Kidney Transplant 3

This is the third installment of the story of my hospital stays between January and May. If you're sensitive to medical stories, read it at your own gustatory peril. I eventually recovered. One of my body parts didn't.

I finally had a kidney transplant which worked fine. I had asked the doctor if I could have the same setup I had since I was three years old but he told me it was not feasible; I would be subject to infection since I was taking immunosuppressant medication to keep the kidney from being rejected.

I settled down to getting used to the new setup—a urinary pouch. It filled up pretty quickly and sometimes it was so full I thought it would burst. I emptied it in time though and continued to recover from the operation. At times I forgot to shut the pouch spigot off and I would find my gown wet, and also my own bathrobe. A nurse obligingly cleaned it for me—twice! This was something I had to get used to. When I was made aware that a lot of people have this setup, it made me more empathetic toward that lifestyle. You can get used to it and nobody notices. However, the pouches last only so long and every few days—maybe up to a week—it has to be changed. There was a wound nurse who changed it and I watched her so I could get the technique down pat.

But there was another problem that was presenting itself. I was getting a sore on my abdomen, about where the surgical procedure had been. It developed into a larger sore but I was sent home and in the care of Home Healthcare nurses. Lucy helped to change the pouch every few days.

The nurse would take blood samples to send to the lab for checking my condition every couple of days. It was difficult lying in bed so I sat on the armchair in the living room overnight. I still had a ways to go to feel comfortable.

Then one day I decided to go down in the basement to my computer. It was a mistake. When I went back up the stairs I was extremely out of breath and needed to sit down quickly. Something was definitely wrong. Lab tests showed I was low in hemoglobin so I was ordered back to the hospital—a 70 mile trek. They wanted to check if I had internal bleeding.

This was in February and there was snow on the ground—lots of it. We found an ambulance that would take patients more than to local hospitals. It got stuck in our lane. Fortunately, our neighbor on the other side of the street had a tractor with a snowplow and he graciously moved snow around to let them drive about 100 feet into the lane. The EMTs asked if I could step up onto the ambulance. I couldn't, so they put the gurney on the ground and I lay on it and they hoisted me in. It was a long ride to Columbus.

At the hospital again I was given blood transfusions and bed rest to recover. Meanwhile, the sore on my abdomen was getting more pronounced and when one of the residents came around I pointed it out to him. When a whole team of doctors and attendants came around again the resident pointed it out to the nephrologist in charge. The doctor said that it should be kept moist with ointment, and they left the room. I was sitting in a chair just then and I stood up and suddenly noticed a wet spot on my gown. I checked and the wound in question was leaking.

This is not a nice story to tell, and don't bother eating lunch while you read this, unless you not too sensitive about it. I was not happy about this new development. A nurse was still in the room and she called the team back and she was instructed to put on a pouch. That would be two pouches I would have to deal with. I was not happy. As she put it on I asked her if she saw a lot of this kind of wound. She said it was not too common but she did see quite a few of them in over 30 years of nursing. Arrangements would have to be made to deal with it. It was apparently a leak in the intestinal wall where they had taken a portion to create the diversion. It was fortunate that it leaked to the outside. A leak toward the inside would have been disastrous.

How they dealt with it was to put me on intravenous TPN, a protein fluid (it looked like milk) that would be my breakfast, lunch and dinner (breakfast, dinner and supper) for over two months. I was hooked to the IV machine for almost four months.

Meanwhile, I kept myself in pretty good spirits; especially when people came around—doctors, nurses, and nurses aides. They took my vital signs at all hours of the day and night. They wanted to make sure the kidney was functioning OK, and they could ascertain the condition by the numerous lab draws. I developed fits of coughing and a nurse would come in, mostly at night, and give me respiratory therapy. I felt I was gradually getting worse from something and I soon noticed that my urinary output was less and less.

I also developed dry heaves, gagging. The nurse would give me medicine for it but I often had these spells. Fortunately, that's all they were. I was the only one in the room, but sometimes at night I felt that there was someone else there, "No Never Alone". One time I did get into a depressed state and I cried like a baby, until I felt a hand on my shoulder. No one was there.

My legs started to swell. I had exercised every day by taking walks but then I suddenly couldn't walk. I lay in bed for weeks. They told me I had a huge blood clot, from my right leg to the liver, via the vena cava. The vena cava is a major vein to the heart. and that seemed to be the reason the kidney was not functioning as well. They took me to the OR and tried to put a filter in to keep blood clots from getting to the heart. They couldn't do it; it was clotted in that area. What would they do next?

