First Time at Dialysis

Today marked the beginning of my treatment. I won’t lie—being wheeled away in a hospital bed was an entirely new and unsettling experience for me. The uncertainty of what awaited me in the treatment room—whether it would be painful, what it would feel like, and the fact that I had to face it alone—was overwhelming. I sat there and cried. The nurses reassured me, calling me brave and telling me I would be okay. My mother also cried as I was taken from the room, unable to do anything but watch.

The room was cold and stark white—cliché as it may sound, it was an accurate description. Several other patients were present, asleep as the machines emitted their steady beeping sounds. I was fortunate to have an exceptional nurse who immediately recognized my fear. She carefully explained every step of the process, detailing what she was doing and the reasons behind each action.

When it was time to begin treatment, I lay wrapped in three blankets because of how cold I was. The session lasted three and a half hours—the equivalent of watching three episodes of Law & Order: SVU ;) The treatment was not painful, only cold. Remaining still and inactive for that duration was challenging, but it provided an exucse to watch my favorite shows.

The most difficult part was observing the older patients around me, lying vulnerable and helpless, and realizing that this had become my new reality. It is difficult to admit, but I genuinely felt a deep sense of self-pity.