One week and all is well-(ish)

   Like any good patient, I came home from the hospital, and got right back to work. Cliffy was scolding me steady, but I just knew I was invincible. Until I woke up with a fever. Blah.
Back to emergency room I went. The attending doctor ordered the usual barrage of tests, and then began to try and find a "home" for me. The hospital where I had surgery said they had done their job, and I was sent home alive. The hospital where my attending nephrologist AKA Kidney Doctor works, said they would take me, but my usual nephrologist said he wouldn't admit me, because I wasn't yet on dialysis. WHAT THE?? That slight made me pretty mad, as I have been a patient of their practice since I was diagnosed.
   Luckily for me, they found a "good natured" doctor that agreed to take me on a patient. Time for the ambulance ride.
Ever ridden in an ambulance? No good. These Maine roads are bumpy and rocky enough, when you are driving or riding strapped into the seat of a car. If you take out the seat, add in a VERY narrow stretcher, take out normal clothes, and add a skinny scrap of cloth called a johnny, and take out seated facing forward so you can brace for any bumps you see in the road, and add in facing backwards strapped in like a mad man, and you have my ambulance ride to Lewiston.
   I understand needing belts and straps 'cause the last thing anyone wants is a patient falling off the stretcher en route to a hospital. However, I was one face mask away from being called Hannibal Lecter. I couldn't as much as scratch my nose, I was so confined. I hadn't eaten breakfast yet, and was starved by the time they sent me packing. All I could think about on the trip over was eating a big bowl of fava beans with a nice Chianti...and I don't even like wine.
    Once at the hospital, the medics opened the doors for my ambulance exit. They of course, have to pull out the stretcher, and hold it up while the legs, or well, for lack of a proper term, the landing gear drops down into place. That meant they had to hold me in mid air. On the stretcher. Lucky them.
     I said,"Ohhhh your poor backs!"
     One chappie said it wasn't too bad, but the beads of sweat that popped out on his forehead told a different story. I think I heard them say something about a pending hernia surgery, I don't know.
      Off we went to the fourth floor, and a quick admittance. The nurses were very nice, and let me have some water but alas, no food had been ordered. So, I had to wait on that, as I listened to the sights and sounds of the fourth floor. Some poor soul was hollering, and calling, and I felt bad, but really hoped they would sleep peacefully at night. They didn't.
      The doctor came in and ordered another complete round of lab work. I really didn't know why, since I had just had 6 tubes of blood drawn at the Bridgton Hospital before I was sent off on the "magic bus." Then a couple hours later, I had more drawn. You know how it says to use shampoo on the side of the bottle? "Lather, Rinse Repeat?" That was me with labs.
        Blood draw, drink some water, Blood draw. Most of the night. Any wonder my anemia has reached dizzying heights. I went to fold my flannel granny night gown, and my arms were so tired from holding it up to fold, I just rolled it into a ball and called it good. And switched to a short cotton nightie.
       I received antibiotics, (I prefer to call them Antibionics)
and that must be what they were because the next day the doctor said I was "too healthy to stay there." Now THAT'S a first, let me tell ya... I can't think of any other time I was told I was too healthy to stay in a hospital.
       I think he had second thoughts however, when he was telling me I was about to be discharged, and suddenly I said
"Hey! Am I peeing?????"
        The family all standing around me looked at me, with oh I don't know...fear? concern? embarrassment?
        "WHAT?" they all asked in unison.
         Now, in my own defense, I had my arms under the covers when I said that, so I couldn't see the trouble at hand.
         "Am I peeing or what is going on??" I asked again, as I pulled my arms out and lifted the blanket to see EXACTLY what was taking place under the ole sheets.
         The good doctor leaned in to see if I was going to be more of a challenge then he had originally thought, when we both saw it at the same moment. It, of course, was the fact that I had pulled out my IV line by catching it on the blanket, and let's just say, my blood thinners were indeed working. The blood was RUNNING out of my arm at a startling rate of speed, and was soaking my side, nightgown, and butt in very rapid fashion.
          "Oh," I said. "Whew, at least I'm not peeing."
           By now, the doctor had strolled out of the room to look for a little something to staunch the flow, and I has putting a dite of pressure on my arm. Brogan helped by pressing above the spot, but we didn't have one thing available to use to stop the flow. My brother was about to yank off his belt for a tourniquet but a nurse popped in to help. The doctor did his best impression of Michael Jackson, and 'Beat It.'
          I got my 'walking papers", and waited for my sister to come back and get me. She had been at the hospital earlier,  but left out of boredom. They do take forever to get a patient discharged.
          So, I am once again at home, with strict orders to rest.  I made an apple pie, brownies and a chicken dinner. Oh, and rolled my nightgown into a ball. Ahhh, it is good to be home!