One day, when the team made its daily rounds, the nephrologist explained everything to me. The whole room was full of his team and a couple of nurses. He went into detail about everything that was happening to me. He spoke with a foreign accent so I couldn't follow everything he said, but what he was saying became overwhelming and I started to get a little emotional, enough for the whole room to tense up but everyone was empathetic. After they left one of the nurses stayed behind and asked if I understood everything. She spent some time explaining everything he had said and I felt better for it. The doctor had said that I was one of his healthier patients.

Every day for a week they took me to the OR and systematically dissolved the blood clots. The mantra throughout the whole ordeal was "this is going to sting and burn." It would sting for a few seconds and I sort of got used to it by the seventh day. Maybe I was sedated a little—maybe—but I was awake through the whole process. Besides that pain, it was painful for me to be transferred to and from the operating table, which also lasted only a few seconds. I told them I would have to hold my leg while they transferred and it wouldn't be so painful. I had broken my left leg twice, in 2005 and 2007, and that was partly the reason. I also have a bad hip. Why me, Lord?! I had been walking with a crutch since the first break. Now I couldn't even walk. My legs were swelled up to huge proportions and I eventually noticed that there was very little urinary output. I knew I was in for the long haul.

I had to deal with the pouches. One day there were five pouch changes because of leaks, and when your digestive juices hit your skin, you can get a hellavu rash—witness diaper rash on babies butts; the same principle.

The doctor was sympathetic to my plight and he ordered that I could have juices to drink, to counter the monotony of eating nothing. Of course, it meant emptying the pouch oftener. I was not in a good situation, but I kept my spirits up and sought to learn all the facets of my medical anomalies and recovery. The nurses and aides liked me a lot.

I'll continue the story in the next writing. There's only so much you can remember about being four months in the hospital. That was in Ohio State University Medical Center in Columbus, Ohio in early 2009. What a way to start out the year!

Sunday School class

An interesting event happened on September 27. In our Sunday School at Mennonite Christian Assembly in Fredericksburg, OH we belong to the Lamplighter Class, ages 55 and above. Once a month we have a social time, mostly at the church on a Sunday evening, where Lamplighters bring their favorite foods, and games, and we have fellowship together.

A couple weeks before, Lucy invited the class to come to our place on Sunday evening. She suggested we’d have a hot dog roast and people could bring food. A couple of people offered to bring firewood for the campfire.

Saturday, we were invited to a wedding and we woke up to a light rain. What a day for a wedding! We traveled about 40 miles to our destination, being soaked by passing trucks and tractor trailers who stirred up wetness of the roads, and we had to deal with rain which made me put on the windshield wipers to fast speed.

But a few miles from our destination the rains stopped. It was heavily cloudy but we arrived at the farm where the wedding was held. During the whole ceremony and reception there was no rain although the weather was so heavy that it became almost foggy at 2 p.m.

On the way home we encountered rain again. We wondered what it would be like tomorrow (Sunday) when we would have the Sunday School class at our place. I chose not to worry about it. We never had the Sunday School class at our place and it would be nice if the weather would cooperate so we could have a good time. If the whole class would show up we might not have room for them although the house is rather spacious. But it will be a nice day. The Universe will make sure of that. I felt rather confident, and chased away any little doubts that would crop up. You remember what it says in Scripture: For verily I say unto you, That whosoever shall say unto this mountain, Be thou removed, and be thou cast into the sea; and shall not doubt in his heart, but shall believe that those things which he saith shall come to pass; he shall have whatsoever he saith. Mark 11:23

Sunday morning we went to church in a light rain—a 37 mile trip. While we were in Sunday School Lucy pointed out to me that it was still raining. So? . . . When it was asked who would be coming to the Hackmans, there was show of hands which represented a little less than half the class, but it was a good number. When someone wondered if we would indeed have them come rain or shine, I said, “Yes, come—you’re all invited.” They noticed the rain, but anything can happen in a few hours.

It was raining a little when we set out for home around noon. Lucy wanted to stop at Walmart for hot dogs. It’s a 37 mile trip home and we traveled on Route 30. Pretty soon I saw a glimmer of light in the clouds which showed that the weather might be breaking up. And it stopped raining!

We drove to the Walmart in Ashland. The clouds were continuing to break up as the sun started to peek through. We shopped for awhile and when we came out the sun was shining and it was quite windy. The clouds still looked threatening in a couple of directions but it was mostly sunny by this time. And the clouds were moving fast!

We arrived home and Lucy did some more preparation. The outdoor picnic would be at 5 p.m. I had asked Jason about mowing the back acreage during the week and he got a young man with a Bush Hog mower that chopped down the tall weeds and grass, a couple of acres in size. I also had suggested that the burn pile be cleaned up but they didn’t have the time or the equipment so that was left undone. When I asked Lucy about having a campfire she told me she knew where it would be. She was in control of the whole thing, and she wouldn't tell me. "Yes, dear." (I always have the last word.)

