Blood Transfusion and PICC Line

We leave for Timpanogos Regional Hospital a little early, knowing that they might have a little trouble starting an IV for the transfusion, and arrive at 12:30 p.m.

After checking in to Same-Day Surgery, they tell us that they're moving us to one of the floors to give us a room that's larger. Sounds good to me.

However, I start laughing when it ends up being the pediatric unit that I'm escorted to. And it's decorated so cute, with Dr. Seuss sayings and bright vinyl cut outs everywhere. I get the Dandelion Wishes room. And there's only one other patient on the floor--a two month-old baby, so I pretty much get a dedicated nurse to myself also. Cool.

Hmmmm. Maybe not so cool.

Thirteen large-bore needle sticks that each sting, six different people poking my veins and poking through my veins, and three hours later, we still aren't any closer to having a working IV. Each attempt has been on my right arm, and it's black and blue from end to end now. This is not working.

What other options do we have? They've called up the nursing team from radiology--the same nursing team that helped place and pull the port. They can't find a working vein even with the ultrasound machine, but they do have another suggestion--a PICC line.

Okay, let's do a PICC line. I agree quickly and eagerly to any other idea that will help us accomplish the transfusion goal and get me out of this hospital. It's almost Thanksgiving Day. I have family coming in from St. George. Not just any family, my sister. My closest sister that has been there for me through all of it--even before Dale was in the picture.

"No sedation?"
"Nope."

About thirty minutes later, we have a working PICC line (an IV inserted into my left arm and leading directly to my heart). Hooray! Now we can start the transfusion at 3:30 p.m.--close to the time originally that I was told I'd be finished.

I call my sister and invite her up to the hospital. I feel terrible that she's at my house for the holiday weekend, and I'm in the hospital. She hates hospitals though, so I know she's making a sacrifice just to walk in the doors for me.

She does manage to find quite a bit of humor in the doors to the unit though. Plastered on the wall is the familiar quote "A person's a person, no matter how small."

"There you go, Trish. They were matching your room according to your height. No wonder you ended up in pediatrics!" At least she can find some humor in today's ordeal.

The two units go rather smoothly, and we're finally released around 8:30 p.m. to start celebrating  the Thanksgiving weekend.