Self-cannulation

So I am very excited now. I have started to self-cannulate, woo-hoo… Self-cannulate, you ask? It simply means that I am sticking needles into my arm for my dialysis.

Yes, it was a bit of a hurdle to get over. But I think that I had a slight advantage over some people by having been used to needles my whole life. So even though this was my first time sticking a needle into myself, it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. But let me tell you, it wasn’t a walk in the park either.

I was supposed to start on a Monday and the preceding weekend was like a rollercoaster ride. I fluctuated between being excited, having butterflies in my stomach and downright scared and nervous. Would I even be able to do that to myself after all? But then Monday morning arrived and I was ready. I had applied a good dollop of lidocain on both points of entry as soon as I got up and it had worked wonders for the hour and a half that had gone till I sat in the chair with my needles and tubes.

Now, don’t kid yourself. Dialysis needles are not for the feeble at heart. When you sit there looking down at it before it goes into your arm, there is no doubt it has the diameter of a sturdy broom handle – albeit a broom handle with a sharp point at the end, a point that is on its way into your very own arm by your own action.

Then you realize that it really wasn’t that large Friday when the nurse handled it. Yes, it is still one of the largest size needles created to go into the human body. But really I have been on the receiving end for close to 5 months. And now I was the one doing it to me, I was totally in control. I could stick, I could pull out (and show what a sissy I was – I think not!) I could do whatever I wanted with that needle and there was no pressure from anyone as to when or how fast I should do it.

So, one, two, three… I did it. I stuck that sucker (literally) into my skin. And here I’d like to interject, human flesh is a pretty tough substance, and I mean tough as in a steak that hasn’t been cooked properly. But I got through the skin. and soon after there was blood in the tube, just like there was supposed to. I was in the vein. And I was stoked. I had first timed it! I was in I pushed the needle all the way in and had some help taping it down. No need for those nurses if they didn’t do something to help me out.

I had done it. I had self-cannulated.

And I was felling high, not that they had given me any drugs that would help there. But it didn’t last long. The next needle didn’t wanna to into the vein. No matter how I tried and poked and pulled back and poked again, no blood came out the way it was supposed to. I didn’t really understand. The site we used was the one that had been most successful so far. But now it was like it had dried up. So we gave up and used the old tried and true method of the catheter on my chest.

Same thing happened next time. First poke straight into the vein. Second one didn’t go well, but this time I got the nurse to find the vein and it worked, though not quite as good as it should.

So then I got annoyed. I made sure that I could be there with the nurse who knew my arm the best (or at least had had greatest success with poking me) and lo and behold. We are now about a week into it and not once have I missed. I am going full bore self-cannulating. And when I say full bore I mean full bore. I have stepped up the size of my needles by two sizes. So I am using what they consider a ‘regular’ size needle. There is one size bigger but the speed my dialysis is running at it really isn’t necessary for me to go higher at the moment.

Lots of other good things have happened. But I really don’t feel like writing anymore. Also I want people to come back another time. So I think I better stop here. I am getting ready to try out the machine that I am hoping to bring home, the NxStage. Is should be possible to travel with it so that is pretty exciting.

I have also started a new blog. Check it out here: http://disabilityrightsbastard.wordpress.com/

I hope to come back here soon so I can keep y’all updated on all the stuff that is going on in my life.

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Sweden, travelling and needles

If you have read some of Melissa’s posts here you might have noticed a certain lack of enthusiasm with the way things are done at my regular ward. I will not go into the details of bad practice here. There are lots of things I think could be improved and Melissa and I don’t always agree on what they are but both of us have been pretty disappointed.

So the trip to Sweden was a real eye opener. We came back happy as clams, not because it was perfect there – it was just so much better. We were received as old friends returning home. This despite the fact that I had only met Britt-Mari, the head nurse very briefly at a conference about ‘patient empowerment’ and we had spoken to each other for no more than 2 minutes.

Last time I promised to talk a little more about the questionnaire that she gave us from Joakim, the design student who is working on improving the experience for home dialysis patients. Since then I have changed my mind about that.

I started writing this post with that in mind but it turned out to be way longer than I had anticipated. So I have decided to make a dedicated page where I will discuss the different issues more at length. They deserve to be more than just part of a regular blog post – especially since I am planning on working with them in the future. I have a strong desire to make this part of my work, there are lots of dialysis patients out there who deserve way better treatment than they are receiving at the moment.

