Remembering When
Our dialysis story — chapter 16
I just published a piece by Christine Morris Ph.D. in which she says goodbye to Medium. Not because she’s disillusioned with this platform, not because she’s found a better place to write, but because she’s ill and needs to concentrate on her health without distraction.
Through our dialysis and plumbing experiences and challenges, Christine has been a steadfast and caring supporter, offering advice and understanding. Despite her deteriorating health, she shows concern for Ben and his kidney failure and for me and my efforts to care for him. By the time I publish this, Christine may be gone from my Medium world, and it will surely be a smaller and sadder world without her.
I am, as I’ve said before, a “glass half empty” type of person. My personality leans toward the looming what-ifs of life, always worried about and preparing for the worst, rarely appreciating the what-ares — the parts of life that may not be what I worked or hoped for but are genuinely wonderful without my interference. Sunrises and sunsets. Sparkling rain and brilliant sunshine. Flowers and ducks and bluebirds. The multitude of abilities I take for granted — walking, working, writing, baking, and sleeping. You don’t think sleeping is an ability? Try not being able to get more than a couple of hours of sleep each night for several years.
Christine inspired me to frame our unexpected life differently. In recent days, rather than focusing on the many tasks before me and all the worries surrounding me, I started looking into the past to find challenges equally, or almost equally daunting, that I not only survived but triumphed over.
I remembered spending 48 years desperately striving to earn the love of a father incapable of loving anyone but himself. Then, I remembered the relief when I walked away from him — forever.
I remembered the many years of depression in my first marriage when I seriously considered suicide. Then, I remembered gathering the courage to leave that marriage without money or a plan, finding answers when I couldn’t form the questions, finding hope when I had none.
I remembered the many worries about my daughter and her questionable life choices. How I stayed awake at night wondering where she was and if she was okay, unable to help her, having to let her figure out what steps to take next. Then, accepting her and her two children when they came home to me without money or a plan.
I remembered the years of co-parenting with her while working 50 to 60 hours a week. The potty training, first days of school, homework assignments, viruses and boo-boos, tears for a dad who wasn't around, trying to explain it was best if he wasn’t around, paying for a divorce attorney and a process server, attending a custody hearing, watching my daughter struggle at a menial job to earn less than she needed to support her children while resenting that she had to depend on me.
I remembered my daughter and her new husband taking my grandchildren 1,200 miles away, breaking my heart into a thousand pieces. Thinking my shattered heart would never heal. It has — mostly.
When my daughter and grandchildren moved in with Ben and me, our lives were turned upside-down. Plans, routines, and expectations were completely changed. No longer did we have control over our days or nights. We couldn’t make a last-minute plan to go out of town or even to the movies. I had to coordinate our time with my daughter’s unpredictable work schedule. There were two children to think about — always. They had to be foremost in our minds and our plans.
How is that much different than Ben’s kidney failure and dialysis? True, children are delightful “problems,” while kidney failure is not, but the end result is the same. Back then, our lives were upended. Now, our lives are upended. Rather than focusing on two young children, I must concentrate on the man that I love and who loves me. I must tend to his needs as I once tended to theirs. Is it really that much different?
Rather than driving hundreds of miles a month to and from school, gymnastics, martial arts, playdates, and birthday parties, I drive hundreds of miles a month to and from the dialysis center and doctor appointments.
Rather than figuring out nutritious meals that children are willing to eat, I’m researching nutritious meals that Ben can eat and will eat.
Rather than working on homework assignments, I’m working on charting vitals and dispensing medications.
Rather than travel restrictions because of school schedules, we have travel restrictions due to dialysis schedules.
I look at my lead photo and see my sweet grandson having fun with his soccer ball. I have to struggle to recall the entire day — a day of late starts and later arrivals, the ant bites that left my granddaughter in tears, an argument with my daughter, a broken glass, two hours spent preparing an almost inedible meal and dessert with my grandchildren, and my feelings of inadequacy and overwhelm.
What mattered at the end of the day was my grandson having fun with his soccer ball in a safe place surrounded by people who love him.
What always matters at the end of the day is the love.
The rest is just noise that will fade.
Thank you, Christine Morris Ph.D., for helping me ignore the noise.
© Dennett 2023
Our Dialysis Story:
