Delicacy of Dialysis

In 2017 a home hemodialysis nurse told me that the home dialysis machines were gentler than the machines that are in the clinics. My interpretation of that statement was that the patients who do not have the option to do their treatments at home have to suffer more than patients (clients is probably more fitting) who can treat themselves in their homes.

Because if you know that one machine is less aggressive than the other, why not “only” use the one that is less aggressive? I’ll assume that it is based on time and money.  Money makes mans world go around.

A kidney doctor (nephrologist) who knew nothing about my mother, was meeting her for the first time, told me that she would probably live five years being on dialysis.  I felt he was a donkey for saying that.  Later, I understood why he did.  Solely, in their hands, you are less likely to survive. Most of the time you will have to manipulate their recommended treatment to benefit from a treatment that will be customed for you and not set for the majority. We are individuals and have individual needs.

The centers are staffed with technicians who are trained to get as many people in the chairs as possible and to get them out as fast as possible.  That’s why many clients look like they have ran a marathon after being dialyzed.  Their bodies literally  have.  My mother has had several hospital visits from orders of pulling too much fluid, and a flow rate that was too high.  There seems to be an obsession with pulling fluid, even when it’s not there.

Most times the blood pressure will drop from pulling too much or the body will start cramping, letting you know that it’s too much for the body. I instructed clinics to never go beyond a certain amount during treatments for my mother.

I saw a lady yesterday that I met in one of the clinics last year.  She was with her husband and looked like she could barely make it and worse.  It troubled me because I know that her treatment doesn’t have to be so harsh.  I guess enough people haven’t died or complained to cause changes to be made.

I try to help the patients feel as comfortable as possible when I’m allowed to cross their paths by giving them special hoods or sweatshirts with openings for their accesses so they’ll be warm during treatment, getting snacks that they can tolerate after the treatment, hard candy during treatment for dry mouth, calling to check on their transportation and anything else that is appropriate, but it’s not enough.

These are people who need better care at the core.  My trying to help after the damage has been done, isn’t help at all.

From experience I would request peritoneal dialysis as the mode for dialyzing before hemodialysis. Facilities may try to discourage you by talking of sterile techniques. Being sanitary and careful should get the job done.

I did hemodialysis at home with my mother for a year with no incidents whatsoever, with the exception of a few cases of prolonged bleeding after pulling her needles that blood pressure medication and a cold compress took care of.

Roses For Ms Margaret

Ms Margaret is a patient of the same dialysis clinic as my mom and me.  She is an eighty-seven year old , heavy set, humble, black woman, of few words, who waits patiently in her wheelchair with her oxygen tank for medical transportation to pick her up from the clinic and drive her back to the nursing facility that she resides.

Last Saturday I greeted her with a hug and asked her how she was feeling.  She didn’t complain of anything besides being tired from waiting for her ride. She had finished her treatment at ten and it was then twelve thirty.  She said sometimes her ride would not come until two o’clock. Giving her a four hour wait.

Pam, one of the nurses at the facility, came out to get my mom and told me that she had called the transportation company for Ms Margaret but no one is in the office on Saturday’s.

Ms Margaret told me that you only get a voicemail on Saturday.  I called anyway but found Ms Margaret and Pam to be right.  I asked Ms Margaret if I could call her daughter for her but she said that it wouldn’t do any good since she had to have a lift to get into a vehicle.

She then told me that she had needed to be taken to the bathroom but had to have a bed pan due to her limited mobility.  I felt terrible and helpless for her being in that situation.

I offered her a pack of nabs ( name given to peanut butter crackers by elders).  Hesitant to accept them, she said she would only eat one.  I asked her if she had a drink in her bag but she didn’t, so I went to the dollar store across the street to get her a fruit punch.

When I got back to the clinic with her drink she told me about her treatment at the nursing facility. She mentioned how her doctor told her that she should have been dead ten years ago, and how he snuck and put a patch on her back that her son asked him not to due to the side effects that it caused her.

Then she told me how her assistant refused to wash her properly and told her that she smelled bad and made her sick to be near her.  I held back tears.

Yesterday, I had opportunity to visit her. I took her roses, strawberries, and grapes.  I was able to meet one of her assistants who appeared unfriendly and defensive by my presence.  Compliments and kindness eased his position.  I was able to assist with her bath and get her settled for bed.