So back to me.

I am doing relatively good at the moment. I have found a good rhythm. I go and do in-center dialysis for four hours three times a week. Yes, it is tedious and it requires a lot of patience. And yes, I do not like to be poked with two needles with a diameter that reminds me of a broom handle. And yes, it is really, really annoying to have to sit still with your left arm for four hours without a break – not moving it too much even when my hand is about to fall asleep. But… the advantages are that I have time to read and write, I can catch up on my emails, I can do some research, I can read the newspapers that I don’t get to read all the other days. There really is plenty for me to do while I sit there.

I have even spent a couple of days making preparing one of my presentations that I do for work. Usually when I do that sort of thing I spend way too much time doing all kinds of other things while doing it. But when I do it while dialyzing I am forced to sit there and concentrate – and guess what, it works! I got some pretty good presentations out of it.

I am now preparing to move my dialysis home with me. It does require a few things; first of all I need to be able to be 100 % self-sufficient, doing all the steps myself. I think I am pretty far along that path already, I can set up the machine and break it down again, I can find everything I need to start, run and finish my treatment. The only thing I haven’t mastered – or tried for that matter – it self-cannulating. Or for those of you, who are unaware of that sort of weird terminology, poking myself with the aforementioned ginormous needles. But as of next week I am joining the ranks of self-flagellants, those weird people who inflict pain on themselves. In my case it is a pure self preservation practice, though.

I honestly don’t know how I feel about it. I am hesitant, excited and scared at the same time. But no matter how I feel about it, it is necessary for me to do it if I ever want to enjoy a modicum of freedom again. And if there is one thing I am pining for it is the freedom to move about. I have never felt so disabled as I do now that I have become a dialysis patient, no wheelchair or any other mobility device tethers you to your surroundings like the little plastic tubes and needles of this life-saving device from hell, called a dialysis machine.

It is a long and interesting discussion about disability and dialysis, so I think I will stop here before I get carried away again.

It’s me, Henning

Yes, I am alive. And I am posting. Melissa has done a great job of keeping you informed about my health and our struggles (or at least a few of them)

Now I feel well enough that I can post regularly here so that is what I am planning to do. My first post is about our trip to Sweden and about how good human interactions make the world of a difference – also when it comes to health care.

We went to Sweden for a few days and I decided to go to Jönköping for dialysis even though it was 200 km (120 miles) from my dad’s place where we stayed in Sweden. There was really only one reason for going that far for dialysis and that was curiosity. I wanted to see how a well run dialysis unit could look. I had a feeling that this one was such a unit because of a chance encounter with a single person with whom I had shared only a few words ever, namely the head nurse at their limited care unit, Britt-Mari Banck.

I had met Britt-Mari at a conference about patient empowerment that I attended in November last year. Britt-Mari had an energy about her at the conference that told me that she not only loved her job, she truly cared for her patients and her job. She had a genuine interest in the wellbeing of the people she worked with and saw every day – something I have seen very little of from the professionals I have encountered in Denmark so far (with a few exceptions – and you know who you are). They might act the part of caring and good Samaritans but any real interest in making life better for their patients is far removed from what they perceive as being part of their job.

So we got up at 5:30 to drive the long way north on E4. It was a beautiful drive in the Swedish winter wonderland, past endless rows of trees powdered with newly fallen snow. The van was nice and warm compared to the freezing temperatures outside.

The ward was very nice. Melissa immediately noticed how clean everything was while I was busy saying hi to Britt-Mari and her staff. They were all very professional and knew the drill but at the same time they were kind, caring and curious about us. Friendliness and warmth was the game changer.

I was assigned to Bengt, the nurse who had started the ward with Britt-Mari. Both of them being well experienced dialysis nurses had decided to start something new and different and I have to say they had done a great job. The patients I talked to there were very happy to be at this particular unit. They all had great things to say about it and one compared it very favorable to both Danish and Swedish wards she had been to.

I can’t exactly say what it was that made it so special other than it was the people running it and their involvement in their job. But an incident that I encountered there might be a good example of it. The first day we were there Britt-Mari came up to me with a questionnaire from a design student that had contacted her about improving the dialysis experience for patients, both in center and at home.

He basically asked what problems/issues we had encountered in connection to dialysis and then he asked about possible solutions to those problems. After taking the questionnaire home to work with us we recognized five problem areas that all were of great importance to the dialysis experience.

