Infection, sepsis, a family reunion, and far away good friends

By Michael Fraase

Tuesday, 11 July 2000 10:46PM CST

Section: ESRD

Things were going pretty well throughout most of April. I was still working full-time and I thought I was managing my kidney disease pretty well. I had switched to the last dialysis shift on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays (4:00 PM - 8:00 PM), leaving the better part of my weekends free.

In late April the bottom fell out. I had uncontrollable diarrhea and vomiting for three straight days and I had to pay Saint Joseph’s Hospital yet another visit. I was septic and spent three days undergoing tests to find the infection. Never did find out what it was that dropped me in my tracks, but the doctors’ best guess was some sort of bacterial infection that was later compounded by some sort of viral infection. Or vice versa; they didn’t know.

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A new nephrologist and fistula surgery

By Michael Fraase

Monday, 10 July 2000 10:35PM CST

Section: ESRD

My original nephrologist, the one that ran the Roseville Dialysis Center, refused to see me at the Saint Paul Dialysis Center, instead sending one of his partners. Competing turf trumps patient care every time. My first and only encounter with the partner would have been humorous if my life wasn’t at stake. He barely spoke English, asked how I was feeling, and said he really couldn’t tell me anything because he hadn’t had time to look at my records.

Time to find a new nephrologist.

Cathy called her contacts at the University of Minnesota and within a week got me in to see the nephrologist that was singly and unanimously recommended. Bless her.

I fired my first nephrologist, but not before he could slip a note in my chart that I needed psychological counseling. He was very concerned that I had missed my appointment at his dialysis center. He was immune to hearing anything negative about his center, waving my comments away in a curiously artificial kind and caring tone.

When Cathy called him he explained, in a kind and caring manner, that she was too close to be objective. Well, I certainly hope my friends aren’t objective about my health care. And as far as that goes, I hope my doctors aren’t either. He explained that he was worried about my attitude and that I should seek counseling.

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Catheter + dialysis

By Michael Fraase

Thursday, 06 July 2000 10:52PM CST

Section: ESRD

On Presidents’ Day, 21 February 2000, I went back to Saint Joseph’s to have a catheter installed and I had my first hemodialysis treatment. All of the healthcare professionals had been adamantly telling me that I’d feel better than I’d felt in years as soon as I started dialysis. It was a lie. I felt worse. I still wanted to die. Now the party line was that I had been ill for so long that I didn’t know what feeling good felt like. Right. I was so weak I had to take two breaks going up the stairs in my home and I couldn’t even hold my head up for more than a minute or two.

Three days later I had my first in-center hemodialysis run at the Roseville Dialysis Center. It was a nightmare. My wife, Karen, and our good friend, Cathy, a nurse practitioner went with me. The dialysis center was filthy and I found out later that the clinical director had only six months experience. The charge nurse used to work in the state prison and treated patients, as best I could tell, like inmates. Patients, inmates, they were all the same. I didn’t want to be coddled, but I certainly expected to be treated like a human being. I introduced my wife and friend upon arrival but was asked repeatedly if I was married and whom they should notify if I had problems during the procedure. When asked, “What do you want us to do if your heart stops?” the only answer I could muster was, “Well, do you think you could restart it?”

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