Dialysis: The Third Day

The third and last day of hospital supervised dialysis began three years ago with a very sore and swollen left arm. My veins run deep and the fistula was not fully formed. My forearm resembled a pincushion from all the failed attempts to stick the needles into the fistula. (The needles were approximately the size of a four penny nail!)

I was wheeled into the lab early in the morning and the sticking was no easier. The head nurse campaigned with my nephrologist to install a catheter, that there would be no way the technicians at the dialysis centers would be able to hit the vein. Dr. Rinner examined my arm, squeezed it and said the fistula felt just fine. He looked at the direction she had been sticking and suggested that she angle to the right. She hit it right away. This would be a continuing theme over the next two years. I got a full treatment and it went smoothly.

So other than needle problems, my first days of dialysis had gone extremely well. I was delighted to be feeling so much better. In fact, I was wondering why I had been so resistant for so long. Of course my life was severely changed. I had spent the days in the hospital reading reams of information on the need to restrict fluid intake (a major handicap in the wine business!) and severe dietary restrictions. And I could never stray too far from my new friend for life the dialysis machine.


Now we can start the tales of miscommunication and confusion that seems to be part of the American standard of health care. I was through with three successful days of dialysis and was ready for discharge. Except that the social worker who was supposed to have been working on arrangements with a dialysis center for my future treatments didn't get started until the last minute. So instead of being discharged, I sat in my room and waited, incurring another day's charge on the hospital bill.

Finally she came in with arrangements and schedules and I called Susan to come pick me up. Then the social worker called back and said my insurance wouldn't cover the treatment. I told her that was wrong, I had their approval letter with me. It turned out that she made arrangements with a center that is not on my insurance's approved list. Nice. She went back to work. Susan showed up and we both had a warm nap in the sunlit room.

Eventually the social worker called and asked if a Monday-Wednesday-Friday schedule at 7am would be acceptable. I said that would be perfect. Which it was! The center was about a mile from the house. I would be able to keep working full time by working closing shifts  on Monday and Friday. I could take my day off on Wednesday and be able to go to choir rehearsal on Wednesday evenings. My first appointment at the dialysis center would be the next Friday at 11 in the morning.