I Hate Dialysis Message Board
Dialysis Discussion => Dialysis: News Articles => Topic started by: okarol on September 10, 2008, 11:24:35 PM
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Try to focus on what is really important
Thursday, September 11, 2008
BY BOB RUSS
REPOSITORY ASSISTANT CITY EDITOR
Little did I know when I wrote last week's column how soon I'd be considering my words again.
I don't write the headlines, but the one that appeared over my column said, "Savor each birthday; it could be your last."
That was perhaps a bit gloomier than the message my column was trying to convey, but it was accurate.
I wrote about the importance of living each day as if it were your last; to imagine what you would do if you discovered you had but a day to live. I urged readers to focus on those things that are truly important and not fret about matters, that in the end, are really inconsequential.
TOMORROW NOT CERTAIN
I wrote: "You take your life and your health for granted, and worry about all the material things of this world. Yet tomorrow is not guaranteed. A car accident. A heart attack or stroke. A fall down the stairs.
"If you knew that today was your last day on earth, would you really worry about what's on TV tonight? ... But for all you know, today IS your last day on this earth. Sure, it probably isn't, but one day it WILL be the last."
Then I urged readers to tell their friends and family how much they mean to them, to consider the things they complain about to see if they're really as important as they make them out to be.
Now, here's a secret many of you have probably figured out already: I wrote that column primarily as a reminder to myself. I get caught up in my day-to-day troubles and worry about superficial things the same as anyone. But I try not to.
And it's good to remind myself that I have a roof over my head and food in my belly. In the grand scheme of things, I really don't have any problems. A problem is when you're a thousand miles from home, a bullet has just ripped off your buddy's face and now people are shooting at you.
And I like to keep in mind my favorite saying, one that has helped me through much turmoil: "I cried because I had no shoes, until I met a man who had no feet."
NEARLY A PROPHECY
I wrote my column just in time. "Savor each birthday; it might be your last." That column headline almost became a prophecy. Last Sunday I awoke, I was about to be sick. I went to get out of bed and promptly collapsed on the floor. I was unable to get to my feet, no matter what I did, even trying to support myself on some furniture. I had to crawl to the bathroom; after I got sick, I tried to crawl back to bed. I only made it halfway and collapsed completely, unable to even raise myself on my hands and knees.
For more than 14 hours, I could not walk, could not stand, and could barely crawl around the house.
Two sessions of dialysis put me back on a healthy path.
It turns out when you have your kidneys removed, as I have, you are extremely susceptible to potassium poisoning. Aware of this, I try to watch my diet. But a series of small snacks over the course of the weekend, topped by too much of a ripe, homegrown cantaloupe — rich in potassium — added up and basically shut my body down. I was told it was a miracle my heart didn't stop.
Today, I'm feeling fine again. And trying harder than ever to focus on those real priorities.
http://www.cantonrep.com/index.php?ID=430409&Category=9&subCategoryID=
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Here is another of this author's previous column's (But I cannot find the previously mentioned article.)
STARK MATTERS: Readers, Repository fuel return to work
STARK MATTERS
BOB RUSS
November 29, 2007
It’s been almost two full months since my words have appeared in this paper. It seemed more like two years.
On Oct. 1, I had both of my disease-ravaged kidneys surgically removed. Not only were they barely functioning, but the disease — PKD — caused huge cysts to form on the kidneys, growing them to colossal proportions.
The average human kidney weighs a quarter of a pound. When my kidneys were removed, they weighed more than 35 pounds.
Those massive structures inside my abdomen were causing more problems than they were alleviating — and each week, the problems grew significantly worse.
They jammed against my digestive system, causing severe acid reflux anytime I ate or drank anything — there was no room in my abdomen for any food or liquids. For a while, I was able to get by if I ate tiny portions several times a day.
But toward the end of September, even that didn’t work anymore. I felt like I had swallowed a bowling ball, one that was growing in size every day.
OUT OF ROOM
I’d been hoping for a transplant, but, as the doctors explained to me, even if I’d had a willing and able donor lined up, there was no room inside me to accommodate a new kidney.
My existing monstrosities would have to come out.
And so they did. In an eight-hour surgery at the Cleveland Clinic — by far the most painful procedure I’ve ever dealt with — both kidneys were removed.
