Dialysis & Miracles

When You Believe:

“There are only two ways to live your life. One is as though nothing is a miracle. The other is as though everything is a miracle.” ― Albert Einstein

When I began dialysis, I was not conscious, but by the time I arrived at Spaulding Hospital I was alert and participating in my own care. Treatments were three times a week for three and a half hours each.

The technicians were gentle and caring. Treatments were tedious. One day, as I lay in my medical dialysis chair, I was greeted by Nancy, a friendly face. Nancy came and sat beside me. She was a chaplain. We talked briefly and she asked if I would like to sing with her. Music has always been my joy, my way of connecting to everything spiritual. I wholeheartedly agreed.

It was a seminal moment. We sang an ancient prayer, my voice fragile, Nancy’s voice soothing and steady. Something touched me on a cellular level. It reached into the deepest regions of my soul and cracked open the protective shell I had constructed for myself.

For a long time, my body had lain in purgatory. As we sang, the sound reached in and invited my soul back home.

In the hospital, the daily regimen of food, therapy, and medication was well-established. After my discharge, all that changed.

Susan began to track my dietary needs. She made low sugar meals that focused on keeping my heart healthy (no sodium), my kidneys happy (low potassium, low phosphorus, and high protein) and my blood thinner level on track (limited vitamin K).

She did a stellar job. My test results were excellent. But adhering to the diet meant implementing dramatic life changes. No more restaurant meals. No more meals outside our home at all. So many connections are nurtured through food. So much joy is cultivated at the kitchen table! Its absence is palpable. I sorely miss it.

There are foods I love (like chocolate, tomatoes, potatoes, citrus, and cheese) that I can only have in extreme moderation. I grieve these losses. How do I keep going?

Susan is a major force and constant support. My mindset is another.

My heart still beats every minute; my kidneys still function at their highest possible level. When I harken back to my brutal seven-hour surgery and appreciate how those kidneys bore the brutality of it, I have only compassion and gratitude. My physical body took a beating, and I am here because of it.

I focus on my goal: to help my still-wounded body. I concentrate on the fact that however imperfect it is, every part of my body is trying to do its job. I make these choices to gently assist my little ecosystem so it can function at its very best.

For most of my hospital stay, I was on a feeding tube. Towards the end of my time at Spaulding, I began to eat solid food. I have always been a voracious eater. I love food! But at first, it was a challenge

to get food down. I found that anything related to food (even the sight of it) made me sick.

The doctors were frantic. Even though I was on a restricted diet, my nephrologist finally said to Susan in exasperation: It’s Cambridge, there are a million restaurants on this street. Just find something she will eat! By the time I came home I had lost seventy pounds.

Since then, my appetite has returned but my eating habits have changed dramatically. I used to inhale my food, now I eat slowly, savoring every taste, appreciating every bite. On the rare occasions that I have potatoes (once a month) or chocolate (special occasions) I experience the flavors in a new way. They’re orgasmic!

During one dialysis procedure in May of 2023, seven months after returing home, I noticed my doctor carefully perusing my reports. The nurse and team members were gathered about.

The nurse came over to share what was happening. Your test results are extraordinary. We’re going to do another panel of blood work and send you home. Come back for your next scheduled treatment.

I returned twice more. Each time they did blood work and sent me home without treatment. The third and final time, before sending me home, the doctor came to speak with us. He explained that my levels were good enough to suspend treatment. My kidneys were now functioning at between 28 and 30%.

What followed was remarkable: I was able to forgo treatment for a full eighteen months!

One of the team members came over. This almost never happens. You are only the second person I’ve seen it happen to in five years!  She reasoned it was because of our adherence to the diet.

Whatever the reason, this was my first miracle.

My doctor followed me closely for the next eighteen months. I enjoyed those months of freedom from machines. But over time my kidney function gradually lessened. Toxins built up in my body. Hospital visits became more frequent. I didn’t feel well.

By December we all agreed it was time to get some help. Then in January of 2025 I returned to dialysis. I had previously needed three treatments a week, now I was down to two.

After my return I immediately felt better. I regained my energy. There was less stress on my kidneys. They had done a yeoman’s job functioning unassisted for as long as they could.

In March, right after my 70^th birthday, I got my second miracle. My clinic, Fresenius, was introducing an advanced dialysis process to the United States. The process, hemodiafiltration, or HDF, is less harsh on the body and does a more thorough job of toxin filtration than conventional hemodialysis. Data in Europe, where HDF is widely used, suggests that people live longer and feel better with HDF.

My second miracle: I was one of the first U.S. patients to be included in the launch! I was fifth in the nation!

What conclusion do I draw from all this? My kidneys underwent major trauma. For several reasons, in-center dialysis is the best choice for me, but dialysis is time consuming, tedious, sometimes painful, and ongoing.

Nevertheless, when I step back and consider my gains and losses, I can’t help but appreciate how fortunate I am. Isn’t it a miracle that I live in a time and place where dialysis and dialysis machines exist, and where I have access to amazing care?

Perhaps the fact that these options are available to me at all is the third and greatest miracle. The care I receive saves my life twice a week.