A Chat with Dialysis

My comments: Shared with permission by the author. I was going to post in news stories, but was afraid some may have missed it. It really spoke to me with Jenna facing dialysis in the near future.
There are many more great posts on Jerry Wilde's blog http://jerrywilde.wordpress.com/

A Chat with Dialysis

8
AUG

As my second transplant approaches, I took the opportunity to have a little chat with my friend and nemesis, Dialysis. While I absolutely hate going to dialysis, I completely understand that without it I’d be dead. So this is a classic love/hate relationship. I’m about to end this affair hopefully once and for all.

Dialysis. We need to talk. Do you have a minute? I want you to know that you will not be my master for much longer. Not much longer. I will be leaving this place very soon. Just a few more treatments. Becky, Leah, and so many people have seen to that. They have rescued me. It breaks my heart to be leaving my brothers and sisters in here with you. I understand the concept of “survivor’s guilt” but I’ve never come in contact with it…until now. I know my fellow patients are happy for me. We’re all happy when someone gets a new chance at life. The thought of leaving them in this place makes me ill. Please treat them well. They don’t deserve this. No one deserves this. For many on the unit, there is only one way to escape you. Death. But for some reason I have been given a reprieve. I don’t know why so many people have tried to rescue me but they have. Now, one has succeeded.

But here comes the hard part for me. I also want to thank you. You have kept me alive and I owe you a debt of gratitude. But I have seen and experienced things in here that no one should see. Remember when Henry almost bled to death? He pulled out one his needles and sprayed blood all over the place. My God that was awful. Remember how he got blood all the way over to my bed? Heather and Trey saved Henry’s life that night. The next night he came in for treatment and apologized to me. Can you believe that? A 70-year-old man, who is missing half of his fingers and toes, apologized for getting his blood on my bed. Now they strap his hands down so if he has another bad dream, he won’t pull his needles again. What’s weird is I’ve thought of that night several times and wondered, “Maybe it would have been better if Henry had died.” But that’s not for me to say. This is no way to live; in pain and sickness with no hope for a better future. The only hope is that maybe it won’t get worse. They say God has a plan for everyone, even Henry. Sometimes I’m not so sure.

So it is almost time for us to part. You will keep doing what you do and, like a teenager who’s had his heart broken, I will never forget you. My first thought in the morning will not be, “Do I have dialysis tonight?” I know you will haunt my dreams. I will have a sense that something is stalking me in the night. There will be times I wake up thinking I am with you. Like a reflex, I will hold my left arm straight even when I am in my own bed.

So this isn’t goodbye. I will come back to visit my friends here and to see the nurses who kept watch over me during the long hours I was with you. But I know what that will be like. I visited my old dialysis center after my first transplant. I had a cold sweat the entire time I was visiting. I was afraid that at any minute someone was going to slap me back into the chair and stab needles into my arm. I practically ran to my car when I got outside. I promised I’d come back again to say “Hi” but I knew I never would. It’s just too hard. I’m not strong enough. Too many bad things happened in that room. Too many good people have suffered and bled and puked and screamed in pain.

I know I’ll never be able to erase you from my mind and I’m not sure I want to. I have only one wish for the rest of my life. No matter how much time I have left on this earth, I just hope my life doesn’t end back here with you. Anything but that. So thank you again Dialysis for keeping me alive. And thank you for one more thing. I no longer have any fear of hell. I’ve already been there.

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