The Sober Widow

Chapter 10

In a word, dialysis stinks. I only had to be on it for about eight weeks or so, and I feel tremendous compassion for those who have to be on it for years before they can get their new kidneys. It’s not the most terrible thing in the world, and it’s not quite as painful as other things I went through, but it’s still not pleasant.

It was necessary for me for two reasons: one, my liver made my kidney sick. My kidney was fine, and then as the liver deteriorated, it wasn’t giving the kidney what it needed and two, it was an effective way to get rid of the overwhelming amount of fluid being accumulated in my body, in addition to the paracentesis procedures. Before the transplant could occur, my body needed to be rid of as much fluid as possible. At one point, I was moved to the ICU so that I could be on dialysis 22/7 (they gave me an hour break in the morning and one at night).

As I mentioned before, the dialysis machine is hooked up to you through a port that has been implanted in your body; in my case, I had the port in the left side of my chest. It’s just high enough that you can see the remaining scar at all times, unless I’m wearing a very high collar. No prude jokes please! Then you’re hooked up to a fairly large machine as seen above that cleanses your blood and, in my case, removes the fluid.

When they felt they had gotten a good amount of fluid out and I was moved out of the ICU (and I actually saw ankles as opposed to one big tree trunk of a leg), the dialysis changed to three times a week for three to four hours at a stretch. They would tell me that morning whether it was going to be in the morning or the afternoon. For a morning session, the transport team would come and take me at 7 a.m. (afternoons were 12-4), bed and all, to the dialysis wing on a different floor, where they would hook me up and turn on the TV for me. Mind you, there were two rooms, each with about 10 beds in each one, so you had to really concentrate if you hoped to actually hear the TV. Most times I just brought a magazine or my Kindle with me but I usually ended up asleep anyway since I was getting hardly any sleep at night.

During dialysis, the blood and fluid would flow out, and the fluid would stay but the blood would return, all clean and shiny. It was common for at least three liters of fluid to be removed during those sessions, so it was effective. And it kept my kidney happy. But oh, it was so uncomfortable. There were patients who were mobile enough to sit in a chair during dialysis, but I was not one of them, so I had to lie on my back in bed the whole time, and I couldn’t roll over to one side because of the needle/port position. I’m not a back sleeper, so it was just something to endure (“this will pass,” remember?). And oh, yes, they were also incredibly kind about my frequent use of the dreaded bedpan. I HATED that.

There was an external portion to the port that stayed in place (almost like a small test tube hanging out of my chest, definitely not an attractive fashion accessory), so it was relatively easy and quick for the nurses to attach and remove it. I was seriously impressed by how quickly everything was set up before and taken apart after. These folks really know what they’re doing, and they’re all so nice about bringing you water or something, and they did serve breakfast/lunch or even snacks if the time of day called for it. However, as I may have mentioned, I was on all kinds of food and drink restrictions, so there were times when, even if I was starving or really thirsty, they couldn’t do anything to help me. Plus, the bed only raised up a bit, not to an actual sitting position, so it was hard to eat anyway.

I have a whole post waiting in the wings about meals and nutrition in the hospital, especially when you have all sorts of restrictions, that you will find quite entertaining (my entertainment bar is set pretty low).

The dialysis continued right up until the transplant operation, because it was imperative that I be as fluid-free as possible. It was also a humbling experience because there were people with seriously failing kidneys right around me who were all waiting for a transplant and, in some cases, had been waiting for years. As an Italian, who was raised Catholic, the guilt was real when I got my kidney so quickly. Rest assured that I never take this for granted at any time.

Interestingly, they removed my dialysis port the day after surgery; they were that confident that I wouldn’t need it again.