Today I made calls to the transportation company and the nursing facility to try to resolve her ever having to wait four hours to be picked up.

The Physician

I took my mother to a hospital.  We have been in and out of hospitals for more than ten years now, so I have developed what I call clinical traumatic stress (since we are a society obsessed with labels). Personally, I am comfortable being kind, polite, and respectful; therefore, I make a conscious effort to exhibit those mannerisms in all settings. Nevertheless, I am always on guard in medical facilities. I am on guard due to our experiences.

So the ER physician visited my mom to do an assessment.  I normally answer majority to all questions for her.  I was explaining her history and his response was displeasing to my ears and mind.  I was tired from our wait to be seen. We arrived to the hospital around 3pm and it was now 9pm.  Regardless of the sharp subtle emotion between the physician and myself, we civilly continued the assessment.  The physician recommended the studies to be performed and continued on his way.

My mother was silently laying there, appearing blank from time-to-time, while I just sat there thinking what would or should be next.  Then, out of nowhere I was either talking to myself inside my head, or someone else was talking to me.  I was asked a question.  “Do you know what he does?”  “He saves lives!”  “Can you do what he does?”  I was needfully humbled. Something so unavoidable … how was it that I wasn’t counseled sooner? Why did I allow the actions of others to poison my mind so dreadfully?

His position is a giant to fill.  Being skilled and able bodied to assist in so many different emergent scenarios.  That’s what I call EXTRAORDINARY.  I’m disappointed in myself for not expressing this form of appreciation sooner.  I didn’t mean not to, I was tainted.  I was privileged with the opportunity to meet his presence again.  I apologized for my not being able to communicate my mothers condition better and thanked him sincerely for his help. He told me that he hadn’t noticed, but I noticed and knew my feelings.

I’m glad that he wasn’t offended by my lack and even more glad for a brighter and better perspective.  I’m grateful for the humbling experience and realization of the nobility and honor that is inbedded in these amazing individuals…….Thank you always and forever

 Physician

Loyal to your mission

Obligated to the day and night of decision

Unwavering in your position

Bearer of a mighty petition

 

Born A Woman: Pain

This time was different.  The nurse needed to see him about something.  She wouldn’t tell me what it was, but he told me that he had to pay more.  It was more painful than before.  The pain was so unbearable that it caused me to pass out during the procedure.

After it was over we went back to his house in Lynchburg instead of him taking me home.  He dropped me off and left.  I was bleeding like a fountain and in a lot of pain but my heart was the heaviest.  I promised myself that day that I would never do that again.  I had never felt that alone.

I stayed there for the rest of the week and he surprised me with a car.  I wasn’t excited about the car, but I faked it as best as I could.  I drove home that day.

In A Bad Place

My mother needs rehab but she is well enough not to be hospitalized.  I need her doctor to fill out a standardized form that was given to me by the administrator of the rehab facility to return to the facility.  My sister took the form to the doctor’s office today but the  receptionist nor the nurse would accept the form.  Why not?  It’s procedural.  It’s what we were instructed to do.  

I called the nurse and she was rude and unprofessional.  I am not familiar with the nurse and do not know her name to file a complaint.  Her office manager told me that she could not give me her last name? Why tha fuck not?  Why is it that you have our personal information and access to our records and we not know who tha fuck you are?  That doesn’t add up.  

But it has taught me a valuable lesson.  Get names first when you are interacting with these people.  My anxiety has been on ten since this morning and I can still feel my breathing being compromised because of this.  It’s not right.  All because of a piece of paper that the doctor has the discretion to fill out in the manner that he chooses.  Now I’m sitting here feeling like a fucking maniac.  People are sickening.  That’s why I dwell in a fairytale.

Dreams: Hospital Traumatic Stress: The Butcher

Catching my breath before I can begin.  So much to be said that I have run out of wind.  If I were writing the ink would run from my pen.  If I were talking ears would stop listening.

My mother was in a hospital bed.  The possibilities were tormenting my head.  The team was speaking a language that I didn’t understand.  Their intention was to keep me unaware of the plan.  

The discussion was about her leg.  Her leg was scarred from old wounds.  But it was well.  But not by the story that they would tell.  I pulled the cover away from her leg.  It was terrible to look at, so I fled.