At 4 p.m. Sunday, Eli and Clara Mast showed up with firewood and he started the fire right where Lucy had placed a marker. It was at a stony part of the lawn just southwest of the house. By this time the wind was not as brisk but still a little stiff to try to build a fire. I suggested that he park his car on the windward side.

Because of the wind, the grass and everything dried off, making it nice for an outdoor picnic. More people came and I was still watching Eli tend to the fire when I saw a couple of women carrying the picnic table and chairs onto the cement parking area where I usually park our vehicles. The ladies set up the eating area, laid out the food, and by 5 p.m. we were ready for the picnic. A couple of men roasted the hot dogs over the now hot fire. Three-year-0ld Nolan was there to watch and supervise and roast a hotdog or two. I don't know where his brother Nathan was.

It was amazing to see how the weather changed to a suitable atmosphere for a nice time at our place. I should have chronicled the weather change with my camera. Everything came together in what you could call a miraculous way. And twenty-two people showed up.

We had hot dogs, casseroles, salads, cheese, nuts, sodas, desserts. We were not disappointed in anything. After we ate, we all gathered around the fire and talked until almost dark.

The group started to break up and they remarked about the good weather, the good time, and that they finally know where we live. Some of the ladies took it upon themselves to clean everything up. Men and women put chairs back in their customary places, whether they were brought by some, or taken from the house.

Lucy was able to connect some of the families she knew with the people that were there, many of them being ex-Amish. It was a nice time for a private conversation with some. It was really her day. We’ll have to do it again.

Lost in the Shuffle

The other day I got an unsolicited phone call which turned out to be from a company that sells family videos. Lucy tries to keep me from buying or donating over the phone, and this episode clinches it.

I didn’t exactly trust the salesman’s sales pitch. It sounded almost like a computer voice; friendly enough but not warm. He said they owed us a refund of $5.00 and mentioned a film we would be interested in, especially when I told him there are children in the house.

I asked about the cost, and he said an amount which was around $12.00. I asked about VHS format, and he said it was DVD. I told him we don’t have a DVD working, could he send it VHS format. He agreed.

When I got the package, there were two DVDs and the cost was $25.75. They were cartoons, which were OK but I had expected something else. I decided to send them back. I included a letter stating that the salesman may have been trying to just make a sale by the way his sales pitch was presented. What was sent was not what I expected.

Well, the envelope was already opened and not in condition to send it back so I finally found a bubble envelope that everything would fit in. I was going to take it to the post office and I laid it on the Amish-made electric stove in the living room. It was there over the weekend.

I left the envelope open so Lucy could read the letter I wrote to them. On Monday she finally read it, but said that the DVDs were not in the envelope.

What?! I was not happy about that at all. In addition the envelope was ripped a little. Of course, these kinds of things could be a temptation to little boys, and I had thought about that, but I figured they would leave it alone. There are four boys in the house. I usually place letters to mail at that same spot and nobody touches them.

I was in a dither. Three-year-old Nolan was sitting on the couch and I mentioned about someone taking them. He responded in his defense, “I didn’t take them." The look on his face suggested indignation.

I had to go to hemodialysis but before I went I breathed a prayer in a similar line as “thank you Lord for taking care of the problem” and I tried to put it out of my mind.

But the depressed feeling would crop up again once in awhile and I kept suppressing it, knowing that God hears our prayers. I didn’t want to openly accuse anyone, I made sure the right people knew about it, especially their mother.

At bedtime I couldn’t sleep. Who could it have been—Nolan had said he didn’t do it and I believed him. I tried not to be accusatory even in my mind. At one point I got up late at night and looked to see if the DVDs had dropped out of the envelope onto the floor or under the furniture. But I remembered that I had prayed and endeavored to keep it out of my mind as best I could. Let the love in the Universe take care of it. But even under those circumstances, it is difficult to get a good night’s rest. I actually felt sick at heart at unguarded moments.

In the morning I got up and told Lucy, “How are we going to find out where the DVDs are?” Lucy asked me where the envelope was. I told her it was on my nightstand.

She got the envelope and gently talked to Nolan. When she mentioned the rip in the envelope he said that he tried to get the bubbles. Then he confessed that he hid the DVDs under the steps because he didn’t want his older brothers to get them. “They’re mine,” he said emphatically. Apparently, when he saw the cartoon characters on the packages he took possession, but he voluntarily gave them back to Lucy when he was found out.