Surveying the damage from the tree that fell

Certainly a Day like No Other....

    

My pristine left arm

        As many of you know, I had my fistula surgery last Tuesday, and as many of you might suspect, (if you have been following my blogs for any length of time) things didn't go QUITE as planned. But then, with us Homeland Farmers, do they ever??
        The day started gray and cloudy, as was my humor. I don't do "no food after midnight" well. Actually, it was fine, until around 10 am, when we left to go to the hospital. By then, I was rather 'peckish', and could have eaten about anything, including the bone we fed Annalee the pup before we left. She doesn't like to be left alone, so I have her an extra large bone to keep her busy, so she wouldn't chew my shoes.
       Cliffy and I picked up Mother at her house and off we went to Maine Medical Center. Getting signed in went smoothly, as did going over the paperwork with the nurses. Then, it was time to wait. My sister Kim had planned on coming down with us as well, but she had to get her kids off the bus before I would be done, so she volunteered to go by the house and check on the dogs.
       I was due to go "under the knife" at 12:30. When Brogan came in at 11:00, I knew things weren't "good". She had received a phone call from Kim. Apparently, my pup hadn't just "chewed" something. No, she managed to drag a large over stuffed chair the entire length of the living room, and was headed out into the dining room with it. If it hadn't gotten wedged in the doorway, I think she would have been reclining

Brogan and Cliffy

in the kitchen, by the time we got home. The chair was of course, ruined. Ahh, puppies. Now I remember why I like older dogs.
        Kim barricaded the dogs into the dining room, for fear of my couch would be ruined as well, gave Annalee another bone, and left. The poodle Lacy was merely shaking her head in disappointment, most likely saying " I get in trouble when I pee a little spot on the rug, the puppy gets a bone for ripping apart a chair..Life just isn't fair for us little dogs."
        Once I heard that news, I told Brogan she better head back home, as she was going to stay with the puppy until I got home. But before she could leave, they came to get me.  Everyone kissed me goodbye, and off I went to the Operating Room.

Off to see the Wizard

        The operating room is always a flurry of activity, with nurses running around, and the anesthesiologist and the doctor conferring about what meds to use and how much etc. I remembered the nurse scrubbing my arm with betadine and doing a sponge count, and then that was it. Out went the lights.
         The operation was supposed to take 30 minutes, but as this is me we are talking about, it ended up being 2 hours. Turns out my veins weren't as nice and juicy as the Doctor had thought. Mother and Cliff were both waiting when I was wheeled back to my room.

Dreaming of goats??