The five areas are:

  • Equipment, the size and look of the machines and chairs
  • units, everything from bureaucracy to lack of cleanliness at the units
  • structural aspects, how everything is run by doctors and manufacturers
  • human interaction, between professional and patient
  • psychological aspects of dialysis, support, understanding and knowledge of dialysis.

Now, my experience was that all five aspects were handled way better at Jönköping than they have been handled at my Danish ward. It felt much less like being in a hospital than I had experienced before, which in turn made it feel much more like they were normalizing the experience instead of making it into a treatment regime where one is automatically made to feel like a patient.

This morning I read something that brought the experience home for me. I had been pondering for days what it was that made this experience so different from the ones I had encountered previously and suddenly this was brought to my attention:

It is easy to teach a caring person skills but it is much harder to teach a skilled person to care.

That is exactly what made the difference at that ward. It was full of caring people who also happened to be highly qualified. But they all knew that no amount of qualification would make up for a lack of care and involvement.

Next time I will talk a little more about the questionnaire and the specifics of our categories.

Getting Ready for Home Dialysis

It’s a big deal. Dialysis is a really big deal. It takes a lot of time, up to 20 hours a week for in-center dialysis, if you count driving and prep time. It is a part-time job that affects the entire rest of your life. You can’t call out sick, you can’t get coverage for your shift, and if you are late, you still have to put in the entire time. There is no leaving early.

Right now, Henning is on a three-day a week schedule: Monday, Wednesday and Friday, 9-12:30. We show up at 8:30 to set up, and we are usually out of there by 1:00pm or so. We are learning how to set-up the home machine, how to run it, deal with the alarms and how to clean-up after. The learning can take months. But the pay-offs to home dialysis are enormous.

First of all, the cons. Doing it at home means we need more room. There is no way the machine and all the supplies would ever fit into this apartment, so Henning is on the list for a bigger one. That means a move, and that adds a level of uncertainty to our lives that is really not needed right now. While I love moving in general, I have still not fully settled in here, and with things up in the air with immigration, I just don’t look forward to doing another major move… but it is inevitable.

Dialyzing at home means it’s all on us. I kind of like the support of in-center dialysis. If the machine alarms, or if it doesn’t turn on, or if it won’t prime… there is not only another machine, there is a person to walk us through the event, and step in if needed. At home, support will be a phone call away, at least. Of course, by then we will be pros… but it is still daunting.

I think that’s it… for cons.

Pros is a much longer list:

*Time!! We can do it on our schedule, more frequently, and for longer. Studies show that the longer and gentler the dialysis, the better outcomes for kidney patients. Also, daily dialysis is so much better than three times a week. You don’t have to read too many articles before you start to freak out about three-day-a-week dialyzing… I don’t recommend that type of reading unless you really are wildly curious or just want to put a damper on your day.

*Travel!! Right now, we are limited to how far we can go between Friday afternoon and Sunday afternoon. Which… is further limited by how he feels, the second day out from his last cleaning. Needless to say, even an overnight trip is draining. We went to a party last month that was an overnight event. The party was fantastic!!! We are glad to have been able to go. But it was quite a drive there, and we had to drive home in a snowstorm. That part was not fun.

We had been pressed to stay longer, wait out the storm… but the deadline of dialysis the next day plus the knowledge that as the day wore on he’d feel less and less well… *shrug* We were glad to just be home. Which is not how we are, historically.

With a portable machine, Henning can travel again! We aren’t that far in the process, but he thinks there is no reason to doubt he would be approved for the smaller machine. The one con is you have to do it longer… but see above… that is not really a bad thing… Plus, you can dialyze at night with the small machine… so… that’s a huge plus both for home AND for travel.

*Space! Since we are forced to get more space… it means we will have more space. I listed the move itself as a con, but having a bigger apartment will be a HUGE pro. Right now, the other chair, the stairclimber, and miscellaneous equipment are stored in the room across the hall, outside the apartment. While not terribly inconvenient, technically he’s not supposed to use it. If our stuff were evicted from that space, we’d be hard pressed to store it inside, and keeping it in the basement storage is just not an option.

Another room and a half (which I believe is what he is approved for) gives us not only space for the dialysis machine and supplies, but also his OTHER equipment and supplies.

