It once seemed inconceivable that we—or anyone--would operate a dialysis center in a spare bedroom.…
Widow’s Weeds 3: Heart’s Desire
Unless I want to be an Edie, Big or Little, in an ersatz-colonial Grey Gardens, I need to begin the process of emptying this house. We’ve been happy here. At least I think so. It is hard, indeed, to truly know what Dan was thinking about much of anything....
Dialysis 4: Mountains of Waste
Home hemodialysis ends. It always does, whether that person gets a transplant, changes over to in-center treatment or dies. Right now I should be mourning my loss but instead I am consumed by anger and disgust at the assault on the environment that home hemodialysis...
Dialysis 3: Anāhata and the Art of Dialysis
The schlepping and stacking and priming and replacing of all the stuff associated with keeping the Cycler and Pureflow up and running is madness. I have absolutely no idea how anyone even slightly weaker or less competent than I—and I am seriously not competent—can...
Dialysis 3: Warm Enough
Many people struggle to stay warm. They flee to Florida and Arizona, to Spain, pretty much anywhere the summer springs eternal. When they cannot do that, they jack up the thermostat. When my sister returned to Massachusetts on break from Arizona State University,...