Waiting for Godot (or Something)

When I last left the office of Dr. Harvard, the nephrologist, I had very few answers. I was stuck in a holding pattern of taking pills and not really knowing why I was taking them. They seemed to be working, since every time I had my blood pressure taken it was lower and lower. I was getting strength back, which is something I hadn't really talked about. While I was losing weight, I was also losing muscle mass and strength. As a matter of fact, when things were at their worst, I would often find myself using the elevator at school to get to my classroom, because climbing the stairs winded me. It wasn't a very long flight of stairs. Much like anyone in this type of situation, I just wanted to know what was wrong. Needless to say, the insomnia I'd experienced wasn't going away very quickly.

To get to the bottom of things, Dr. Harvard and I began to play a little game I liked to call "Guess What I DON'T Have." I'd go in, get a test done, then go back a week later, get the results, and Dr. Harvard would tell me what that particular test had been for and what ailment I didn't have. It went something like this, "I got your blood work back. The good news is that you don't have rheumatoid arthritis. The bad news is that there's still several other things we need to test for." And then I'd be off for another test.

One of the more annoying aspects of this whole process is that it made me miss a lot of time at school. The sophomores I taught barely noticed I was ever gone, unless it was a day I was scheduled to read aloud. My juniors and seniors were a little more perceptive that being gone a lot must have meant something was up. I had a Creative Writing class I was particularly fond of, and one day when I told them that I would, once again, be gone the next day a student piped up, "Why are you gone all the time? Are you dying or something?"

It was a very strange, almost surreal moment, because I looked at them and said, very seriously, "I don't know."

Having gotten used to my sense of humor, many of them laughed. But many of them didn't. many of them seemed to understand that something was wrong. As this sank in, the class began to ask questions. I finally just told them the abbreviated story -- that there was something wrong with my kidneys, but they didn't know what. That just led to more questions -- How long had I had this? What did I think it was? My grandma had to go to dialysis, do you do that? Are you going to need a transplant?

The transplant question kind of blindsided me. I don't know why, but for the first time the severity of the situation, if it came to that, was pretty grim. I opened up, perhaps too much m, and told the class that I was adopted, didn't know (or want to find) my biological parents, and that the only blood relative I had to turn to for a donor was all of four years old. It was kind of a downer to think about that. But I felt better when a student approached me after class and said, "Mr. Clamons, if you need a kidney, I'll give you one of mine. . . I'm serious."

Now I don't want you to think that everything was completely gloom and doom. Creative Writing class became a bit of an outlet for me to get over things. Each day they had a writing prompt for the beginning of class. I began to work in some topics that had come to me during this whole process. The movie, The Bucket List, had not yet been released, but we did write a bucket list of things I should if everything went South on me. My favorite of this was having a student say, "You have to do open-night mic at a comedy club." When I pointed out that the only reason they thought I was funny was because my jokes were about them or their classmates, the student said, "That's alright. We'll all come so somebody laughs at you."

There was also a time when I had to go in for an MRI. I was not looking forward to my 10:00 PM appointment to lay in the tube (if you're wondering, I didn't get IN the tube until 10:45), and told the class the next day that I might be grouchy because I had to stay up late for an MRI (once I got in, it still took 35 minutes to complete the MRI). I was asked why i had to have an MRI, and I explained that it was to see if I had malformed kidneys, structural problems, or cancer. As it is in most cases, when I mentioned the word "cancer" a silence came over the room. I decided to keep my humor about me and told the class how I had developed a Top 10 list of positives about having cancer. If you're wondering, here's some of the highlights of it:

• Finally have an explanation for my haircut
• Time off from work -- and you meddling kids (that's a direct quote)
• It's the first step to winning seven consecutive Tour de Frances
• Society will find it OK if I dump my wife to date Sheryl Crow
• Radiation treatment could cause me to grow super strong whenever I get angry. . .and you wouldn't like me when I'm angry.

Overall, it turned out that waiting wasn't so bad. And sharing with my students became a bit cathartic for me and helped me to keep my mind off the waiting. So when I went to see Dr. Harvard and he told me it was time for one last test, I remained upbeat and faced this test with a positive mental attitude. Boy, was I stupid.

Next time: I Scream, You Scream, We All Scream for Kidney Biopsies!

Eye, Doctor

While Dr. Harvard began what would become a very long and drawn out process of discovering what was making my body, essentially, try to kill itself, there was still the pesky problem of a gray map of West Virginia clouding the vision in my right eye. What that meant, was that it was time to follow up with a retinal specialist. So i was off -- again -- to another medical appointment.