ETA: Stairclimber:
THIS:
scalamobil_02

NOT THIS:
stairclimber girl

*Independence. While I listed being on our own as a con from the viewpoint of support, the ability to determine when and how to dialyze is a HUGE pro. It puts control back in Henning’s grasp, and he will not be dependent on the center’s staff, schedule or location.

There is one nurse, who I call Nurse Scabby. She has these huge open sores all over her arms… and I pray every time we go that she is not the one to work with Henning. She also is lax on cleaning the ports EVERY time they are touched (I may have mentioned, these go right to the heart, right??) so she gets on my nerves two ways. I think she should not be allowed to work there… but I am also a raging bitch these days… *shrug*

Also, the center we have transferred to (limited care) is far better with schedule accommodations (surgery seems to always happen on a dialysis day) but it will still be nice to be able to do it at home the night before and after, and not worry about whether he will have TWO two-day gaps in dialysis that week. And it will be nice to not have to get out and drive to the center. I’m lazy. I don’t like getting up early. I do it, but it will be nice not to have to.

*Privacy. I am getting used to the lack of privacy afforded here in Denmark, as opposed to the US. Sort of. I still don’t understand doing intake in the waiting room, or getting information or directions out in the hallway… but I do understand that the system here is overwhelmed… and so I’m getting better at dealing with Henning being partially dressed in full view of God and everyone during exams, at having to answer questions in a room full of strangers, etc. But… the other day I finally lost it.

We are learning to use the regular home machine, which is in its own room for training purposes. The smaller, portable machine lives in that room, too. Which is the cause of my meltdown. Henning dialyzes MWF, 9-12:30… every week. It is a regular thing. It is on the schedule. One time, a PD patient (peritoneal dialysis) needed a space for… something… so they asked if they could use part of the room. No big deal. They put up a screen, the patient was in, and out, in a hurry.

However, last week… with no warning or asking… this woman comes in with a burly sort of guy, and starts moving all the equipment around. They wanted to take out the smaller machine. It IS portable… but it’s not like you can sling it over your shoulder. So they started climbing over hoses, moving tubes, pushing Henning’s chair all around. I may have mentioned this, and most people know it… but hey. Dialysis means all the blood is removed from your body, cleaned and pumped back. Over and over again. Which means… those damn tubes are important, ya know?? Don’t f*ck with the tubes… and that is exactly what they were doing. Gah!!!

I was too upset not to have hit the chick, so I sat there making snarky and perhaps inappropriate comments, and generally impeding their progress as much as I dared, once I was certain they weren’t going to disconnect Henning or tip the machine… After they left the room I complained about it to our staff. I said anyone not capable of knowing their schedule three hours in advance (remove the machine prior to Henning’s arrival) or unable to delay it by 30 minutes (Henning only had a half-hour to go) should not have the authority to manage anything. We got an apology. But it still makes me upset to think of it.

So, home dialysis provides far more pros than cons, and we are very much looking forward to it.

Time to catch up…

… from the Holiday break. I’m still in holiday mode, but the calendar tells me it’s time to get back into the routines of “normal” life. And for us, that means… surgery tomorrow! Not that that is going to be the normal forever, but right now, it seems like it is.

So to catch up from where I left it hanging a few weeks ago… Henning was having surgery twice in one week, and then my teenage daughters were coming for a couple of weeks for the holidays.

Surgery #1 was for his fistula. We arrived a few minutes early and didn’t have a place to hang out, since the room wasn’t ready. While they got the room ready, the nurse gave us coffee. That seems to be the standard here, like you offer guests coffee when they arrive. Not in my house, I forget to even offer water or tell people where the bathroom is… but in YOUR house, I’m sure you are a very gracious host. But I digress…

We didn’t even think about it. It was 6:25am. He drank half of a cup of black coffee… and then… OH NO!!! Turns out, he was not supposed to have any fluids after 6:00am. GAH. The nurse apologized but the damage was done. In my world, when I worked in the hospital, that kind of “ooops” is grounds for some serious reprimands… I doubt it is the case here, but I kind of hope so…

His surgery was to be delayed by one hour. Not that big of a deal, I mean, since when does anything happen on time? In fact, since he wasn’t having general anesthesia, it’s not a big deal. IN FACT, in the OTHER hospital we frequent, there is no food or fluid restriction at all… so it is really just up to the individual anesthesiologist.

About 8:00am, they wheeled him down the hall. And promptly brought him back. They had gotten as far as the nurse’s station. Apparently, the anesthesiologist freaked out over the half-cup of black coffee, and wanted to wait another hour.

