Bob's Blog 10-3-15: I Got This

Bob Here.

"I Got This," said the guy in the TV commercial, and, out of the corner of my eye, I saw the wife cringe.

Truth be told, she all but curled up into a fetal position. "Make it stop," she muttered.

This scenario may seem weird to some, but I completely understood what was going on and I couldn't help but give a little laugh.

You see, despite years, ok, decades of ineptitude at involvement with anything technical and pretending that everything was ok despite impending doom, I've been known to confidently avow that "I Got This" when faced with a new challenge.

My use of the phrase came to light recently with, what I must admit were fairly predictable results

I was driving home from the gym, minding my own business, happy as a clam. I've always said that the best part of working out is when you've finished.

All of a sudden, a warning light flashed on my dashboard. I immediately thought of Sheldon on The Big Bang Theory telling Penny that her "check engine light was on."

This one was a squiggly little line on top of a flat surface. I also wondered who configures these things? It looked like some car company executive had his five-year-old draw the shape with crayons.

But I knew from experience that it meant that I had low air pressure in at least one of my tires.

In fact, now that I think about it, the wife was with me the first time the light came on. Neither of us knew what it meant, but, being me, I just told her not to worry. "I Got This," I said.

Anyway, I pulled over and looked to be sure I didn't have an actual flat. The tires all looked ok. Hardly even warranted a pressure alarm, I thought. So I just kept on going. I pulled up at home and decided that, rather than pull a Penny and just ignore the light, I'd better check the pressure in my tires.

So I did. First one: Fine. Second: Fine. Third: Also fine.

At that point, the wife looks out from the front door. "What're you doing out there?"

I just looked up as if this happened every day.

"Got a low air pressure warning on one of my tires," I said. Then it was if she was just waiting. Sure enough, I followed up, saying, "Don't worry. I Got This."

She then backed out of view, probably running for her rosary beads or something.

So, I came to the driver's side front tire and, of course, I couldn't get the valve cap off. After a few more tries and more than a few choice words, I went in to get a pair of pliers.

Gripped the cap as hard as I could with the pliers. Still wouldn't budge.

I decided, time for the heavy artillery. Went back in for my ratchet set. The wife was nowhere to be found.

Found the right size socket and went to town. I'll show that cap who's boss, I thought.

Sure enough the cap came off. Unfortunately, so did the inside of the valve and all the air came whistling out of my tire.

I just stood there for a long time, holding my trusty ratchet and staring down at my tire, now flat as a pancake.

My first thought was, now that warrants a pressure alarm!

I walked back in the house, my head hanging low. The wife was at her computer.

"Calling for a tow truck?" she asked, not even looking up.

I just grumbled something in response.

So, I'm sure you're all wondering how being such a catastrophe-in-waiting translates to doing home dialysis, where you yourself are responsible for a lot of the technical aspects of your treatment handled by trained professionals in a dialysis center.

Well...it's going okay now, but let's just say there was a bit of an adjustment period.

After we finished our training, it finally came time to do a soup-to-nuts treatment all by our little lonesome selves at home. No nurses, no attendants, no emergency medical teams.

We decided to divvy up the responsibilities for the setup.

"I'd better set up the machine," said the wife.

I tried my best to look offended. "Why don't you pull the supplies and fill out the treatment sheet," I said. "I'll do the machine setup."

She looked at me like I had finally gone over the edge. "You? You want to be around working machinery? The handyman in our last house has a home in the Bahamas because of you. Don't you remember when you went downstairs to change out a fuse and almost burned the house down?"

"Hey, I got through the setup in training, didn't I?"

"Yeah, and the center will never be the same. The flood was so bad the building almost floated down the street. The people there don't call you 'Hurricane Bob' for nothing you know."

"All right, so there were some learning pains. But I know what I'm doing now. Practically an old pro, heh heh..."

She looked at me doubtfully, but finally relented.

The weird thing is that despite my dealings with all things mechanical all but reaching disaster-movie status, I see every new opportunity as a challenge. Even when it goes against my better instincts.

So, I started the setup. The wife was eyeing my every move.

I expertly loaded the cartridge and untangled the lines, my confidence growing with every step. It was time to spike the saline bag.

I looked over at her. "Hah. And you were nervous," I said. I told you there wouldn't be a problem."

And then it came. "I Got This," I said.

But I must have been over-confident and taken my eye off the target. I completely missed the hole and the spike went right into the side of the saline bag.

I want to tell you, those bags may not look like much, but just wait until they're pouring out all over your machine, your Pureflow, and, of course, your floor. It was like Niagra bleeping Falls.

"Oh crap," I said. I tried putting my hand over the hole, but that just succeeded in expanding the flood zone.

The wife just calmly took the bag off the holder, turned it upside-down and went over and put it in the sink.

Neither of us said too much as we started cleaning up the mess, but after a while, I looked over and she was laughing so hard tears were running down her cheeks.

Now, I also tend to be a bit stubborn admitting that I might need help because of injury or illness, another trait that doesn't bode well for a dialysis patient.

When I first started as an in-center patient, the staff, the docs and I were doing a "trial and error" routine to try to get to my correct dry weight. Turns out, mostly error.

For non-patients, your dry weight is essentially where you should be after you've been treated.

And the fact is that taking off too much fluid, or not enough for that matter, can cause complications.

While the good folks are calibrating your weight, it's very important to give accurate feedback on how you're feeling.

Hence the problem with being block-headed about such communication.

In one of my early treatments, I did start to feel a bit light-headed.

(The first one to say, "How could you tell the difference?" is in big trouble.)

I honestly didn't know enough to determine that this might be a problem. Thought it was just a normal part of the treatment.

Anyway, my blood pressure started getting low, so the staff gave me some saline.

I remember the nurse coming over.

"How do you feel?" she asked.

"No big issues," I said. "I Got This."

She just rolled her eyes.

When it came time to take me off, the nurse was hanging close. Looking worried.

So, the needles were out. They took all my vitals. And it was time for a standing blood pressure.

They need that to make sure you're okay to do something really complex, like walk to the scale.

"Do you feel up to taking a standing pressure?" asked the nurse.

"Sure."

She came to my side. "Need a little help getting up?"

I just waved my hand. "No worries. I Got This."

I stood up out of my chair and immediately went down like a sack of potatoes.

The staff managed to get me back in my chair, all the while, apparently, despite my insistence that I didn't need any help.

They called the wife to tell her what happened. I heard the nurse say, "He kept telling us, 'I Got This.'" Then she laughed.

"What'd she say?" I asked.

"She just groaned and asked if we needed to take you to the emergency room."

So, I just want you all to know that when it comes to getting anything fixed up or telling you honestly how I'm doing...

Don't worry about a thing. I Got This.

Thanks for reading. Take care.