I couldn’t find the team.  It felt like I was trapped in a bad dream.  I made it back to my mother’s room and they were all there. Mama was on her side dazed and without care.  The chief was now cutting into my mothers back, without reason, just to prove a fact.

All I could do was grab her by the head.  It was quite clear that she wanted my mother to be dead.

….please don’t remain silent when life, health, or wellness are on the line.

…let your words and actions stop egos and evils.  Say no to things that are doing harm.  An example would be if someone is being given a large dose of something and is now in a comatose state but they weren’t before being given the medicine.  Stop the medicine for a few doses to see if they will come out of the coma.

…research constantly and ask as many questions as needed until you have understanding of what is going on and don’t be afraid to pull the cord on a procedure at ANY TIME if you are unsure and if they are.

…be in control of your health and your loved ones because you have to live with it.

…remember that medicine is a practice and needs to be approached individually.

 

What Do You Do When You Have Limited Options For Healthcare?

There is a growing fear of possibly needing a hospital and having to go to one that you know is unsafe.  This creates anxiety and it makes you want to get away from the area and find someplace that is safe and efficient.  But where, and does a place even exist?  

There is a trend of not caring, or doing just enough to get by.  This should never be the case in healthcare but it seems to be dominating in many places where people depend on others for help.

to be continued…

Healing Of The Nation

The legendary Robert Nesta Marley and many others shared their knowledge of cannibas many decades ago.  Long before them, there was the peace pipe (what was in it).  Bob Marley titled one of his songs “Lively Up Yourself” (And Don’t Be A Drag).  Cannibas is called “The Healing Of The Nation.”

Today competition is piling up in cannibas markets legally…while just yesterday it was frowned upon.

I had an acquaintance in the Netherlands who told me that law enforcement officers in his area only have one bullet in their guns and that it was a rarity for them to ever have to use it.  That was amazing to me.

If so many brilliant minds had and have belief in cannibas as being a positive vibration, I’m grateful that the nation has embraced it and look forward to seeing the results.

 “One Love, One Heart, Let’s Get Together And Feel Alright”

…Robert Nesta Marley…

Exhausted

For years I’ve struggled with fatigue.  I’ve tried different things to overcome it only to face additional dilemmas.  I stopped eating meat, I stopped eating everyday and would eat every three days.  I tried supplements and coffee.  I tried exercising twice a day, or running two miles a day.  

But nothing seemed to help me conquer being exhausted all the time.  My life has been demanding and I’ve lived most of it on the run due to life threatening circumstances involving my mothers health or human rights

Still, I don’t think I should be so tired that I can hardly move or even speak.  I felt ashamed of myself because it just seems like I’m lazy and don’t want to do better, but that’s definitely not the case.  Ive always had goals and am always thinking of ways to improve on things for others and myself.

I know I struggle with depression and I’ve been given medicine for that that only made me sleep, so that doesn’t work for me.  I need to get things done.  Also, I’m someone who doesn’t care for taking medicine too often.  

I went to the doctor yesterday to have labs drawn to see if and where I’m deficient.  The physician offered me something to try in the meantime.  She told me to take half because she is familiar with my anxiety towards medicine.  I was desperate for help and eager to try it.

So my day started off as it usually does, feeling fine while socializing with the flowers for a few and slowing down when it’s time to head out.  I had an English muffin and that slowed me down even more.  I took half of the pill as she instructed and felt a little better in about an hour.

I got my mom dressed for the clinic and drove her there and wasn’t feeling too much of an improvement so I decided to brave the other half of the pill.  I feel much better.  My brain is moving faster.  I actually feel like answering questions.  I’m picking up around the house and planning on painting, a haircut, and full makeover.   : )

THATS SOME GOOD STUFF!!! 😊😊😊

Today I’m grateful for physicians and medicine….thank you for helping us all

 

Health Choice

“Is Your Health A Business Or A Concern?  Be The Determining Source, Use Your Voice”

I witnessed incidents yesterday that induced a cause for alarm in a healthcare setting…

There was an elderly man suffering with severe leg edema who was being allowed to sit and sleep in a wheelchair all day with his legs not being elevated.

An elderly diabetic woman drenched with sweat and confused and a nurse that was unable to operate a glucometer.