        I don't recall much arm pain initially, but I knew my legs were really sore. I am plagued by leg cramps, and I assume laying flat on my back caused me to have a few while in surgery. I of course, had a logical explanation for why my legs hurt. Apparently, the first words out of my mouth were, "Owww..my legs hurt. The darn goats kicked me." Yeah, sure, in the operating room. Goats are everywhere in there.
      I remember Cliffy rubbing my legs and that of course made me all better. He is a very talented fella. Then, my arm pain kicked in, and it was pain medicine time. My arm was really swollen and black and blue, but it didn't look too bad. The nurse got me right up, and into the bedside chair.
      I sat for awhile, and I think dozed off and on. I don't really remember much about leaving the hospital, and I certainly don't remember the ride home. I think I remembered it being dark outside, but that was it.
      Cameron came home with us from the hospital, as he lives in Portland and walked over after class. Liam, Brogan and the dogs were all happy to see us arrive home, but not as happy as I was to GET home!
       I went right to bed, and the dogs were right beside me every minute. They are very attached to their "mother". I was feeling pretty good, and was pleased to not be in excruciating pain. I hadn't known what to expect, but I have had a lot worse pain then that.
      I fell right asleep, and was so comfortable, I didn't move for a couple hours. When Cliffy came to bed, I went to roll off my right side and noticed my arm was kind of stuck to my side. I asked Cliffy to turn on the light so I could see.
       He turned on the light, and I could see my dressing was blood soaked, and it was leaking out. I said "Crap! What do I do? I am supposed to leave the dressing on for two days."
        Cliffy is full of wisdom, and suggested I call the doctor to ask what to do, since I had been sent home with very little after surgery care instructions. I decided I had better do that.
        I paged the doctor, and was lying in bed waiting for the call back. I could hear the wind picking up outside, and wondered if it was raining out. The phone rang, and it was the doctor. As near as I can remember, this is how the phone conversation went.
        "Hello", said Doc.
        "Yes, hi," said patient, that would be me. "I had surgery today and I was wondering....there is quite a bit of blood on my bandage and SHIT! SHIT SHIT! SHIT!!!"
         CRACK!! CRASH!!!! went the huge maple tree, as it CRASHED TO THE GROUND OUTSIDE MY WINDOW! Dogs were barking! Cameron thundered downstairs bellowing, the cats scrambled to far points in the house, Cliffy hollered bloody murder and ran outside, and I jumped up and swore into the phone, with yes indeedy, my loudest 'outside voice.'
         I heard a startled silence..then I think the doc said something??? I really don't have a clue. I said something along the lines of, "Sorry, a huge tree fell on my house..thank you., bye."
         I leaped out of bed, threw on a jacket, and realized our outside floodlight had burned out and I couldn't see a thing. So, naturally, I hopped in the car, got the dog inside, (Annalee, poor abandoned Lacy was still under the covers) hollered to Cameron to go get his brother (and Lacy), and turned the lights on bright to see what had happened.

Poor old Tree

        There was a 120 plus year old Maple tree standing about 15 feet off the corner of our front porch. She has been looking sad for a lot of years, and we had planned on taking it down this fall, as the tree was aimed right for our house. Well, let me tell you..that chunk of tree fell and landed approximately 2 feet from the truck, 3 feet from the car, and directly in front of the porch.The only damage was a small hole in the porch ceiling, the vehicles are both fine. If the tree fell where it should have fallen, it would have crushed the entire porch. We were all amazed. Mother and Daddy came down from next door, and marveled at the miracle of the tree placement.
       The problem was the remaining tree was still blowing, and the last big part of it was directly over our house. Liam and I sat in the car and watched gust after gust shake the tree, blowing it this way and that. I sat in the car probably an hour, and then realized I now had blood running down my arm. Time to go in.

Close!

       We said one last prayer to my Guardian Angel, that I KNEW had been with me in the operating room, and also there when that tree crashed down. Liam and I prayed it would stay up, and not come down on the house, during the storm.
       We went inside and Liam slept on the couch, Cliffy and I cleaned up my arm, and went to bed, and Cameron stayed up until the wind died down, then slept upstairs. The wind blew HARD, all night, but...the tree stayed up.
       Cliffy and I were awake off and on, the rest of the night.  I was off and on in pain, and still thinking about the tree, and how lucky and blessed we were to have been spared. I told Cliffy I thought my guardian angel was certainly on over time, and I bet that it was because we had so many people praying for me.
         At 5:00 am, I woke up and went to the bathroom, came back and snuggled under my covers. I rolled over, and got ready to go to sleep.
         "Carmen."
          I was like.."Huh?" What Cliffy?"
          "What?" He said..
          "Did you say my name?" I asked.

The next day

           "No, I didn't say anything."
           I said, "Who said my name?"
           He said, " I didn't hear anything."
            I did. I heard, what I swear, was a mans voice, calm, and serene, saying my name. I wasn't asleep, or on pain meds, as I hadn't taken any all night.
           I laid there awake, trying to decide if it was the same voice that I had heard say my name many years ago. In that situation, a tree was about to crash down, instead of having already crashed down. I think it was my Guardian Angel, letting me know everything was going to be fine, and that he was (again?) there for me.
          PS..I told Cliffy we need to move to Kansas..NO TREES!

         

Goat on clean up duty!

