The fistula in my left arm was accidentally infiltrated with a needle by the nurse. Infiltrated means: the needle the nurse inserted went through my fistula vs. into my fistula for dialysis. (Warning: ish is about to get real, not for the faint of heart).
Blood came out of my arm like it was shot out of a cannon. All over my arm, sheet, my pride, the nurse, the floor, etc. Her eyes grew so big, and I was strangely calm. Staring as my blood kept making it’s debut I thought, “Wow, this is weirdly funny.”
The nurse panicked, friends of mine were outside my room chatting as I was bleeding out and laughing. A call for backup, gauze and more gauze. “Mr. Lane I am so sorry”, “Where is that spankin’ gauze!”, and I was patched up. She held my hand and apologized profusely. Her holding my hand made a huge difference. Onto the next day, where again, I bleed my own blood!
The Next Day (or “I Wonder How Fast I Can Run In Dress Socks?”)
The next day, I was scheduled to have a a catheter installed because my arm with the fistula had swollen up like Popeye. The catheter, I quickly learned, was to be placed in my neck. Sexy!
I can’t tell you how much I did not want anything surgically implanted into my neck, but apparently when medical science is trying to keep you alive, you don’t have much say so.
My life long friend James showed up as they wheeled me into surgery where I found out: “Oh, I’m going to be awake for this?” “Oh, your going to stick the second biggest needle I have ever seen into my neck to numb the pain of the catheter being installed.
I thought to myself, if I were wearing pants, I think I would have tried to make a run for it. “Security, we have a naked black man wearing black dress socks with wires sticking out of his body running through the hospital. Be advised!”
I felt like Frankenstein as the Doc started working on my neck. It took quite a while because, if you haven’t guessed it, I’m a bleeder and it wasn’t connecting correctly (part of the catheter went down my jugular into my heart. I should have used that line when I was wooing my wife. "Hey baby, your like a catheter going down my jugular vein into my heart.)
One of the nurses, of her own accord, held my hand during all this. She had the nicest British accent and told me it was going to be okay. That, that right there, made me feel so much better. My fears, calmed. Until…
A Bloody Timeout
An alarm went off, I was quasi patched up, placed in a wheelchair, put into a corner and was told not to touch my neck or move. An elderly gentleman was having a heart attack in the room next to me and everyone ran to assist.
There I sat, with apparatus sticking out of my neck, half naked, when I started to bleed again. Slowly, a crimson stream flowed down my chest and started collecting into my belly button. “Don’t touch anything” the nurse had told me. Umm…ma'am...
I started laughing at the craziness of the situation. Then I started singing to push back against the fear starting to overtake me. Blood, laughter, and song, such a strange cocktail early on a Thursday morning.
The man was stabilized, I was removed from timeout and patched up. I dialyzed through the catheter in my neck for the first time that afternoon, and I was discharged about a week later.
(Side note: I was informed not to get my catheter wet because, like Gremlins, bad things would happen. Two months later, I was at a funeral in the rain and, yup, bad things later happened. Another story for another time.)
We Are Made For Each Other
All of our showmanship of disguise, of smiling, of "I've got it all together" is peeled back in the face of whatever hardship we are facing. A gentle touch, a friendly hand can make such a difference. The kind nurse with the British accent holding my hand when I was freaking the freak out, calmed me down so much. The nurse who infiltrated my fistula, her holding my hand afterward made things right more than any apology verbalized.
A hand hold, a hug, a nod of acceptance, these things mean so much than anything we could say when a situation is overwhelming
We/I try so hard to come up with something to say, when maybe our art isn't always in our words, but in our humanity reaching, touching another person.
Written By: Jermaine Jay Lane
Photo By: 'Don't Let Go' by Sam Caplat via Flickr and a Creative Commons License