Dialyses, transfusions, and grafts -- Oh my!

Seems like every time Dad goes in for hemodialysis, he's also going in for another blood transfusion.  Dad's hemoglobin has been low.  He had another blood transfusion today.  

He was scheduled to have a minor surgical procedure done this Thursday, July 31.  It's been postponed due to his low hemoglobin count. The procedure is supposed to create more direct and permanent dialysis access, an entranceway into Dad's bloodstream that lies beneath his skin and is easy to use. 

The two kinds of access portals are: 

- FISTULA -- joining an artery to a vein

- GRAFT -- a man-made tube made of plastic or other material that is inserted under the skin to connect an artery to a vein

The procedure is now scheduled for Thursday, August 7.  

Pinching his cheeks which are always a bit rosily flushed after dialysis and/or transfusion, Dad looks at himself in the mirror and asks, "When, when?"  He seems to be having more of those conversations when he thinks no one is looking. Or maybe he knows Someone is always watching and listening . . .  

Transfusion

Transfusion: (1) the act of pouring liquid from one vessel to another (2) the transfer of blood from one individual to another. 

Dad has been receiving a couple of blood transfusions since last week.  He just had another one yesterday.  Doctors say his hemoglobin is low.  Every now and again, Dad says some wacky things like --

(Even as the sun shines through the front window) "Leave the light on.  I want to see what heaven is going to be like."

"What kind of blood are they giving me?  Maybe Chinese.  If it's Korean, that's good too."  (Must be all of his daughter's years working as an educator in Asian American Studies.)

(To God) "Just take me now.  I'm tired."

It is those spontaneous comments that remind me just how wacky Dad is.  Thank goodness for his sense of humor which manages to pour itself from Dad's being into our hearts for all of us to appreciate and make light of the moment and feel just a little better. Transfusion.

anticipating (summer's) end

My dad is dying. Aggressive advanced metastatic prostate cancer. Hormone therapy, chemo treatment were shortlived. It has not even been an exact two years since his diagnosis was confirmed. The doctor has provided a prognosis and a timeframe. All we can do is appreciate being in the now, support each other and wait for the inevitable. Daunting . . . and real. Dad has stopped chemo. He is in palliative care, receiving various injections on a monthly basis to manage his pain, on the patch. I observe how his health is slowly deteriorating as he has to physically lift each of his legs in and out of bed, the couch, the car. He is walking with a cane now. And on top of all this, he is on long-term kidney dialysis . . . having to go to the hospital every other day for dialysis treatment and the occasional blood transfusion.

We are on this cancer/life journey together. Al & I do our best to visit during the week in the midst of work and trying to balance our own lives, and we make sure to spend a significant part of the weekend with my parents too. It's hard, and I'm constantly trying to see beyond the exhaustion, the emotional challenges. While I maintain a good face in front of my folks, I have my moments -- in the car, on the bus commute, at work, at the gym. I am overwhelmed with grief, love and wanting to make sure that my mom and dad have all the support that they need -- emotionally and practically as they encounter their day-to-day routine.

Anticipating my dad 's death is like anticipating the end of the summer . . . and so Emerson's quote has reminded me.

"Our fear of death is like our fear that summer will be short, but when we have had our swing of pleasure, our fill of fruit, and our swelter of heat, we say we have had our day." ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson