"What Do We Do Now?"

[BobN]

There is a lot to be said for doing one's hemodialysis treatments at home.

I've talked about them before, you know.  More flexibility in your schedule; eased dietary restrictions; more comfortable environment; etc., etc.

There have been, however, a couple of instances since I started home hemo at the beginning of this year where my wife and I found ourselves looking at each other, uttering a phrase that you really don't want to hear when you're responsible for your own medical treatment.

"What do we do now?"

Hearing that (or saying it) conveys a sense of what could delicately be called helplessness, and if we had to be more truthful, could be called outright, wild-ass, head-for-the-door panic.

Now, there haven't been all that many of these occasions in the last six months, considering that we've decided to take on a very complicated and medically intense process on our own without any help from doctors, nurses, attendants, or EMT's.

But when it has happened, it's a wonder that one or both of us hasn't had to be carted off on a stretcher afterwards.

The most recent example involved my attempt to establish a second "buttonhole" insertion site for my venous needle.  Without getting too sticky detail-wise, buttonholes are where you insert the needle in the same place every treatment.  It supposedly makes the insertion easier and minimizes the yelps of pain when the needles are going in.

So, I had worked at establishing the site for about a week and was ready to try the buttonhole needle (which isn't as sharp as the regular needle) for the first time.

"Okay, here we go," I said.  My wife was sitting next to me watching with a look that was a combination of apprehension and avoiding the urge to run off and hurl.

The needle went in about half way and stopped.

"Hmm, didn't go in all the way," was my brilliant observation.  The wife shifted in her seat, angling toward the phone in case she had to call for help.

So, I pulled it out a little bit to try and re-position it.  Seemed like a good strategy at the time.

That is, until blood started gushing out of the site, running down my arm and covering the arm of my chair.

So, I shoved the needle back in as far as it would go.  The gushing stopped, but the line still wasn't primed and then I was just left sitting there holding the needle but knowing that we couldn't proceed with the treatment. 

That's when we looked at each other and both emitted the dreaded phrase at the same time.

"What do we do now?" we said.

Lacking any other solution, we decided to pull the needle out, stop the bleeding and use a regular needle at another site, all of which, believe it or not, worked perfectly.

Amazing what can happen when the panic subsides after hearing that terrible set of words.


Read all my blogs and "What's New" posts at www.bobnortham.com

[willowtreewren]

Yep! We have had those CSI crime scene events, too. 

[Riki]

My first trip to New York City, my brother and I drove down from Charlottetown.  The trip itself took about 12 hours longer than it should have.  Once we got ourselves settled in the hotel room, I needed to set up my PD cycler.  Alone.  In a strange country with no support at all, not even my mom, because I didn't have a phone that worked.

I gave my brother a mask, and he laid down on his bed, turned on the tv, and promptly fell asleep.  I put in the cycler set, and let it run it's tests.  All was fine, so I connected the bags.  Everything was going fine until it went into prime.  I suddenly got an alarm telling me check the cassette (basically the same idea as what's on the hemo machine, a square box with a soft side that the machine uses to direct the fluid).  I closed all the clamps, opened the door, pulled out the cassette and put it back then, then opened the clamps and let it go again.  Of course, it alarms again, telling me the same thing.  So, I went through it all again, and put the cassette back in.  Tired and frustrated, when it alarmed a third time, I went through the operation again in tears.  I knew that if it alarmed again, it would want me to start over, and I knew I didn't have enough supplies with me for the three days I'd be there if I needed to do that.  I put the cassette back in and crossed my fingers.  This time, it went through the prime successfully and I was able to hook up and go to bed.

The rest of the trip was great, except for continually getting lost in Manhattan.  I'm trying to convince my brother to do it again.  At least this time, I know my way around, and we shouldn't get lost as much.  Plus, my dialysis will be overseen by professionals. *LOL*