I won’t recount all the problems I endured, but rest assured, there were a lot of them. Three weeks after the surgery, I was back in the hospital. The pain was excruciating, and even the smallest activity — walking from one room to another — left me exhausted.
There were days when I not only feared I’d never return to work, but that I might not make it to see 2008.
I have a daughter, 16, whom I love very much. I sure didn’t want to leave her without a father. And I have plenty more things I want to do before I leave this world.
LOSING HOPE
But as the days wore on with little sign of recovery, I began to contemplate the possibility that this might actually be it: Maybe I wouldn’t get any better. Maybe there wouldn’t be any more fishing trips in my future. Maybe my daughter would lose her dad.
Then, the week before Thanksgiving, the tide turned. The pain subsided, and each day I regained a bit of my strength.
I’m still far from 100 percent, but I’m here. And that sure beats the alternative.
It’s great to be back!
Reach Suburban Editor Bob Russ at (330) 580-8490 or e-mail:
bob.russ@cantonrep.com
http://www.cantonrep.com/printable.php?ID=389058
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I've never had potassium overload and so I fear it and am very careful. Still my potassium labs are high. I want to be on 1k but the doc won't put me on it. He insists on 2k. Shouldn't I be able to demand 1k?
I'm glad we have a news columnist telling our story.
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Thanks to the author here's the recent article referenced above:
Savor each birthday; it might be your last
by Bob Russ
God willing, I will celebrate my birthday Saturday. For a long time, I haven’t cared the least about my birthday. It was just another day, as far as I was concerned.
But things have changed.
Since going on dialysis almost two years ago, I’ve come to appreciate a lot of things, and people, I used to take for granted.
If not for the treatment, which carries on the function of my kidneys (which were removed last October), I’d now be dead for nearly two years.
And I’m not ready to go.
When you’re a kid, birthdays and Christmas are the highlights of the year. I looked forward to each, anticipating the presents I might receive.
BIRTHDAYS — BAH HUMBUG
As I grew into adulthood, and birthday celebrations became more toned down and were finally abandoned altogether, the yearly anniversary of my birth became a non-event.
I didn’t think about it, I didn’t worry about it, and actually, I didn’t particularly appreciate it. Because once you get past 30, you don’t want to get any older. But life doesn’t slow down just because you want it to. It just keeps on going, seemingly faster than ever.
I remember when I was still in school. Time seemed to crawl. Winters seemed to last forever, and the summers seemed almost as long.
But since I graduated from high school, my life has gone ZIP! Every year seems to go more quickly than the last, and summer seems little more than an extended weekend that ends all too soon.
Thirty-plus years have gone by far faster than the first 18 years of my life. At least that’s how it seems.
And with the health woes I’ve been experiencing the last few years, at this point, every birthday is a blessing. I am grateful to be here to see another one and pray I can do so again next year.
Because nothing is certain. That much I’ve learned.
I wish that everyone would realize that. The world would be a much better place.
WHAT REALLY MATTERS?
I see people all around me obsessed with matters that, if they really thought about it, aren’t all that important.
It’s easy to do. You take your life and your health for granted, and worry about all the material things of this world.
Yet tomorrow is not guaranteed. A car accident. A heart attack or stroke. A fall down the stairs.
Read the paper. These things happen every day. And no one is immune from any of them.
If you knew that today was your last day on this earth, would you really worry about what’s on TV tonight? Or if you can afford that new car?
I would hope not.
But for all you know, today IS your last day on this earth. Sure, it probably isn’t, but one day it WILL be the last. It’s best to be prepared.
If there are people you love, tell them. Make sure your friends know how much they mean to you.
Consider the things you complain and worry about. Are they really as important as you make them out to be?
One day, you will realize that many of the things you think are important really are not. That is knowledge that can change your life. Don’t wait until it’s too late to put it to use.
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Bob Russ: Farewell: The column I never wanted to write
By Bob Russ
CantonRep.com staff writer
Posted Dec 31, 2008 @ 02:07 PM
This is the column I never wanted to write. My farewell. For nearly 10 years, I’ve had the privilege of sharing my thoughts through a weekly column in The Repository. In fact, I’ve had a regular column pretty much continuously since 1984 in one publication or another.
But with this column today, that run comes to an end.
My health will no longer permit me to maintain a regular work schedule.
Regular readers know I’ve been fighting an uphill battle the last few years, having had several brushes with death.
