- I am not a very adventurous person on the job meaning full#
- I am not a very adventurous person on the job meaning professional#
Not surprisingly, Paul thought about nothing but the transplant and being freed from the burden of dialysis. With sessions three days a week, he had time and energy for little else. I burst into tears.ĭialysis continued to dominate Paul’s life and sap his strength, both physically and emotionally. The receptionist coolly told us that the doctor had to leave soon so we’d have to reschedule. After laboriously getting Dad in and out of the car and wheelchair, and up in the elevator, we were fifteen minutes late. One day my son’s delayed appointment made me pick my dad up late for his medical appointment.
I am not a very adventurous person on the job meaning full#
The stress of parenting and eldercare (for my 90-year-old father, who’d recently moved to our town) while working full time was often overwhelming. I liked her, and it wasn’t like me to “report” someone, but I was learning a new boldness in my advocacy role, and I soon got over any pangs of guilt.Īfter reflexively volunteering to be Paul’s donor, I was beginning to waver-and not just because of needles. I never saw that tech again and assume she was fired. I tried not to abuse the privilege but did have occasion to call him a few times. He was suitably concerned and told me that if I ever again suspected a mistake, or had a concern, to call him at home. Distressed, the next day I related the incident to the center’s medical director. One day at dialysis, a technician apparently made a bad call on the goal for Paul’s “dry weight” (without the fluid buildup), and his blood pressure consequently shot up to well over 200. I soon learned and marveled that a complex art was required to find the right balance of fluids and nutrients. Previously, I’d thought of dialysis as a fairly straightforward process.
I am not a very adventurous person on the job meaning professional#
I won’t pretend that I understood it all, but having a professional editor’s eye for detail served me well. I obsessively took notes with all the numbers filling steno notebooks. However, I began to force myself to watch the technician insert the needle at each session. I also didn’t allow my gaze to linger anywhere. My first visit to the dialysis center was a relative success: I didn’t pass out. Given the very real possibility that I would eventually be Paul’s donor, I wondered if I really could do this. Paired donation wasn’t even on our radar back then. He didn’t make the first cut because of a kidney stone my sister and husband were the wrong blood types. And if I spotted someone in a store, I’d duck behind a tall display.ĭuring this time, Neil and I were filling out evaluation forms. When someone says “How’ve you been?” you can’t just say “Oh, fine” or repeat the whole story over and over at a gathering. Similarly, Neil and I avoided social situations. Not the sort of thing you want to repeat or hear throughout your workday. I couldn’t bear to see colleagues in person, anticipating the well-meaning chorus of “How’s your son?” “I hope he’s doing better.” No, he wasn’t “better,” he wouldn’t be better for a very long time, and things would surely get considerably worse before they could even begin to get better. But we had a long wait.Īttending all of Paul’s myriad medical appointments took a lot of time, but fortunately I was able to work from home. My husband, Neil, and I (even our 14-year-old daughter, Nora, who was far too young) wanted to be tested to be his donor. Then, one day soon after his graduation, his routine lab work showed that his kidneys were failing.
Paul had regular lab work throughout college. Because Paul was young and otherwise healthy, the doctor said he needed to monitor it regularly, but it could be 20 years-if ever-before it advanced to kidney failure. What he had was a lingering strep infection, which caused his nephritis. We had no family history, and he had none of the usual risk factors like diabetes or hypertension. My son, Paul, was diagnosed with chronic kidney disease when he was in college. And yet I willingly donated my left kidney in June 2006. If my college yearbook had had a category for “Least Likely to Be a Living Kidney Donor,” that would have been me. I’m a wimp when it comes to anything medical or physical.
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