Left Holding the Bag

I have just returned home from a grueling 11-day sojourn to Chicago, Florida, back to Chicago and off to Muskegon, Mich., to research my current book, conduct interviews and act as emcee at the wedding of my childhood friend's youngest daughter. Eight different cities, five different hotel beds and countless restaurant meals in a week and a half.

I'm pooped. And just a bit backed up.

And at every stop along the way, my trusty Baxter Home Choice® Automated PD (Peritoneal Dialysis) Cycler machine has been by my side. I realized recently that I haven't really said much about my PD cycler in these musings, which is a sin and an oversight because it's the primary reason I continue to feel as well as I do. In the latest issue of LifeLines, the national patient newsletter of DaVita, a fellow PD user from San Antonio named Jack White describes the procedure more simply and completely than I could:

"The process is so simple most anyone can use PD. First you need a port inserted in the wall of your abdomen. This requires a minor surgery. The cavity in our abdomen that contains the stomach and intestines is called the peritoneal cavity. The lining of the cavity is called the peritoneum and is filled with tiny blood vessels.

"In PD the peritoneum acts as a filter. The peritoneal cavity is filled with a dextrose solution that draws the impurities out of the blood in all of those blood vessels in the lining.

"We hook the solution bags up to the port in my abdomen. The entire process works on gravity. [There's a] drain bag on the floor for the bad stuff.... First the old stuff is drained out of my abdomen into the bag on the floor. The new dextrose solution fills my abdomen and the exchange is done. I'm ready to resume my daily activities. The PD cycler machine is a little computer that directs the swtich back and forth from drain to fill."

                                                             The miraculous Baxter Home Choice® PD Cycler.

It really is an amazing device, especially when you consider that the alternative is traveling to a faraway, antiseptic dialysis clinic multiple times each week, having all your blood sucked out of your body and pumped back in, and being surrounded by masked attendants and fellow sufferers you don't know.

I could not possibly travel as freely and frequently as I do without my cycler. And let me just take a moment here to tell you how wonderful Baxter is. On this trip, after almost two years of near-daily use, eight hours a day, my trusty cycler emitted an ear-bending beep and breathed its last. To make matters worse, its death occurred on the last day of my hotel stay in Sarasota, Fla., and I had not yet reserved my next room somewhere near Miami.

I called Baxter's technical support line and explained my dilemma. "Well, where will you be tomorrow?" my tech, Matt, asked.

"I have an interview in Miami Lakes at 11 o'clock," I said.

"How long will you be there?"

"Two hours or so, I guess."

"Bring your old machine with you. We'll have someone meet you there and swap it out for a new one."

And, sure as the IRS, the next day a Baxter driver arrived at my interview location with a brand spanking-new cycler, dropped it off with the receptionist and took the old unit away before my appointment was concluded. Who says service has gone the way of the Nehru jacket? Very impressive.

The cycler weighs more than 30 pounds, and since it costs more to replace than I'll probably make this year, it never leaves my sight when I'm on the road. I carry it with me on board planes, usually without hassle from the TSA or flight attendants, and because I never know how far it is from my airport arrival gate (why is it always Gate 99?) to the baggage claim, I often swallow my pride and request a wheelchair assist from the gate. Usually, once I sit in the chair and they pile my cycler and briefcase in my lap, no one can see me anyway.

I have tried to make the trek from the gate without a wheelchair. In my slightly weakened condition it feels like dragging a boulder across the desert. At least, that's what I look like I've done by the time I reach the carousel.

Here's my rub: While the cycler rides for free, the supplies it needs to operate – the drain bags, filtering cassettes, clamps, tape and the like – take up so much space they require a separate bag of their own. And American Airlines, which I flew on this trip, licking its greedy chops over the prospect of additional gouging, charged me an extra $60 for that bag of supplies each way of my journey.

That's right. Pick on the sick kidney guy.

I try very hard to fly Southwest, which has no oppressive add-on baggage fees, whenever I can. But there are some places Southwest doesn't go. I'm told there is a way around the extra charge for essential medical supplies. and if anyone knows about this, please educate me. Meanwhile, I'm going to do some research on my own.

I've got another trip, to Little Rock, set later this month. I don't want to be left holding the bag again.