I was born with polycystic kidney disease, also known as PKD — a hereditary, degenerative disease that causes huge cysts to form on the kidneys. Eventually, the cysts replace the healthy tissue in the kidneys until there is little or no function left.
At that point, the patient must get a transplant, go on dialysis — or die.
My kidneys gave up the ghost about three years ago, and I’ve been on dialysis ever since. Three times a week, my blood is pumped from my veins into a machine that filters out impurities and toxins, then heats the blood back to body temperature and pumps it back into my body. All told, the procedure takes about five hours from start to finish.
OTHER PROBLEMS
PKD brings with it several side effects as well —high blood pressure, a significantly greater risk of a brain aneurysm and kidneys that grow to massive size.
So large, in fact, that one or both must be removed if there is to be any room for a transplanted organ.
The average kidney weighs a quarter of a pound, but because of the growth of the cysts, my two kidneys were nearly 40 pounds when I went to the Cleveland Clinic last October to have them removed.
Forty pounds!
I’ve been in decent shape, PKD-aside, for quite a while, but I’ve always had a huge, protruding stomach. It looked like a beer belly, only I very rarely had a beer. I’d tell my friends and colleagues, “That’s not a beer belly; it’s a kidney belly.” And they’d smile and nod, all the while thinking to themselves, “It’s beer.” But it wasn’t. In the year prior to having my kidneys removed, my gut nearly doubled in size; it looked as though I was pregnant. The pressure those giant kidneys put on my other organs was immense. I couldn’t take a sip of water or a bit of pretzel without getting heartburn — there was no room for anything in my stomach because of my massive kidneys.
So out they came. Overnight, my gut disappeared and I was 40 pounds lighter. Those same people who used to humor me with their smiles and nods were stunned to learn that, indeed, my huge stomach WAS due to my kidneys.
Now I was ready should a kidney become available for transplant, I thought. But I was wrong. They found cancer in one of my kidneys. The surgeon said it was encapsulated and unlikely to recur; the oncologist who has seen me since agrees. But it put any transplant on hold; I will be re-evaluated in January, and hope to get back on the list.
But in the meantime, my energy level has taken a major hit. My strength and stamina have been continuously going downhill. The last couple of months, especially, have been a real struggle and have made it clear I can no longer keep on working.
I need 12 to 14 hours of sleep a day just to feel relatively normal; on the days I have dialysis, I need another four to eight hours of sleep.
So tomorrow, Jan. 2, will be my last day at The Repository; I am filing for disability. I leave the newspaper just short of 10 years here, with many fond memories. They were, for the most part, the best 10 years of my journalism career.
I intend to keep writing. I’ve always wanted to try my hand at fiction, and there’s a book I’m eager to begin working on. So, although this is the end of one phase of my life, it is the beginning of another.
SPAGHETTI FUNDRAISER
My biggest worries are financial. My medical bills are substantial, soon I’ll be out of work, my monthly prescriptions total more than $100 (with insurance!), my car has 197,000 miles on it and my computer at home (circa 1997) needs to be replaced. And it takes about five to six months for disability to be approved.
As a result, I’m having a fundraiser — a benefit spaghetti dinner from 5 to 8 p.m. Jan. 21 at the Amvets Post 6 at 303 Weirich Blvd. NW in Massillon.
The dinner includes spaghetti, meat sauce, salad, roll and beverage; cost is $10 for adults and $5 for children ages 10 and younger. For ticket information, give me a call at (330) 854-0140.
I have so much more I want to say, so many memories I’d love to share, so many things I’ve learned that I’d love to pass on. But there is only so much room, and only so much time.
I want to thank all of you who have read my work over the years, and those of you who have called, written or e-mailed to share your thoughts and feelings. I’ll never forget you, or my time here at The Rep.
Take care, be well, and perhaps one day we’ll meet again.
So long.
(My note: if you want to email Bob here's the email I have for him bob.russ@cantonrep.com - not sure how long it will work but please drop him a note, mention IHD please. -- okarol)
http://www.cantonrep.com/news/x1277303840/Bob-Russ-Farewell-The-column-I-never-wanted-to-write
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I feel like I'm revisiting my husband's last few years when I read this fellow's articles. The difference is that (thank goodness) my husband has a transplant that has changed his life. We are forever grateful to his donor Michael.