I knew from the name on the card that my optometrist had given me that my retinal specialist was of Indian or Pakistani descent. I only bring that up, because as you read the very true account of the events that transpired, it's much more entertaining if you can imagine it being said with a pronounced Indian accent. Not quite as much as Apu from The Simpsons, but close. As I did with the nephrologist, Dr. Harvard, I've changed the name of the retinal specialist to protect him. I will refer to my retinal specialist as Dr. Jovial.

While Dr. Harvard was smart and clinical and very dry, Dr. Jovial was was outgoing and I assume slightly hyperactive. He is also very smart. I mean, come on, the guy's a retinal specialist. He was a very friendly guy. I think he may have liked me more than his other patients because, from the looks of the waiting room, at nearly 35, I was the youngest patient there....by a good 30 years.

As Dr. Jovial burst into the exam room, he first introduced himself and then said (and this is where you start imagining the accent), "So you're here to see us because you have swollen and/or burst blood vessels in your eyes, hmmm?"

"Yes," I said, "mostly in the right eye."

"And is it obstructing your vision?" Dr, Jovial asked.

"Yes, and to be honest, it kind of looks like a little gray map of West Virginia?"

"Really?" Dr. Jovial laughed, "I've never heard of that before. You are very funny."

Dr. Jovial then began to examine my eyes. He confirmed the swollen blood vessels, and said both eyes were in pretty much the same condition. The spot I was seeing was caused by a small amount of bleeding from one. He asked me if I had a history of high blood pressure or diabetes. I briefly recounted the story of my trip to the doctor, my outrageous blood pressure readings, and the conclusion that this somehow tied in to my kidneys.

"I can't believe that," Dr. Jovial said in genuine shock, " You have kidney problems? I seriously can't believe that. You're so fit. And you're young. What are you, 28?"

"No, I'm almost 35"

"No you're not. Do you work out a lot or what?"

"Well, I have been lately. . . "

"I just can't believe that someone like you is having these health problems," Dr. Jovial continued, "When I look at you, with you musculature, I mean, there's no way I'd ever imagine that. Amazing. What do you bench press?"

"Oh, I don't know, I don't really max out, I just try to lift some to..."

"Oh come on, you can tell me. What's the most you've ever benched?"

"Well, I put up 245 once. But it wasn't like a max out or anything, I did it like six times..."

"What? 245??? Wow, I'd hate to work out with you. I put on the little 35 pound weights and I'm laying there struggling with those. You'd make me feel bad about myself. HAHAHA!"

I just had to smile and laugh through the whole conversation. After all the bad news I'd been getting from doctors lately, it was kind of nice to at least find someone who was a little more upbeat. Dr. Jovial had to get a better look at things, and he informed me that they were going to inject some dye into my blood, then take some pictures of the insides of my eyes, and he'd have a better idea of what kind of shape my eyes were in.

I went to another room with a nice nurse who was going to inject me with dye. It seemed like something reminiscent of a sci-fi movie. She loaded up a syringe with a chartreuse colored goopy mixture. She told me that the dye had no real lasting side effects. The only thing I might notice is that for the next few hours I might notice that my urine was more yellow than usual. I kind of blew this off, because with all the testing that Dr. Harvard had me doing, I'd become pretty accustomed to seeing my urine in all sorts of colors. I wasn't really prepared, though, when on my way home I stopped at the mall, used the Dillard's bathroom and noticed that my urine was actually the color of the chartreuse goop they injected me with. And I think it may have been glowing.

Dr. Jovial showed me the pictures of my eyes and showed me the swollen blood vessels and the one that hard broken. He told me that I should continue to follow Dr. Harvard's treatment and that he'd see me back in one month. he gave my the internal photos of my eyes, telling me, "Here, you can frame these and put them on the mantle. next to your weightlifting trophies. I still can't believe you're that sick with your musculature."

At the one month visit, Dr. Jovial told me that I was showing incredible improvement, much better than he'd expected. He again said I should take my meds and keep doing what I was doing, and see him again in six months. At my six month visit, he pronounced me cured (or as cured as I would get -- I still have a gray spot but its much smaller and resembles the Big Island of Hawaii), and said I didn't have to see him anymore.

I was a little sad that I didn't have to see Dr. Jovial anymore. He was, quite honestly, one of the best doctors I've ever encountered. On that last visit, I took Lukas with me, since it was during the summer. Dr. Jovial took an instant liking to Lukas and let him play with equipment and showed him the cool stuff. Before I left, he told me, uncharacteristically serious for a moment, "You know, this recovery is quite amazing. I never wanted to say this, but f you had asked me that first visit what I thought the outcome would be, I would have said that you would never recover the sight in your right eye. I never expected it to turn out this way. That's a tribute to you for taking care of yourself and doing what you needed to do," he then looked over at Lukas who was coloring a picture, "But, then again, that looks like a pretty good reason to take care of yourself."

