So I’m here at the dialysis center, and a woman’s machine is repeatedly alarming for low pressures in the tubes.
She has a catheter that goes straight to her heart, instead of a graft or fistula in an arm or leg, which is a very fragile and sensitive thing to have.
The technician i work with was busy somewhere else, so another came over to help.
She kept saying that it was because the woman was eating that it was messing with the catheter and moving it out of place that it kept having problems, and she told her to stop eating.
But that sweet old woman always eats her little bag of Cheerios and it’s never a problem.
My heart broke when she started to cry, and with a thick accent said
“No Spanish, no eating, no anything!”
Adjusting to life on dialysis is hard enough- you only get a little water and very limited and specific amounts of each food group, pretty much no “junk” foods ever, no heavy lifting, not to mention the two, huge, daily needles and the roughly four hours here in a chair with strangers watching t.v.
could you imagine if no one here even spoke your language?
Luckily my technician returned and fixed the real problem- catheters are finicky and often need a little salne flush to stay open all the way- and helped cheer her up and return her to her Cheerios.
the whole time I felt very helpless, as I’m new to the machine and know about zero Spanish..
I’m just glad she’s alright again.
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