Bob's Blog Saturday 9-1-12

Bob Here.

Dialysis patients are by nature creatures of habit. We come to like things a certain way. I mean, it’s not possible to be subjected to such a strict regimen without getting used to our treatments being carried out just so. And any deviation from our comfort zone can be…well…traumatic.

If your centers are run like mine, you get assigned to a certain chair. You usually have the same attendant. They get to know the way you want your treatment carried out pretty fast. Heck, we see these people three times a week for four to five hours a pop. I didn’t see my first wife that much.

We can go a very long time without any variation whatsoever from that standard set of circumstances. And lets face it, we all take great comfort from falling into our routines. Some of us like surprises and some of us don’t, but surprises in dialysis are rarely good.

So, for long periods of time, we’ll be so entrenched in our routine that we can practically just put in on autopilot. We barely have to steer our cars to the center, they know the way to go. We robotically head right to our chair, get our treatment, go home, get our next treatment. What? It’s the weekend? Hot dog, no treatment for two days. Then it’s Monday again, and the routine starts all over.

But two weeks ago, brace yourselves, my routine was disrupted. And it was my own fault. I agreed to travel to a family reunion some 1,700 miles away.

That’s right. Travel. As in visiting a different dialysis center for my treatments.

Strange center. Strange chair. Strange attendants and nurses. (Of course, for the latter, by strange I mean unknown. They weren’t hanging from the rafters or clucking like chickens or anything.)

A total stranger putting my needles in. Run for the hills.

Don’t get me wrong, I like to travel as much as the next guy. But I have to admit a certain trepidation (read: terror) every time I have to go to a different center for my treatments. I think there’s a scientific name for it. It’s called being a big chicken when it comes to the unknown.

But like I said, it was my own fault. Earlier this Spring when the event was being planned, my wife asked me if we should plan on attending. Then, I made the big mistake.

I said, “Sure. Sounds like fun!”

What a tool.

I must have been taking a vacation from thinking at that point.

So, once the flights and the rest of our reservations were confirmed, I was committed.

I worked with my social worker to be sure I could get a chair at a dialysis center close to where we were staying.

And I don’t know how you all feel, but the first time I walk into a strange center, it feels…well…strange. But I mustered up the courage to go in, gave my name to the receptionist and took a seat in the waiting room.

I was sitting there a few minutes later, minding my own business, when an older lady came out of the treatment area. She was carrying a lot of stuff and had a troubled look about her. Next thing I know, she dumps all her stuff in the seat next to where I was sitting, hands me a duffle bag that was branded with the operator of the center.

“Hold that for a minute,” she says.

I was taken a little aback, but I said, “Sure, no problem.”

Then she was ruffling through the rest of her possessions. After a few seconds, she says, “Ah, here it is.” And she pulls a notebook binder out of her pile. She hands that to me too.

“See if you can get that in the bag,” she said.

I said, “Shouldn’t be much of a problem.” But I was thinking, oh boy. The bag was already crammed full of stuff. I didn’t think there was any way I was going to fit the binder in.

So, I put the bag on the floor and pushed as much of the contents over to the side as I could. All the while, I was saying things like, “Okay, let’s see know…maybe if we push all that stuff over…yeah, this might be it…oops, this 90 pound blanket doesn’t want to give…ah, think I sprained my wrist…ha ha just kidding…”

Finally, I was able to get the binder about half way in. I said, “Is it okay if it’s sticking out just a little bit?” Hoping and praying that it was.

She took a while to consider, but finally, she just said, “Yeah.” Then she picked up the rest of her stuff and walked out the door.

Another lady was sitting across the room in the waiting area, knitting something that looked like a cross between a hallway carpet and a sweater for Godzilla.

Without even looking up from her work, she said, “Glad you were here. Usually she comes to me for all those jobs.”

Now you see? Strange center. I didn’t know enough to sit on the other side of the knitting lady.

Eventually, my attendant came out to get me. When we got in the treatment area, she says, “Go get your weight. Is that going to be a problem today?”

I said, “It shouldn’t be. I think I just lost five pounds doing the binder bag-cramming exercise.”

“What?”

“Never mind. I’ll be right back.”

As it turns out, the attendant who took care of me for my entire visit was a sarcastic, wise-cracking, chops buster.

In other words, we got along just fine.

She was a little surprised by how specific I was in how I wanted my treatment carried out. When I got back from the scale, she was working on my machine. I went over and adjusted the angle of my chair slightly, switched the starter kit from the left to the right, put the tray up, set up my blanket and pillow, plugged in my iPad, pushed the TV out of the way (never watch it), adjusted the angle of the chair again, opened my bag and set it where I could reach it, took out my earphones, walked over to get a couple of paper towels, and then finally sat down. When I looked over, my attendant had stopped what she was doing and was standing there watching me with her hands on her hips.

“Everything to your liking, sir?”

I looked skyward considering her question.

“Well, I could use a foot massage.”

The attendant just rolled her eyes. “This is going to be a long two weeks, isn’t it?”

“More than likely.”

A couple of minutes later, she undid the package of needles. I took my eyes off her for a few seconds, preparing to tell her exactly the way I wanted my needles inserted, when, whamo, in went the first needle.

“Hey, wait a minute…” I stammered.

Before I really knew what was happening, bang, in went the second needle.

I said, “Hey, take it easy with those things. This is dialysis, not Roto Rooter.”

She just said, “Ah, quit your bellyaching. How would you like your tape, sir? Something like this?”

And before I could answer, she had expertly taped me all up, connected the tubes and we were on our way.

I have to admit, she did a great job. It just wasn’t what I was used to, is all.

I said, “Okay for now, but let me tell you the precise way I want my needles inserted for the next treatment.”

She said, “Sure go right ahead.” And then turned around and walked away.

I just laughed, and thought, I’m going to fit right in here.

Later, I met the charge nurse, a super guy who was a corpsman in the Navy. Since my son is in the Navy, we had a lot to talk about. He mentioned that his wife was a colorectal surgeon. He said they always joked that he covers the front and she covers the back. So, one of the good aspects of travelling is that you get to experience new people.

When it was all said and done, the vacation was great, I had excellent treatments and everything was just grand.

So grand that next time, instead of being scared out of my wits about travelling, I’m going to ratchet it down to just slightly terrified.

Thanks for reading. I hope you all have great treatments going forward.

Take care.