So that was a major problem solved. I was glad that it did not have to escalate to bad feelings all around. I taped up the rip and sealed the envelope with the DVDs safely inside and took it to the post office.

The children in the house are good kids, if rather rambunctious at times.

So what about Nolan? The little fibber! I would not discipline him for something that he did in innocence. It wasn't my place anyway; we only take care of him when his parents are at work. It can be a good learning experience for him in the way it turned out. Like I said, such things are an attraction to little boys. It was my fault that it happened in the first place. Nevertheless, I breathed a prayer of thanks. We'll just have to work on helping him to tell things like it is.

Trust in the LORD with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding. In all thy ways acknowledge him, and he shall direct thy paths.
Proverbs 3:5 & 6

Kidney Transplant 2

I was oblivious of everything that transpired as the doctors worked on me during the operation. I finally woke up in the ICU unit. Lucy was there, and her sister Esther. I was gagging as I felt I was in a cage--or worse yet, in an iron mask. It was not a good feeling at all. At least I could breathe. Then I heard a voice telling me to relax, which helped the situation as I relaxed. I had a gastric tube down my throat, and I also had a breathing tube still placed. I couldn't talk.

They tied my hands, which upset Lucy. It was for my own safety, and the safety of the monitors around me. Lucy and Esther soon left. I couldn't communicate but I gradually woke up more. I became concerned about the breathing tube because I was afraid of choking. I became more concerned, especially when I felt that it was moving and could get in the way of being comfortable.

I motioned to the nurse to take it out. She insisted that I relax. As time went on I became more adamant about removing the tube and I became more insistent. She said that the monitors said everything was OK. But I was not OK. I was not to be quieted so she tied my hands, turned out the lights and walked away.

But I was not finished yet. I had a finger pulse oximeter on my finger to keep track of my oxygen level and I shamelessly tapped on the frame of my gurney to get attention. She came back and scolded me for it, but I kept insisting that I needed attention and I was not just a fussy patient. In the struggle that she precipitated, she got unintentionally scratched. She walked away and shouted, "He scratched me, he scratched me!"

Finally...someone with common sense came along to see what the fuss was all about. He reiterated the concern my caretaker had but I needed to bring them to the attention I needed. I motioned for a pencil and paper. I wrote down my concerns and as I wrote he asked questions. I told him that I felt something was not right and I needed more stability in the setup I had to deal with. He said that he would have to retape it. I wrote, "Retape it then!" He proceeded to retape whatever was needed. It turned out to be more than I expected, but when he finished, I felt it was more stable.

I motioned for the pencil and paper again. I wrote, "I am not a mean person. I did not scratch her on purpose. I was concerned about what was happening and needed it to be corrected."

As I wrote he realized that I was serious about my situation. He took the papers and walked back to the group of people and one by one they came and apologized, including my nurse. A half hour later they removed the breathing tube and I could talk again.

Months later I told the story to a nurse and she was horrified, "You shouldn't have remembered that!" she exclaimed. I was not medicated enough.

I was finally sent to my room from the ICU and then began the recovery. And I had a new setup to deal with; the urinary diversion. It was working fine but I had to get used to it.

Kidney transplant 1

January 16 of this year I had a kidney transplant. Sometime in February it failed, for reasons that will be explained. During the next days I'll write about some of the things that happened during the few months I was in the hospitals (plural). I was at OSU Medical Center in Columbus, Ohio and that was where I stayed for a few weeks.

I was all set for the day, Friday. I had been checked out for eligibility for a transplant. I had found a donor, or a donor found me. I had written a Christmas letter and explained my need for a kidney and my wife's cousin Esther finally answered, took the required tests, and we were found compatible. So far so good.

Admittedly, I had a few reservations about going through with the process, but since I had a donor, and everything was a go, I figured it all would work out. So early in the morning of the 16th, I was prepped and ready for the big day. I had been on dialysis since May 2004 and this would finally end it.

Lucy and I talked with the surgeon and he explained the details of the operation. I asked if he could keep the same setup that I had since the age of three. He explained that I would be at risk of infection since I would be taking immunosupressant medication to keep the kidney from being rejected.

I hesitate to explain the details of my own medical history but there are readers who would understand. At the age of three my bladder was taken away and the ureters were attached to the sigmoid colon. It was something I was used to after all these years. When the doctor nixed the idea of keeping the same setup I told him to do what he felt was best. It meant creating a urinary diversion for the new kidney.