About 9:30am, they took him out AGAIN… and by 10:15 he was back in the room, bleeding from the needle stick, but that’s it. Apparently, there was an emergency and the anesthesiologist was called away AS HE WAS ADMINISTERING THE BLOCK TO HENNING’S SHOULDER. Yup, the needle was in, the team was ready, and the dude just left. I hope he went to go save a life, because otherwise… well… I don’t think Denmark can (apparently) afford to lose so precious of a resource, but I really hope he gets hit by a bus some day soon…

So we waited. And waited. And waited….

This is Henning, bored.
2012-12-12 13.51.47

Except for the half-cup of black coffee, Henning had had nothing to eat or drink since the night before. The nurse had no info for us, nothing. Finally, the nurse came in and said the vascular surgeon (Johnny… I can’t get over the first name usage here) was scheduled to go home at 3:00pm (Must be nice, work 8-3 AS A DOCTOR. That’s better than banker’s hours… ) so they would know by 2:45pm if Henning was having surgery or not. Nice.

As you may imagine, the answer was not. But since this is an important surgery for Henning, they rescheduled us pretty quick. Sometime in January… they’d let us know. Double nice.

 

It continued…

… with admission to the hospital.

AND everyone spoke to us in English. The doctor who admitted Henning gave us all the information we asked for, and then asked (often) if we had any more questions, and left us with the assurance that she was available if we thought of something to ask later.  She was being shadowed by a medical student, so for his sake as well as ours, she was very detailed and specific.

All the questions about the acute catheter vs. permanent catheter were answered. His fistula (as you likely remember) is still too young/weak to bear the pressure of dialysis. He has a consult next week, bu there is no way to know how long it will be before they can operate, or how long after that until the fistula is viable. Because the acute catheter is not a good option for long-term use, but also because we could not wait the three-plus weeks for the permanent catheter (different team, different surgery schedule), we all agreed for him to have the acute catheter placed as soon as possible (some time that night), and still be placed on the schedule for the permanent catheter. More surgery, but also immediate access for dialysis, which would take place the next day, hopefully first thing in the morning, but for sure within 24 hours.

I drove home (yes, I drove!) to supply us for at least one, maybe two days in the hospital. If I stayed with him, Henning was allowed to stay in the Patient Hotel (sub-acute and way less “institutional” than a traditional room). Of course I was staying. Duh.

Anyone who has been reading my facebook posts the last week knows this, but when I came home, it was to an immaculate space. Bente had scrubbed the entire apartment in anticipation of our wedding celebration (because the next day, we were getting married… nothing like excellent timing), and the place was literally shining. I really did cry, then.

By the time I’d returned to the hospital, Henning was checked into the Patient Hotel, and our room was ready. It was lovely. We had two beds that we were able to push together. They made sure we ate, that we knew who was on staff for the evening, that we had extra blankets and pillows… they were wonderful.  After the experiences we’d had for the past few weeks, it was like finding an oasis.

We had an amazing dinner, and were able to finally relax, somewhat. We watched movies and read until they called Henning for surgery. I had only intended to follow him to the ward, but due to a combination of miscommunication between the porter and the surgical nurse, and (I am SURE – the language barrier), I was suited up in cap and gown and stood in a corner to observe the entire thing.

I was sure the phone would ring in the middle of the procedure, as I had not even thought of turning it off until the doc was well under way, and when I shifted position to check it, everyone stopped to make sure I was ok, so I just left it alone… Yikes!!!

I won’t go into all the details here, but it was fascinating. I have watched my oldest daughter have surgery, so I was somewhat prepared to watch someone I love get cut into. Somewhat. I also had a small career on the telemetry floor of a hospital as a phlebotomist and nursing assistant, so I know I have no fear of blood, guts, or other bodily excretions, and was in no danger of passing out or otherwise disrupting the operation. But…  it was still disturbing, as much as it was fascinating.

The procedure took about 20 minutes, and that was including the doc being interrupted by a phone call, and a visitor. I have a skit written in my head depicting the whole thing that I’m sure would be worthy of Saturday Night Live… but I digress.

Henning was then taken to X-Ray to make sure the catheter was properly placed. There was a fun moment (that I missed because the room was too small for all of us and the bed) when the tech asked if Henning would please stand up for the X-Ray, and Henning delayed for a moment after saying, “No,” before giving his explanation. I wish I had been there for that moment… 😀 Oh, and the catheter WAS properly placed.