I told you he was smart.

My Trip to the Nephor...Nephra....I Go See a Kidney Doctor.

I left the general practice doctor with Lukas in tow and an appointment card in my hand telling me where and when I needed to go see a kidney specialist. I later learned that he is technically called a nephrologist. At this moment, all I knew was to call him a kidney doctor. The words "acute kidney failure" kept ringing in my ears. Even as Lukas carried on in his usual, effervescent, three-year-old way, the only thought I had was, "I'm not going to see you grow up. I'm going to die." Since the day Lukas had been born, my wife had always ribbed me that I'd be 50 by the time he graduated high school. I always laughed it off, telling her I'd still be the coolest dad around. Now, i tried to wrap my mind around the concept that I might not be there to see him graduate from high school. That I might not even be there to see him turn four.

Since this period of my life, I have seen many people close to me go through way worse health problems. In no way do I mean to make you believe that what I went through compared in any way to what they went through. This ends up being pretty mild in the world of health concerns (Spoiler alert!), but at the time, I was pretty concerned and feeling very mortal.

I got to the car and pulled out my cell phone. The first call, obviously, was Jodie. I told her what was going on. i will admit, that I was impressed by my wife that day. She is one to usually blow off any "health concerns" I have, telling me to suck it up and get over it (When I dislocated two fingers, her response upon seeing them was "Oh, whatever" -- not making that up). This day, though, there was genuine concern in her voice. This scared me even more. She said she'd check on the nephrologist and see what she could find out about him. The she said something I never thought I'd hear from her; she told me she was taking the rest of the day off to go with me. We agreed on a time she'd get off and meet me.

The next call I had to make was to my mom. In addition to everything else, I had already made plans to meet my sister in McPherson and drop off Lukas so he could go to Kansas City and spend New Years with Grandy, Grammy, and his cousins. I explained the situation to her, and I'm pretty sure she freaked out a little on her end. She would have freaked out more, but I'm pretty sure I remember leaving out a lot of the details, specifically the phrase "acute kidney failure." After I assured her that I would be fine, and that she didn't need to come immediately to Wichita, I called my sister and we made plans to meet in Hesston. It was good, because I was feeling very guilty dragging Lukas around, and I had no idea how much longer all this would take.

I dropped Lukas off and then turned around to head back to Wichita to meet my wife. By this time it was around 2:00 PM and neither of us had eaten lunch. I wasn't particularly hungry. We went to the Artichoke, since it was close to the kidney doctor. Those of you who live in Wichita know that the Artichoke has some of the best sandwiches around. Mine tasted a bit like cardboard that day. I had no interest in it and I ended up taking half of it home. My wife talked to me a little bit about things, but I still couldn't get over the words "acute kidney failure."

We went to the nephrologist. I sat in the waiting room and had to fill out a sheet about my symptoms. I still have to fill this same sheet out now when I go to see him. One of the questions it asks if you've had any significant life changes since your last visit. Since I only go once a year now, I always get to mark this box. My significant life changes always end up being our topic of conversation. It seemed like forever before a nurse came and got me and took me back, got my vitals and told me to wait for the doctor.

To protect my nephrologist, I will refer to him as Dr. Harvard, because he is really smart -- which is one of the things I like about him. I don't think he went to Harvard, but I bet he could have. The first thing I noticed about him was his voice. His voice was very calm and reassuring. He reminded me a lot of the late Carl Sagan as he began to explain what he was seeing in the tests. I won't go into too much detail, but ill give you a few of the specifics. My body was leaking protein all over. The protein in my urine was around 250. Average is 20-25. My blood creatinine level was 3.5. Anything oer 1.5 is considered high. All this, Dr. Harvard told me, led him to believe that I was having major kidney malfunction. The problem, he continued to explain, was that these symptoms could be any of a range of kidney disorders, some minor, some major. We would just have to run more tests to figure out exactly what the deal was. We did get some good news from Dr. Harvard at this appointment -- for the time being, it didn't look like I would need to start dialysis. At least it was a positive.

Next time: Eye, Doctor.

The Slow and the Serious

What the nurse told me hit me like a ton of bricks. Usually under these types of circumstances, I'd have some smart aleck remark. But this time I only sat there in awe. 210/140??? How did that happen? I'd just lost close to 45 pounds. I'd been working out regularly. I was under some stress at work, but not THAT much stress. Things began to move around me, and I just followed along in a kind of fog, only half listening to what was being said to me. I was taken down a hall and i had blood drawn, followed by a urine test. I was concerned at this point, but not too concerned. Having a nurse for a wife -- and having watched hours of Mystery Diagnosis on Discovery Health -- had taught me that blood and urine tests were the customary.

