Kidney Failure takes over

The physical debilitation came on slowly; I didn't realize it, or maybe I purposefully ignored it, not wanting to admit that I was weakening, but I was.  I ate very little, trying to avoid toxifying my system and because, frankly, I wasn't hungry ever. I continued doing the things I had to do, but little else. I got to the point where I really had to work up the energy and strength just to walk up the stairs. My stomach started hurting, I was nauseous and dizzy one morning, so I gave in and called my nephrologist.  

He was clear, "Go to the ER today, check yourself in and we'll get you on dialysis tomorrow." I was still in denial, and I thought he was overreacting.  He told me I needed a chest xray to be sure I didn't have pneumonia. I resisted but eventually went in. In the ER they drew my lab work and were shocked at the toxic levels in my system.  I started feeling really badly, realizing the seriousness of my situation.  I also understood that there was nothing they were going to do to help me.  

The surgery my doctor wanted me to have(peritoneal dialysis surgery) would take 2 weeks to heal and I wouldn't feel any better in the meantime. My body was seriously deteriorating.  The doctor explained to me that I was at risk for so many other things, not necessarily related to my kidneys, but rather because my body was so toxic.  My internal organs were getting damaged, my red blood cell count was like an AIDS patient.  

The next day, the doctor talked to me about emergency catheter surgery. They would place a line in my chest that they could use immediately. No one was there with me to discuss it with the doctor, but I knew I needed to do it.  I went in to the surgery alone, and it was a nightmare.  

The anesthesia didn't work correctly, and I felt everything.  The two radiologists kept consulting each other and I had never heard so many "I'm sorry's" ever.  I felt the burn of the anesthesia each time they replaced it, but I never went numb.  I cried a lot, but I was scared to move as my chest and neck were exposed and open. I could feel the tears running down the sides of my face and settling in my ear lobes.  As I got more and more scared, I was feeling stifled under my mask and started to hyperventilate…I had to calm down.  

I thought about watching the sunset, smelling a fire, my son falling asleep in my arms…I think it worked.  The head surgeon came in, and told me bluntly, "This is going to hurt, Michelle, but if you move, it will hurt more and we'll have to start over."  I was so glad for his calm demeanor. He was right; it hurt, a lot.  He had to push three times and each time felt more excruciating. He told me the catheter was in.  

One of the radiologists - (who I'm sure was introduced to me as Dr Somebody), the one whose friend kept saying, "Omar, stop! Omar, it's not working..." - sewed me back up. I know this hurt too, but relative to the placement, it was a breeze, and I was emotionally and physically burnt.  I don't remember much more of that evening.  I know my parents arrived and my daughter came to see me.  I remember trying to fake like I was feeling ok while she was there, but I don't think I was especially successful. I was determined to be a model of strength and flexibility to her. I could handle anything.