Once the wreckage from my September train wreck was cleared away, it was time to start dialysis. I had myself convinced that dialysis was a death sentence. Even with all the drama surrounding my ER visit and the pronouncement that dialysis was necessary, I held out hope that it would not be permanent. I was encouraged by the fact that the day I got my catheter, I did not get a fistula. Maybe the catheter would just be part of a short term plan to help my kidneys get better.
I had dialysis within a few hours of getting my catheter. My first session was in my room. The first dialysis nurse did her best to scare the crap out of me about how delicate my newly placed catheter was. If I wasn't careful and bumped it, I could bleed to death in four minutes. Really? Four minutes? That was all my wife needed to hear to plant fear in her mind! She has been reluctant to get too close to me on that side of me for fear of hurting me.
The catheter is a pretty scary looking thing, dangling out of the right side of my chest like it does. It's just a short drive to my heart, which is scary enough, I guess, but I was having trouble believing I could bleed out so quickly if it got bumped.
The nurses wheeled me down to Bergan's dialysis area for Friday's dialysis session. I wasn't feeling particularly well still. My stomach was doing flip-flops whenever I ate and even a bit during dialysis. Dr. Frock told me I would probably notice a pretty drastic improvement in how I felt after a couple weeks of dialysis. He also told me that I would need dialysis three days a week. Three days a week?? What about work? What about traveling? In just a matter of a couple of days, this train wreck was going to change my life in ways I hadn't considered.
Knowing I was a pretty stubborn guy, Dr. Frock would not approve my release from the hospital until I had a schedule established with a dialysis clinic. So, on Friday, the Bergan social worker tried to put something together for us. We agreed on a clinic and my preferred days, but I was at the mercy of the clinic and their available times. I was also at the mercy of the schedulers, who only worked until 2:30pm on Fridays.
By 4pm Friday it was clear that I wouldn't be set up at a clinic. I was going to be stuck in the hospital for the weekend. Bogus!
Saturday morning was my third dialysis day. This time my session was in my room again. It was an early session, so I was happy to get it over with, so I could watch Nebraska play football that afternoon without any dialysis distractions. During my dialysis session Dr. Frock popped in to see how I was doing. I told him we struck out at getting set up at a clinic, but we had a plan. We just needed to hear back from the clinic.
Surprisingly, Dr. Frock said there was no reason to stay cooped up in the hospital. He realized everyone did their part to get me setup, and he didn't think it was right that I be stuck in the hospital just because we hadn't heard from the dialysis clinic. I was going home.
Now, anyone who has stayed in a hospital knows, getting out isn't always the fastest process! I had plenty of time to get dressed, pack up all the beautiful flowers I received, and text/e-mail family to let them know I was going home. After almost two hours, all the paperwork was in place and I was on the way home.
I was leaving the hospital in much better shape than I was when I went in. That was fine by me! I was also armed with some new prescriptions and a resolve to make a three-day per week dialysis schedule work with work.
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