The nurse led me back to an exam room, where the doctor came in to talk to me. To this day, I still don't remember his name. Later on, I'd spend hours wondering why his name escaped me, unless it was some trick by my mind to block everything out. He asked me some questions, many of which I had covered just days before with the optometrist. Did I have diabetes? No. Did I have a history of high blood pressure? No, not really. He asked me a lot about the knock on the head I took and the broken blood vessel in my eye. He kept telling me that we "needed to get to the bottom of this."

As he spoke to me, the nurse came in and handed me a little plastic cup. In it were two tiny white pills. I took them in my hand, then swallowed them with a drink. In retrospect, I probably should have asked what they were. I didn't have to wait long. The doctor told me the pills were a beta blocker, which would help to bring my blood pressure down in a timely manner. I believe that they gave me 200 mg of atenolol (my memory is a little fuzzy on this, it may have been only 100 mg). Later, I would have to take this same drug on a daily basis. Of course, that dosage is a mere 25 mg. As I swallowed the pills, I was sure that there would be a quick discussion about calling me with test results, and then I'd be on my way.

I was wrong. Instead, the nurse looked at me and asked, "Have you ever had a CAT scan?" I told her know and she smiled, leading me further back into the office. There I was prepared for a CAT scan. I asked why.

"With your BP this high, we're very concerned about bleeding on the brain, clots, or any other kind of damage. The doctor wants to take a look and check things out," the nurse told me pleasantly.

I, however was less than pleasant. I had come in for a supposed sinus infection, and now I was being told there was a possibility of brain damage. I thought back to Christmas Eve, and how I had struggled to follow conversations, and had felt like I was slurring my speech after only one beer. I began to worry.

To add another variable to the equation, Lukas, three years old at this time, was still with me. I still remember how sweet the nurses all were to him. During the CAT scan, they took him behind the partition and showed him how everything worked. I was able to smile briefly as he bounced around the corner and said proudly, "Daddy, I saw pictures of your brain!" He was an amazing and patient little trooper during this whole ordeal. He was much, much too young to understand the gravity of things, but I think he understood that there was something serious going on.

I didn't worry a lick about Lukas until I was taken back to a hospital style bed, laid down and hooked up to a blood pressure machine. At that point, the nurse asked me, "Is there someone who can come get your son if we need you to?"

"I think so. Why?"

"Well, we're going to monitor your blood pressure for the next hour. If the beta blockers don't bring it down, we're going to have to admit you to the hospital. There's a very real chance you might have a stroke."

I looked down at Lukas, happily coloring in a coloring book at the foot of the bed and my whole world dropped out from under me. I was 34 years old. People don't have strokes at 34. I couldn't wrap my mind around any of this. Fortunately, the drugs did their thing and my BP began to lower. After an hour, I was unhooked from the machines and led back to the exam room and the doctor. I happened to look at the clock. What had seemed like whirlwind had actually taken place in just under three hours.

The doctor began by telling me that some of my tests were back. I had an unusually large amount of protein in my blood and urine. His big concern, he told me, was linking all these things together. I had high blood pressure, I was bursting blood vessels in my eye, and high levels of protein in my body.

"Everything," he said, "seems to be pointing towards something going on with your kidneys. Would you be able to go see a specialist this afternoon?"

I had Lukas with me. I was supposed to meet my sister in Hesston that afternoon for her to pick up Lukas and take him to Kansas City. My wife was working and my in-laws were all busy. I didn't feel like I had time to breathe, much less meet a specialist. So, of course, I said "Sure."

Dr. Whozzits then picked up the phone and made a call. I listened in on my end, trying to piece something together.

"Yes, I need to see if I can get a patient in this afternoon...Dr. [BLANK] if possible...male....2/17/71...The reason would be acute kidney failure...I'll fax test results over"

I sat there on the exam table listening to him talk about me like I wasn't in the room, and I'm pretty sure my jaw hit the floor (I would later learn from my wife that Dr. Whozzits was not renowned for his bedside manner). I'm not a doctor. I don't even play one on TV. But I am not stupid either. I knew that the term "acute kidney failure" had nothing to do with the physical appearance of my kidneys. All I knew was that people who's kidneys failed them died. Period.

And that's when I began to freak out a little.

NEXT TIME: My Trip to the Nephor...Nephra....I Go See a Kidney Doctor.