Last Man Standing
I don’t think I’ve been shy about my kidney journey. To experience full blown kidney failure at 45, to be placed on dialysis three days a week for 3.5 hours each session, to dealing with needles, which I had to learn to deal with, to dealing with unprofessional medical staff, it has been quite the journey. Now as I face my next possible health challenge. (I’m currently being screened for prostate cancer. My biopsy results are in two days). I reflect heavily on my journey from the last three years, which includes two strokes, an aneurysm, four dead aunts, one uncle, and three cousins. I’ve attended so many funerals I’ve become numb. I’m numb, not because I don’t care, but as I face my own mortality (Each time I get on the dialysis machine, the top number of my bp dips into the 90s, the bottom number in the 50s). When your bp dips that low, you feel so close to death, as you break into a sweat, like you have just run the Boston marathon, your head starts spinning. Several times, I have had to receive oxygen, just to keep conscious. So when you face death, at least three times a week, losing so many people makes you numb. You realize that your number could be up next.
But that’s not the point of this post. The post is about the fact that I’m the last one standing. There were three people in my family on dialysis, and I’m the last one left. Yes, I have survivor’s remorse, but there is also a part of me that wonders, am I next…