      

    

T'was the Night Before Surgery

 T'was the night before surgery,
 and all through the farm,
 Carmie was wondering,
 if she'd come to harm.

 Cliffy had hung the laundry with care,
 since Carmie would no doubt,
 need a fresh pair.

 The house was all cleaned,
 the dishes done too,
 Now if only Annalee
 hadn't chewed up the shoes.

 Baby Nibs had been warned,
 over and over in fact,
 if you pee on the rug,
 you will be sacked.

 The children were told,
 your mom is going under the knife,
 you better behave,
 if you value your life.

 Off to bed we go,
 To get a good rest,
 I can't eat I'm told,
 that Dr's a pest.

 In the morning, no coffee,
 no cereal, no toast,
 I'm thinking I'll starve..
 no, maybe lose one pound, at most.

 So, as I hop in the car,
 to my Cliffy give a whistle,
 away I will go,
 to Maine Med like a missile.

 And I hear the surgeon say,
 As the anesthesia kicks in,
 "Where's that damn sponge?"
 " Oh Crap! Not again!!"

The "ONE WEEK AND COUNTING" List

 TOP TEN THINGS TO DO IN THE UPCOMING WEEK BEFORE SURGERY:

  Number 10. Get apartment painted and cleaned

  Number 9. Get hair done so I dont look like the "Wreck of the Hesperus", as Nanny used to say

  Number 8. Get my house clean..It needs to be clean in case I croak, and also if I dont.

  Number 7.  Eat one more lobster roll for the season

  Number 6.  Bust out a new razor. It is after all, a special occasion.

  Number 5.  Stock up on magazines.

  Number 4. Stock up on dog and cat food, in case I am incapacitated for a couple days. Or if I croak.

  Number 3.  Call my kidney doctor and tell him HE WINS!

  Number 2. Smooch on Cliffy

  Number 1. Stick not one, but TWO bottles of Champagne in the fridge for once the "deed" is done.

Practicing a Cliffy Smooch!

  

T-minus 10 days and counting...

    The countdown has begun..10 days until my surgery. I have had a couple calls from the staff at Maine Medical Center, where I will be undergoing the "procedure". I guess they do everything but the actual surgery before hand. I had a call from admitting, all checked in. I had a call from the nurse, who took a complete history and meds list over the phone, all done. Now, I am awaiting a call from the anesthesiologist (spell check don't fail me now!!). I am sure he will ask about any prior surgeries I had the pleasure of having had done, and how I fared during them.
    I only hope this doctor is a better doctor then the one I had for Liam's c-section. I can't recall his name, but I usually just refer to him as Dr.'Where's that damn sponge'. Oh I didn't tell you? Yes, I'm sure you have perhaps heard a joke about doctors "losing things" during surgery, but alas, I can tell you it happened to me.
      I have three children, all born via c-section. Brogan was in a breech position, so she had to be a c-section baby. With Cameron, I did my level best to pop him out, but I couldn't do it, so another c-section was had. With Liam, it was a nightmare from the word PUSH!! After struggling mightily with Cameron, I told the last obstetrician I used, " NO LABOR! I want a c-section before labor".
     I was scheduled to go in for surgery on a Monday, and of course, went into labor Saturday night. Ow, ow, ow! After allowing me to labor along with NO PAIN MEDS, the doctor finally allowed me to go to the hospital for surgery, (had to get the ole golf game out of the way..)
      The anesthesiologist met with me, and arranged for a spinal. Poof, it was done in a flash and blessed relief enveloped me at last. So, time for the baby to be born. I was on one side of the curtain, and the doctor was on the other, when suddenly Voila!! It's a boy! Tears of joy, congratulations were said, baby cried, life was good. For a minute.
      Having had this done before, I was pretty familiar with the whole show..spinal, baby, suture up, done. The first two were phases complete, but it seemed the third phase was taking wayyy too long. I suddenly became aware of the clanging of metal trays, sputtering and a general flurry of activity I hadn't recalled during my last two operations.
      Then, suddenly, I literally felt what I like to call a "rooting around" sensation. In my stomach. Accompanied by those words a patient never wants to hear on an operating room table. "Where is that damn sponge???"
       I was becoming acutely aware as the moments ticked by, that I was indeed actually FEELING the doctor inside me, not just feeling the movement. I was getting a sharper more insistent pressure and pain, and said, "Umm...I can feel that..."
      The good doctor tersely snapped, "Feel what??"
       "I can feel you inside me," I managed to squeak out, as I was rocked back and forth on the table, as the sponge search continued.
       At that point, the doctor yelled, "GIVE HER MORE MEDS!" The last thing I remembered as I went back under, was the anesthesiologist muttering, "this is taking too long.." and a very distant "I found the sponge!"
      I woke up later, and was all nice and tidy, but in great pain, and with an incision that didn't heal for about 3 months. "NO more kids!" said I, oh, and of course, "TIME FOR A NEW DOCTOR!!"
      So, perhaps that too is part of why I put off the fistula surgery as long as I have. I hate the thought of surgery again, but there isn't much chance of a missing sponge this time. I don't think. Right? Sponge? Hello..??

