somewhat irreverent point of view about dialysis. Please don't be taken aback by that, I know that kidney failure is obviously a very serious issue. But, one of the ways I get by is by being able to laugh about my circumstances. Dialysis pervades just about every aspect of a patient's life. Anything that wide-reaching is ripe for a spoof.
Thanks again for visiting. Please tell all your friends about my site and check back frequently.