After an hour or so of observation, we were allowed to go back to the Patient Hotel and (finally, maybe?) sleep. Have I mentioned how much sleep we have had at this point? Right, none. Neither of us had slept through the night in weeks… and had not more than an hour at a time in days. We soon discovered that the two beds were not quite the same height, and the taller one had a slight wooden lip that my elbow honed in on right away, but otherwise, it was very nice. But we didn’t sleep. We dozed, there was some snoring… but neither of us was able to let go enough, to relax enough, to really sleep.

The next morning, I grabbed food from the fabulous buffet provided, and we settled in to wait for the call to come to dialysis. We had quite a few OTHER calls, because people wanted to know what was going on, but no call from the dialysis ward. Henning’s dad had come to town, so we called him to ask him to chill the wine… I have mentioned that now we are well into our WEDDING DAY, right? No? Well, the days were running together at that point… so…

Finally the call from the dialysis ward came. They were unable to get us in first thing, but if we came in at 3pm… Henning asked them to call back in 5 minutes while we had a discussion.

The wedding was scheduled for 1pm. We had people coming over, some from quite far, and some (like his dad) had already arrived. Could we do the wedding, AND the party, in TWO hours?? Or … the other option was to wait until the next day for dialysis. When they called back, we took the 3pm slot. Or maybe… we could push it to between 3pm and 4pm… ? 🙂 When they found out why we needed more time, they complied readily.

So then….

It all started…

…with a routine appointment last Tuesday.

After our experiences the previous week, we were expecting to meet with the doctor and discuss options going forward. What we got was… and I am not even kidding… “We don’t have a protocol for dealing with patients who know their rights.”

The doctor said Henning’s labs were the same (dismal) but since Henning didn’t want to comply, he should just go home, and come back in five weeks. He had no way (so he said) to put us in contact with any other doctor or administrator to discuss the various catheter options. He suggested we ask the nurse.

We then met with the nurse, who after getting on the phone and getting nowhere with making us an appointment, told us point blank that since Henning had left the week before (after being called by the wrong name repeatedly and scheduled for the acute catheter without any information being provided), he was noncompliant and therefore he was out of options until he crashed, medically. She left open the suggestion that he could hasten things along… which to us meant altering his diet for the worse… which could be disastrously dangerous.  We left the ward dazed, saying very little.

Rather than drive home, which frankly, we were not up for, we decided to go for coffee in the hospital cafeteria. We sat and drank coffee and ate pastry, and were very angry. I was scared out of my mind. I was thinking, this can’t be happening. They were honestly refusing to treat him. I could not believe it.

Eventually, we started talking to each other. We discussed going to the emergency department and demanding to be seen. I was wondering if I could find someone to check into this. I believe I actually said, “What do you suppose passes for investigative journalism in this godforsaken patch of earth.” And that was the kindest thing I had said about Denmark all morning. One of Henning’s colleagues from his Patient Empowerment team runs the Patient Hotel, so he thought perhaps if we talked to her, she might be able to at least give us some direction, some traction. But she wasn’t in that day.

Finally I said out loud that I was unwilling to take him home. The past week had been so bad, and he was so sick… something, anything, needed to happen. He asked if I was willing to go back to the ward and talk to them, just myself. I figured, it couldn’t hurt. No one was talking to me, perhaps it was time they started.

So back we went. I went in by myself and said that I wanted to talk to one of three people (his two docs or the nurse), that I didn’t care which one I got, but that I was not leaving until I did.

The nurse was willing to talk to me, and we sat down in her office. I started by saying that from now on, everything had to be in English, and that I was to be informed of everything that was happening. I told her that I was not taking Henning home, so she needed to find him a better option, “today” . I said because he was so sick, I was unwilling to take responsibility for his health at this acute stage. I said if she refused to help us, we were going to the emergency department and were going to tell them that Henning’s medical team was refusing to treat him. I started crying, and I am still not sure how much of that was calculated or if I was that close to losing control.

Her entire demeanor changed instantly. She not only spoke to me in English, she was very warm and open and willing to do whatever she could for us. She left to physically talk to his doctor (the one we had been refused access to, and who she could not get on the phone) and when she came back, she asked for Henning to come into the office as well. She handed us all of his paperwork, and told us he was having the procedure that day, and to go immediately to the ward downstairs to be admitted.

To be continued…