Saturday, October 31, 2009
Blood Sucked from my Neck--the Perfect Halloween Experience
My friend Chris drove me to the Kaiser facilty on Sunset Boulevard, across the street from the huge Scientology complex at L. Ron Hubbard Street--the humor did not escape us. I arrived in the waiting room around 7:30, and Rachel, the sweet, cute, attentive nurse who took care of me all day while I was in pre- and post-op, took me to the cardiac catherization unit at about 8. By 9 I was drugged and in the OR. Dr. Phan, who has been my cardiologist for many years, was my surgeon.
It's so funny how doctors relay important information to patients when they're drugged. Dr. Phan told me that, if a stent was placed, I would have to wait at least six months to a year to have a kidney transplant, since I would have to be on blood thinners--and so could not have surgery--for at least that long. No one had ever told me that before.
The angiogram went fine, unlike the one in November of 2006 when I was not sufficiently sedated. I was in a relalxed, half-sleep, half-waking state when Dr. Phan began with, "I have some bad new for you." He told me that the stent that had been placed in 2006 was occluded, that another stent could not be placed, and that he would consult with his colleagues about doing bypass.
In recovery, I drifted from tears to sleep and back again. I don't think anyone noticed that I had been crying. It's difficult for healthy people to understand this, but it's not the bad news that's so hard to take. I've been receiving bad news from doctors since I was 13 when I was diagnosed with Type I diabetes. Every time I go to the doctor, it's bad news or, at best, that the awful shape I'm in has not deteriorated any further, though I'm told, it surely will in time. So I am so incredibly used to bad news, though I always set it in my mind beforehand that this time is going to be an exception. Even yesterday morning, I kept affirming that my arteries would be clear and healthy, that the cardologists would be in awe and wonderment as to my vastly improved condition. I always hold to such visions and dreams. But then I am met with bad news. So I am so used to bad news. What makes me feel down and makes me cry is that 1) it seems as if all my affirmations and prayers and right thinking and positive attitude are for naught; and 2) there isn't a boyfriend or husband at my side, a life partner who holds my hand, kisses me on the cheek, looks into my eyes, and says, "You know I'll be with you, no matter what." That's what's hard. To always accept the bad news without anyone there with me.
Of course, embedded in this bad news is the unsaid bad news that bypass surgery makes me a less desirable transplant candidate. But I can't go there right now.
Around noon, I was taken to the acute hemodialysis unit. There the shunt that had been placed the day before in my neck was opened to tubing that led to and from an artificial kidney. My blood was removed, cleaned, and put back into my neck. I teased the nephrologist, Dr. Dewar, a very compassionate and sweet woman, that this was the perfect time to have blood sucked from my neck--the day before Halloween! She said I should go trick-or-treating as a vampire's victim.
The other patients in the hemodialysis unit were in really bad shape. Though they were all Latino, their skin tone was a far cry from a healthy brown, but rather a sallow yellow. They were listless and, in a few cases, emaciated. They were in-patients who needed dialysis while in the hospital, the worst of the worst kidney patients. This was also depressing, though it reaffirmed my decision to do peritoneal dialysis at home rather than go into a clinic for hemodialsyis.
So, that's the story. But I want to close with my gratitude. First, thanks to Helene and Bev, who called prior to my surgeries to wish me well. And thanks to those of you who kept me in your thoughts and in your prayers. Thanks to neighbors Janet and Dana for watching over Rasputin during these past two days, and thanks to Janet for the good hug last night Thanks to Ozzie, who drove me home from surgery on Thursday, teased me about my footwear, made me laugh, and called later to see how I was doing. Thanks to Chris for taking me to and from surgery yesterday--during the worst of the commuter crunch. Thanks to nurse Rachel, Dr. Dewan, and Ana, the orderly who wheelchaired me out of the facility, held my hand, and broke into a beautiful prayer that had me in tears. Thanks to Rasputin for his unconditional love and exuberance. And last, but certainly not least, thanks a million times over to Aaron, who took off a day of work to move his grandma into her new apartment yesterday and so could not take me to the hospital, who had a sandwich waiting for me when I got home, who washed the sink full of dirty dishes without being asked, who gave me two hugs, who didn't go out with friends on a Friday night but who stayed home and watched reruns of "The Office" with me on netflix, and who listened.
I couldn't do it without the support of my friends, son, and dog. And now that it looks like I'm going to have bypass surgery, I will need your support even more. Bypass is major surgery and requires about six weeks of recovery time. As Aaron is working three jobs, he'll be busy enough with taking care of my mom and handling the bills. I'm going to need help with cooking, cleaning, shopping, driving, and keeping my spirits up. (On the latter count, perhaps Othman and Mike could drop by a few times a week and just be their delightful, fun-loving selves!) Janet and Dana, who dearly love Rasputin and who are dearly loved in return, would be the best people to watch over the little guy. I will call for an appt. with Dr. Phan on Monday so that we can discuss the plan. Surgery probably won't happen this month, but I'm just giving you a head's up that I most likely will be needing some commitment of time and energy. Of course, the cardiologists may also decide that bypass surgery is not possible, allowing nature to take its course.
