Saturday, April 12, 2008

The Fateful of Dialysis

One day all the frightening, disgusting and absolutely horrifying events that have transpired at my Dialysis clinic will be documented, leading to eventual critical acclaim and undeniable fame.

Until then, I share them with you dear Blog Reader.

One of the first times I ever was forced to endure Dialysis during the day, I discovered I wasn't alone in my absolute disgust with the whole process.

After the obligatory hookup I heard a tiny voice to my left. In an effort to be subtle I acted as though I was grasping for one of my items on the tiny mini-table the chair provides. This allowed my head to turn and my eyes and ears to tune into the side wall of the clinic.

This poor shriveled woman barely filled the massively oversized seat. Her body was limp, but her eyes told the story. She was in unbearable pain. And there was nothing anyone could do about it.

I was about to apply my headphones when I heard a whisper. With the odd acoustics of the clinic, it was hard to determine the direction of the origination.

It was coming from her. And it was chilling.

"Just let me die. Please God, just let me die."

I get a little teary eyed just reciting this story to you.

A few treatments later, she disappeared. I asked what had happened to her and the tech was rather nonchalant about her fate.

"Oh, she decided to stop Dialysis. She passed away a couple of days later."

I know in my heart that one day I will be too old to survive another kidney transplant and will be forced to endure Dialysis just to stay alive. No hope for a transplant that will never come.

And I will make the same decision the elderly woman did. And it will bring me untold peace.

I find a little comfort in the fact that she imprinted herself on my memory. And in doing so, she had one last glimmer of life.

Which, in the end, is all we can really ask for.

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