 

Photo left to right....Cameron, Sponge, Brogan

Good Luck Left Arm Party!

    YOU ARE CORDIALLY INVITED TO A GOOD LUCK LEFT ARM PARTY!


   WHEN: SEPT 16TH

    WHY: FISTULA SURGERY SEPT 18TH, 2012

    WHERE: HOMELAND FARM

    WHAT WILL BE SERVED: KIDNEY BEANS AND "PEE" BEANS

    BEVERAGES: BLOODY CARMENS AND MOST LIKELY ARMPAGNE

     FUN GAMES: "PIN THE VEIN ON THE ARTERY"
                               "KIDNEY SHAPED PINATA" TO BEAT THE CRAP OUT OF
                               
    GIFT BAGS:WILL INCLUDE ORGAN DONOR INFORMATION AND ARMBANDS

     MARK IT ON YOUR CALENDER..LIKELY TO BE THE SOCIAL EVENT OF THE YEAR!

Procrastination wins again!

        The surgeons office called and left me a message, and said I need to call them back and let them know what days would not work for me to have the fistula surgery. I was kind of thinking nothing looks good monday through friday. So, I didn't call them back.
         I am not really sure why I am so hesitant to just DO THIS ALREADY!!! I suppose it could be that once I have this done, and have that less then attractive scar/vein thingy it will be really obvious to everyone (me?) that I am a sick person. Up until now, I have been able to get away with people just thinking I am a hag, and thats why I look like I do. Just kidding..lol. I crack myself up as I write sometimes. No, once they merge that artery and vein together (which is exactly what they do in fistula surgery) it will be really clear that something is up.        
       I am not scared of surgery, as I have had plenty of them in my less then healthy life. None of my kids had the decency to be born right. Three c-sections later, and my gut looks like a highway to hell! (Sorry, heard that song on the radio awhile ago..it is still stuck with me ...). Plus, I have had nose surgery from a less then glamorous departure from a horse, stomach surgery from a weird cyst that had the nerve to grow willie nillie in my stomach,  and ankle surgery from having the flatest feet God ever gave a gal. So I am certainly NOT scared of being operated on.
        I am a bit disappointed that my two back up careers, (should this writing thing fail me), would be out however. I am pretty sure being a professional arm wrestler, and/or a shoulder bag model would not be a good choice for me, even with the smaller incision the GOOD DOCTOR is promising me. So..whats the deal Lucille? Why the PRO-CRAS-TIN-A-TION? (such a long word, who knew?)
         Maybe it is just Yankee Stubborness. Maybe I'm waiting for DE-VINE intervention..Maybe DE-VINE intervention is all that has kept me going this long. The many doctors I have seen have all told me they don't know how I have managed to go so long without those darn wheels coming off that bus. Rumor has it only 15 percent of my kidneys (both together, not each..)are working. It is probably a freaking miracle I have to go to the bathroom at all, mens room OR ladies!
         But there..in the back of my mind..is that number..5.4. Crap. I guess tomorrow I will just do it. Pick a day, any day. I will ponder/pray tonight...see if I get any "hint" of what will work for me. I could always pick a day based on my horoscope..but then..I am not sure the Portland Press Herald is that good...The way my life is, I would be better off looking for a sign in the comic section. I will consult the funnies and let the doctor know a day tomorrow..No, Really! I Will!

