Memories of Henning Sondergaard

There are "friends" and there are "kindred spirits." Henning was a kindred spirit.

I think we both knew that from the first Skype conversation we had in 2009.

At that time I was secretary for a dialysis support group in the U.S.and had received a successful cadaver kidney transplant the year before. The founder and president of the group, Rich Berkowitz, knew everybody in the kidney world. He had connected with Henning, liked him immensely (Who didn't?), and convinced Henning to attend the group's conference that year in Florida. Rich was positive Henning and I would get along famously. And so we did.

Over the years, Henning and I Skyped usually twice a week. Long conversations, often up to two hours ensued - with discussions of everything from developments in dialysis to American politics, which Henning and I followed with a passion. And what we discovered in those conversations, was not just that were usually in agreement, but shared a similar life philosophy -Think positive and look forward, no regrets and live the active life - disabilities were no excuse.

He also had great love and admiration for my wife of 55 years, Linda. Upon our arrival in Copenhagen in the fall of 2023, he met us at the airport, greeted and kissed her, and said, "Oh you brought him?" referring to me. He could always get me to laugh or moderate my anger with his biting humor.

We first visited him in Copenhagen in 2019. Linda and I had not been to Europe for over 20 years due to my kidney failure in 2002. I was on hemodialysis dialysis for almost 7 years before getting a very successful transplant in 2008. And then one thing or another delayed the trip. We toyed with Italy, where we have never been, but finally said we needed to go back to the Uk and Scotland. Linda and I discussed asking Henning to join us.

I had spoken to him at length about our earlier trips to that magical land. He had always wanted to see Scotland and jumped at the chance to go with good friends. Our Scottish vacation sounded ideal, until you consider that Henning not only does his own hemodialysis but also has been confined to a wheelchair since age ten due a congenital condition. He was then in his early-fifties. Add to that his "senior" traveling companions, my wife and myself both in our mid-70s, and you've given yourself a big challenge.

We spent two weeks in England, Wales and Northumberland, and then met Henning's plane in Aberdeen. After initial greetings, he slapped his disabled placard on our dashboard and off we went. Little did we realize the magic of having that wheel-chair symbol and the freedom it gave us to park just about anywhere.

I'll let Henning tell you about our Scottish adventure via the blog we wrote for a year and half for "Home Dialysis Central". (Henning and I had been collaborating on medical journal articles and conference talks for some time, and a travel blog, suggested by mutual friend and the blog's publisher, Dori Shatell, seemed like a natural.)

"Travel is one of the most broadening experiences one can have. It opens one's vistas to new people, new customs and hopefully new horizons. I learned the joys of traveling from an early age. I was fortunate enough to be able to go to other countries without my parents from the time I was 14 years old. I would go to sporting events all over Europe. It opened my mind and my heart to how different life can be lived around the world. One could say I didn’t learn to travel despite my disability but because of it. I got to see how others coped with their impairments. This was very inspiring for a young man whose self-esteem was not yet particularly well developed.

"I have always had a strained attitude towards the wheelchair being the symbol of disability in general. Yes, it is very recognizable, and no I never have to explain why I am disabled–—I am the embodiment of the symbol for disability. So, while a wheelchair is seen as an inconvenience to most other people, I see it as a symbol of my freedom. From the time I was ten years old, my wheelchair was a means for me to get around. Granted, I could walk with crutches until I was in my early twenties, but the chair was always my preferred mode of transportation. It was my legs and my bicycle at the same time. I had mastered the chair to such a degree I was on the national wheelchair basketball team when I was 15 and the second person in my country to finish a marathon. By the age of 17, travel had become an integral part of my life.

"I jumped at the chance to go to Scotland with David and Linda. I have always wanted to see Scotland having heard so much about its beauty and the friendliness of its people, its wild history—and Scotch whisky, of course. I knew we would have to look for a large van, wheelchair accommodations, etc. But that did not faze me or David. We rolled up our sleeves, got on the Internet and found the resources we needed at prices we could afford. We all wanted to experience small town, rural Scotland. In big cities like Glasgow and Edinburgh, I knew it would be easy to get around in my chair. But we already live in large cities with millions of people and crowded museums and nice restaurants. David wanted me to see the Scotland he loved and had been to before. And that was the country I was most interested in as well.

"David had secured a vehicle large enough to carry three adults with their luggage and all my medical equipment, supplies and wheelchair. He’d found Hertz's wonder woman sales agent at the Aberdeen airport, Bridget Spink, and she reserved a 7-passenger VW Caddy Max, about which I knew nothing before this trip to Scotland. It carried the three of us and all our belongings all over Scotland for 10 days and got 50 mpg to boot. You can't rent a VW Caddy online, so David was in constant communication with Bridget. (His sleuthing ability and diligence is beyond impressive.) The trip as we planned it would not have been possible without this shiny black transport, seen below outside the 18th century inn we stayed in the charming, tiny village of Ardesier, north of Inverness in the Highlands.

"Traveling with my dialysis machine and supplies requires a good deal of pre-planning. But it is not necessarily a big burden. And the joy I gain from going places far outweighs the inconvenience of carrying medical equipment. It has become part of my life, like my wheelchair. Wherever I go, my machine follows. I bring the things that are necessary for me to sustain my life."

On our first day in Aberdeenshire, Henning wanted to visit a castle. I had several on our itinerary, but thought that Castle Fraser near our hotel in Inverurie would be a good choice. It looked fantastical—turrets and all, and very old and haunted.

Henning speaks again:

"Upon arriving, we discovered the access was not as described. Castle Fraser was originally built as an imposing defensive stone tower that was greatly expanded into a country estate in the 17th Century. Castles were built initially for defense and not comfort. Today, after centuries of renovation and beautification, castles are still hard to heat, and, even on a warm day, can feel like a refrigerator.

"I could enter the castle at ground level, but then was essentially limited to the dank entry hall, a room about 100 feet square. The unflappable Scottish docent at the castle, showed me a semi-circular flight of ten stone steps, and said, "If you can get yourself up "those steps, we can get you into the spacious and elegant ballroom."

With that, I slid out of my chair, and, in a sitting position, eased myself up the stone steps one at a time, while the docent carried my wheelchair. The other people on the tour cheered me on.

"While the rest of the company continued upstairs with the docent, I had plenty of time to explore the hall and the adjoining rooms including all the trinkets contained therein. I have experienced that in many places: being left behind or sometimes let into rooms where nobody else comes. And I have learned to consider it a treat to explore things in detail, bringing home memories that others miss because they are busy 'taking it all in'."

And that's the Henning I knew and loved. Indomitable!

We were planning to go to Italy together in autumn 2023, but various ills cut the trip short. But seeing him in Copenhagen again for over a week was a treat in itself. I feel so at home in Copenhagen. It's because of Henning. He is the best of Denmark, and the best of men.

Biographical note:

David is a former corporate marketing executive, custom furniture designer and craftsman, kidney patient advocate and now active senior living in California with his wife Linda.