My wife Lucy was planning to be with me in the early morning of the surgery. I was due to go to the operating room sometime around 6:30 or 7 a.m. As the hour approached, I grew apprehensive about it and wished my wife were here to give me support. I found out later that she was on her way but not quick enough to be with me at the crucial time. I was going for a major overhaul and I realized that I would probably go there alone, something I was rather used to because I usually was alone quite often in my numerous hospital stays. But I grew apprehensive enough to question whether I should go through with it at all. I developed feelings of depression at the prospect, but I reasoned that the donor was gracious enough to come forward, why disappoint her. That logic may be weak under the circumstances but I certainly had ambivalent feelings which almost unnerved me.

I had my cellphone with me and I suddenly noticed it had a recent voicemail. I checked it out. It was Elisabeth, a friend of ours, saying that there was a song which was in her mind all day and she even played it on the piano and thought of me. The song--No Never Alone. I knew the song and as I was taken to the Operating Room I sang it in my mind all the way to the table.

I was transferred over and the medical staff prepared me. I lay on the table and they stretched out my arms onto two narrow boards and tied them fast. They explained that they needed to fasten them because they could fall when I lost consciousness. My initial thoughts were "Oh no, I'm being crucified!" But I also kept thinking, No Never Alone, which was a comforting thought. I breathed a fervent prayer for further reassurance as a technician injected medicine into the IV that had been placed in my arm. I soon blissfully relaxed into oblivion.

My Grandfather

I never met my grandfather, John M. Hackman, my Dad's father. In fact, my Dad was 7 years old when his Dad passed away from typhoid fever in 1917. But an interesting story came about in his relatively short life. There was a contract to dig a well on the property. A couple of well-diggers who were brothers from Hatfield, PA or thereabouts were contracted to dig the well. It took a long time, with intermittent frustrations but finally they announced that they found water. However, some neighbors reported that they saw the well-diggers carrying water in the middle of the night and pouring it down the well.

When it came time to pay for the work, John apparently mentioned it and an argument ensued. Finally, John said he would go into the house to get the money. He went into the house and locked the door. He went to the opposite side of the house and crawled out a window, and reported it to the police.

Meanwhile, one of the contractors waited and waited, and then realized that something was afoot. He went up to the door and pulled out a knife saying, "This knife has seen blood before!" Grammy was frightened and exclaimed, in Pennsylvania German, "Next he'll kill us all!"

What was not realized at the time was that three-year-old John Jr. was outside on the porch with the man but he was not harmed.

But a neighbor saw John Sr. leave the house by way of the window, and later found out he had gone to the police. Members of the Mennonite Church do not usually go to the police, and when it was known in the community, he had to make confession in church.

John M. Hackman was born on August 10, 1879 and died on November 14, 1917. The Gospel Herald published his obituary:

GOSPEL HERALD - February 14, 1918 - Pages 846, 847 HACKMAN. - John M. Hackman, a faithful brother in the Franconia, Pa. congregation, passed away peacefully Nov. 14, 1917, after five weeks illness of typhoid fever. He endured his portion of suffering very patiently, offering many short prayers. He leaves a sorrowing widow and five children. This happy Christian family and their beautiful home is broken up. His voice is stilled, his smiles are past, his presence remains to be remembered as a dear loving husband and a kind father. O what a change in so short a time, but we know it was the Lord's will. Age, 38y. 3m. 4d. "Beloved husband, Father of my five He left us all too soon. He longed to stay, and longed to go, But God claimed him His own. We watched him breathing through the night, His breathing soft and low, As in his breast the tide of life Kept heaving to and fro."

His children were: Henry, Warren, John (my Dad), Willis (passed away in 1918 at the age of six), and Lydia. Their mother, who was born July 21, 1880, never married again and died in June 1959.

Henry S. Hackman - December 29, 1905 - December 3, 1992. I usually had quite a few conversations with Uncle Henry and he told me that he remembers his grandfather, John O. Hackman (Feb. 21, 1849-May 30, 1912). The scene he remembers was a snowy day and he was driving into the lane with horse and wagon with a rather dour look on his face. Henry was around six or seven years old. Uncle Henry had a lot of of memories about people and places and I regret not writing it all down. He was a goldmine of local and family history.

Warren S. Hackman - July 21, 1908 - September 2, 1995. Warren's first wife was Mary Godshall who was my mother's sister. Her children are my double cousins.

John S. Hackman - July 25, 1910 - June 30, 1999.

Willis S. Hackman - October 10, 1912 - October 18, 1918. Lydia told me that Willis was a sickly child. He frequently suffered from boils which his mother treated by lancing. He was glad to finally attend school in the first grade. He attended for one day, and then became too ill to continue, and died before being able to go back to school.

Lydia S. Hackman Landis - March 10, 1916 - October 25, 2005.