Looking for Mr. Right..(Surgeon, that is..)

      A couple nephrologist appointments ago, I finally agreed to have an appointment to see a surgeon and have "vein mapping" done. When you start hemodialysis, you need to have a big ole vein system set up to accommodate the needles associated with dialysis. One needle draws blood out of your body, which then sends the blood through a machine that cleans it, and another needle delivers it back into your arm. (I'm not a doctor, nor do I play one on t.v....)So, I had an appointment made with a surgeon to find the best sight for this fistula, or access sight.
     I was sitting in the exam room, in my lovely johnny, when he came in, introduced himself, and then told the technician to fire up the ultrasound machine. He was barking at the poor woman from the first moment she started, and I really felt bad for her. She wasn't doing this right..and hold that there better.."NO NO, that's not it..that vein over there!" I was cringing as she tried to do her best to please him. I was busy thinking, jeez..lighten up you ole geezer, and then he started in on me.
     He said this is where the incision will be..and drew an imaginary line down my arm, from my armpit to my elbow. He said, "This is going to be a very intricate, delicate three hour surgery, and do you know why?" When I shook my head no, he grabbed my upper arm flab, shook it vigorously, and said " Because of this!! THIS is why it will take so long, this arm fat."
     I was flabbergasted, as I had never had my arm flapped by a doctor before. I was thinking two things..First, someone feed this skinny old buzzard something..Can I fry you a donut, or make you a pie or something?? Good grief! Then I thought..Hey! That WAS muscle, until a couple years ago. Cut me some slack, I'm almost 50! OK, I actually thought three things..Number three was that there was NO WAY this crotchity old bear was going to be in charge of merging my veins into one mega vein.
      So, I said "I will think about it", and left. As I ate my TAKE THAT! burger on the way home, I decided that there was likely to be another doctor out there someplace that had a better "bedside manner" then that guy, and I would insist on a second opinion.
      At my next nephrologist appointment, he was all chatty, and asked how I liked my surgeon visit. I said I was pretty sure a mother grizzly had more charm, and told him that guy wasn't going to cut me open come hell or high water.  I said I need a second opinion, and we set up appointment number two at a different office.
       It was all together different. I had a good feeling as I found the building, with no problem. There was a parking garage attached to the office, yay! I drove in and found a parking spot right in front of the door. Good sign, I thought. The elevator was located right inside said door, and the ladies room as right in front of the elevator door when it opened on my floor. I could almost hear the birds singing and smell the flowers, it was going so well. As I washed my hands, after using the ladies room, I thought to myself "I'm getting a really good vibe here at this place, maybe this doctor will be a good one." I opened the door to walk out, and realized I had just used the men's room...(which might explain the damp toilet seat).
        I was glad no one saw me moseying  out of the men's room, laughing out loud, and really thankful no one came in to USE the men's room while I was inside. I just could tell it was MY LUCKY DAY! I sat in the exam room, and waited for the ultrasound technician, hoping it would go easier then last time, and it did. The guy was very professional, it was quick, and over in no time. The doc wasn't there with us, but would come meet with me after the report was done. So I sat in the office and waited. And waited. And waited some more. Finally, in he came, introduced himself and shook my hand ( NOT my arm flab, a very good sign I thought.)
          He said " Let's take a look at your chart.." and opened it up, reading a few pages.
          "So, you didn't like your last surgeon, and you don't even want to have this done, huh?" I just laughed and said "Boy, they don't mince words do they?"
          He then gave me his version of what they would do and how. The incision would be below my elbow, but a lot smaller. The surgery would only take 45 minutes or so, and I would go home the same day. He said it takes 2 months for the fistula to "mature" and be ready for use, which is why they need to get it in before I need to use it. I've heard that moment described in many ways.."when the wheels come off the bus..", or when "my kidneys crash", or when "it's go time!"
          He did say I do need to lose more weight, and then I can meet with a transplant team to see if a kidney transplant is something that will work for me. I don't look forward to a life on dialysis, so that is very good incentive to eat better. I have been trying to do so, as I have known for a while that that was the case, and have alreadylost 25 pounds. How you ask? I have been eating more whole grains, fruit and veggies. ( I feel like I should be shoving clothes that are too big into a Goodwill receptacle as I say that..) It isn't easy though..one symptom your kidneys are getting ready to go into complete failure is a loss of appetite. Leave it to me to still be starving as they gasp their last breath...when I was first  told I had kidney disease, my diagnosis on my lab work was  "chronic kidney disease", then it progressed to "chronic kidney disease, severe", and I think now it is "chronic kidney disease, how the heck are you still alive??"
            So, now I have my latest lab work, and the "magic number" of 5.4. I guess it really is "go time!"

