On Dec
4 last year at North Shore Private I received a laparoscopic insertion of a
Tenchkoff catheter. This necessitated my discarding all my belts in favour of
braces. January saw my learning how to manage the exit site of my catheter
requiring the exacting focus akin to dismantling a hand grenade given the risk
of peritoneal infection hovering over the procedure. My son Andrew moved down
here from Brisbane to put the finishing touches to his PhD thesis.
I was
also taken through with Andrew the procedures for home peritoneal dialysis
treatment involving about 30 precise steps taking every precaution to avoid
infection. Each dialysis exchange, including setting up and cleaning up
afterwards takes up to an hour and I am required to do an exchange four times
daily, first before breakfast, second before lunch, third before dinner, and
the fourth before bed. I have found this commitment keeps me off the streets
somewhat.
My
hands took some time to adjust to all the necessary applications of pink
sterilising liquid and they still require regular application of moisturising
cream. Andrew shopped on my behalf for necessary medical equipment and storage,
effectively refurbishing an area of my unit to enable me to function in this
new and daunting chapter of my life. He has been and still continues to be a
Godsend. I have been learning how to renew my mind – how to get out of ruts and
instead get groovy.
The
first monthly load of boxes of dialysis fluid was delivered to take up a wall
of my unit. Andrew finished his thesis abstract and dispatched it. February was
the month, the provost of the University of Queensland informed Andrew he has
been awarded finally his PhD. We walked round Sydney to buy him a
congratulatory watch, settling upon a Victorinox.
Early
in May, I commemorated the 100th anniversary of my great-uncle
Alec’s death at Pope’s Ridge in Gallipoli. This inspired a flurry of Cranston
family history exchanges which has occupied me on and off when I can. Later in the
month I found my dialysis blocked so I was admitted to Royal North Shore
Hospital (RNSH) in the kidney ward. An X-Ray found my catheter inside had been
dislodged. It righted itself once the blockage was cleared by medication and I
was released within a week.
My
kitchen oven ceased working in June so I bought a new one and had it installed
with my microwave above it. I noticed my eyes were not seeing long distance as
well as they used to (funny that) and I was fitted for full spectacles. Andrew
and I replaced my home phone set and my mobile phone now both much easier to
manage while I’m doing my dialysis before he flew to Glasgow for an
International Aeronautical Conference to present a paper based on his PhD
thesis.
About a
week after my 76th birthday, I had a turn while walking to Top Ryde
on a freezing though sunny morning. I took things quietly for a while
afterwards. Several days later I was found to have contracted peritonitis and
to report back to RNSH. While I was being treated there, the resident doctor
admitted me to cardiac because of the discovery that I had had a “heart event”.
Because this signalled potential heart failure, an angiogram was organised.
After consultation with Joanna, I began organising for assisted home care,
including Webster blister pack to organise my now increased medication.
Eventually
I went onto a UnitingCare Home package which includes cleaning, laundry and
shopping so that I avoid heavy lifting and exertion. Friends from church
visited me. During August I crumpled to the ground on my way up the street. I
had my heart medication altered accordingly but I can tend to run out of power
like a wound down clockwork toy and have to find somewhere to sit down. Andrew
arrived home here from his European tour on his way home from the Conference.
During
September I entered Kamilaroi Retirement Centre, Lane Cove for 17 days respite,
the longest period of time away from home for years until a few weeks later. I
returned home early October to experience a few dizzy spells and a chest
infection until on Wednesday, October 21st I collapsed suddenly onto
the couch at home and that should have been the end of my story. I emerged from
the floor with 5 pairs of eyes staring intently at me and anxiously calling my
name. Four pairs belonged to paramedics and one to son Andrew who had been with
me at the time. I was stretchered off in an ambulance straight to emergency at
Royal North Shore Hospital. On the way in I heard that Andrew had noticed I’d
stopped breathing and applied CPR which he’d learned from Scouts, also calling
000, so here I still am miraculously.
I had
experienced an aortic stenosis, mostly fatal, and was soon wheeled in for open
heart surgery to replace my clogged aortic valve. I spent the next 5 days in
the Intensive Care Unit, then 6 days in Advanced Care Unit before another 10
days in a private room, then 3 weeks in Hunters Hill Rehabilitation Hospital.
At time of writing I have moved on to Wesley Gardens, Belrose for Transitional
care where I expect to be over the new year. In all this Andrew continues to be
my rock while minding the unit. He flew up to Brisbane with his mother to
receive his much-deserved doctorate. Can anyone trump a PhD and a CPR in the
same year?