Thanks again to all.
Hugs,
Heidi
It's so funny how doctors relay important information to patients when they're drugged. Dr. Phan told me that, if a stent was placed, I would have to wait at least six months to a year to have a kidney transplant, since I would have to be on blood thinners--and so could not have surgery--for at least that long. No one had ever told me that before.
The angiogram went fine, unlike the one in November of 2006 when I was not sufficiently sedated. I was in a relalxed, half-sleep, half-waking state when Dr. Phan began with, "I have some bad new for you." He told me that the stent that had been placed in 2006 was occluded, that another stent could not be placed, and that he would consult with his colleagues about doing bypass.
In recovery, I drifted from tears to sleep and back again. I don't think anyone noticed that I had been crying. It's difficult for healthy people to understand this, but it's not the bad news that's so hard to take. I've been receiving bad news from doctors since I was 13 when I was diagnosed with Type I diabetes. Every time I go to the doctor, it's bad news or, at best, that the awful shape I'm in has not deteriorated any further, though I'm told, it surely will in time. So I am so incredibly used to bad news, though I always set it in my mind beforehand that this time is going to be an exception. Even yesterday morning, I kept affirming that my arteries would be clear and healthy, that the cardologists would be in awe and wonderment as to my vastly improved condition. I always hold to such visions and dreams. But then I am met with bad news. So I am so used to bad news. What makes me feel down and makes me cry is that 1) it seems as if all my affirmations and prayers and right thinking and positive attitude are for naught; and 2) there isn't a boyfriend or husband at my side, a life partner who holds my hand, kisses me on the cheek, looks into my eyes, and says, "You know I'll be with you, no matter what." That's what's hard. To always accept the bad news without anyone there with me.
Of course, embedded in this bad news is the unsaid bad news that bypass surgery makes me a less desirable transplant candidate. But I can't go there right now.
Around noon, I was taken to the acute hemodialysis unit. There the shunt that had been placed the day before in my neck was opened to tubing that led to and from an artificial kidney. My blood was removed, cleaned, and put back into my neck. I teased the nephrologist, Dr. Dewar, a very compassionate and sweet woman, that this was the perfect time to have blood sucked from my neck--the day before Halloween! She said I should go trick-or-treating as a vampire's victim.
The other patients in the hemodialysis unit were in really bad shape. Though they were all Latino, their skin tone was a far cry from a healthy brown, but rather a sallow yellow. They were listless and, in a few cases, emaciated. They were in-patients who needed dialysis while in the hospital, the worst of the worst kidney patients. This was also depressing, though it reaffirmed my decision to do peritoneal dialysis at home rather than go into a clinic for hemodialsyis.
So, that's the story. But I want to close with my gratitude. First, thanks to Helene and Bev, who called prior to my surgeries to wish me well. And thanks to those of you who kept me in your thoughts and in your prayers. Thanks to neighbors Janet and Dana for watching over Rasputin during these past two days, and thanks to Janet for the good hug last night Thanks to Ozzie, who drove me home from surgery on Thursday, teased me about my footwear, made me laugh, and called later to see how I was doing. Thanks to Chris for taking me to and from surgery yesterday--during the worst of the commuter crunch. Thanks to nurse Rachel, Dr. Dewan, and Ana, the orderly who wheelchaired me out of the facility, held my hand, and broke into a beautiful prayer that had me in tears. Thanks to Rasputin for his unconditional love and exuberance. And last, but certainly not least, thanks a million times over to Aaron, who took off a day of work to move his grandma into her new apartment yesterday and so could not take me to the hospital, who had a sandwich waiting for me when I got home, who washed the sink full of dirty dishes without being asked, who gave me two hugs, who didn't go out with friends on a Friday night but who stayed home and watched reruns of "The Office" with me on netflix, and who listened.
I couldn't do it without the support of my friends, son, and dog. And now that it looks like I'm going to have bypass surgery, I will need your support even more. Bypass is major surgery and requires about six weeks of recovery time. As Aaron is working three jobs, he'll be busy enough with taking care of my mom and handling the bills. I'm going to need help with cooking, cleaning, shopping, driving, and keeping my spirits up. (On the latter count, perhaps Othman and Mike could drop by a few times a week and just be their delightful, fun-loving selves!) Janet and Dana, who dearly love Rasputin and who are dearly loved in return, would be the best people to watch over the little guy. I will call for an appt. with Dr. Phan on Monday so that we can discuss the plan. Surgery probably won't happen this month, but I'm just giving you a head's up that I most likely will be needing some commitment of time and energy. Of course, the cardiologists may also decide that bypass surgery is not possible, allowing nature to take its course.
Thanks again to all.
Hugs,
Heidi
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