(Not to be confused with anything Kardashian..)

       5.4 is apparently my "magic number." I have wondered for years what it would be, and now I know... 5.4. Now, that isn't a winning lottery number, my age, or, contrary to what many people may think..my I.Q. 5.4 is the creatnine number that has made me decide it is time for me to take the next step in handling my kidney disease.
        Let me give you a brief history. I was diagnosed with chronic kidney disease 8 years ago. I went through a tough time initially..nothing like failing organs and a failing marriage to make you see what you are made of, real quick! I came down with pneumonia and was then diagnosed with kidney disease. I was released from the hospital after a week, and then had weekly office visits for injections and blood work. I remember one very grim day when the Doctor had me sit in an office alone and watch a video describing the various types of dialysis. Not one of my best days. Down right crappy, really. I like my nephrology office (aka Kidney Specialists), but that is one area they failed on...consoling sad patients during dismal movie viewing.
         I recovered enough with salt restrictions, and a vast myriad of medicines to have remained dialysis free for the last 8 years. I have gone though the entire staff of my nephrology office, with  some of the doctors retiring and others gaining seniority enough to NOT have to travel to the small town clinic where I meet with them every couple of months.
        Over the last couple of years, my "renal profile", particularly my creatnine, has started to edge upwards into BAD numbers. The normal creatnine number for an adult female is less then 1. For many years, mine hung around 3.0-3.5...not great, but not horrible. Over the last couple of years, it has crept up and up..3.8..4.0..4.5. until last week. Every time I have met with my nephrologist, they have really been pushing for THE NEXT STEP. A dialysis site called a fistula. I have continually said..BLAH. It got so bad that my last doctor would walk into the exam room, take one look at me sitting in the chair, arms crossed, and would say "I see you haven't changed your mind."
        Now, I am not trying to be stubborn, it was just that I haven't felt any sicker then I have for the last 8 years. Maybe a TAD more tired, but I'm on the verge of 50! Just typing it exhausts me. So I have clung to the idea that I was going to "Buck the system! Be that exception to the rule! No surgery for me! Dialysis, Schmialysis!"
        Then, 5.4. I make a habit to find out my "numbers" every time I have lab work done. I like to think of it as my own personal "lottery." I recently had lab work done, and had an appointment with my regular doctor to discuss my anemia, the leading cause of piles of laundry and unwashed dishes.
My long time doctor had abandoned ship, moving away from the area, so I was meeting a new doc, her replacement I was sure to like, I was told.
          She came into the exam room, and was a very nice person, indeed someone I liked immediately. She said.."Now, let me look over your history and records a bit.." She clicked a few times on the computer, and started reading..and her smile slowly disappeared. I watched her face carefully, as she read. Smile back on her face, she stood and said "Lets check you out!" She walked over to where I sat on the table, and started feeling my lymphnodes. As she felt my neck, she said.." You DO have beautiful skin...". I laughed and made a comment about how it is too bad everything inside that skin is shot!
             I mentioned I had recently had lab work drawn, and was wondering "how my numbers were...". She was happy to look it up, and that was when I heard the magic number..5.4. CRAP.
I said thanks, and see ya in November. I drove home, and decided it was time to put up or shut up, as they say. Time for fistula surgery. It is still a big BLAH, but the next step in my journey. Are you familiar with the country song.."Going through the Big D, and don't mean Dallas"? Well, in the song, it was Divorce, but for me, it is Dialysis.  So, I am going to share my adventure in this blog,  hopefully shedding some insight into the process for anyone that stumbles across this blog, and is in the very beginning of their kidney troubles. It isn't always easy, but I am a firm believer in the power of positive thought and prayer, and I hope that sharing my story can in some small way, maybe help someone else down the road.
             Next..finding a surgeon for fistula construction..