My dad passed away in June 2022, just two months shy of being on dialysis for 11 years. His primary care physician, who was (and is) also my mom's PCP, told her a couple of weeks after his passing that, between dad's age (77) and with all the health issues he'd had going on, it was a miracle he'd made it on dialysis for so long.
If I understand correctly what mom has told me related to the circumstances for why he needed to be on dialysis to begin with, it had to do with what was supposed to be a minor surgery he underwent many years ago. During the surgery, his blood pressure was high. So they gave him a blood pressure medication, which they kept giving him, but which he ended up being allergic to. The impact on his body was end-stage renal disease, which meant you either go on dialysis or... let's just say you should get your affairs in order rather quickly, if you haven't already.
My dad was like a lot of people when they hear such news. He was in denial. But he wanted to live to see many more days, so he chose the dialysis route, going three days a week for several hours each visit rather than at-home dialysis, for reasons I explained in the entry below.
READ MORE (VIP): Caregiver's Diary Part 53: There's No Place Like Home
Though my dad was still able to drive (and work) at the time, Mom and I took him to dialysis on his first day in a show of support. We both remember how scared he looked going into the treatment room where all the other patients were for the first time. My dad was not the kind to ever show fear, and while we were thankful he had the option of dialysis, it broke our hearts to not be able to sit with him through his first round of treatments, something that may have comforted him on some level.
Outside of the times he had to stay at a physical rehab facility, where he would get dialysis at the nearest center, and outside of when he had COVID in August/September 2020 and had to go to a different facility for about a month until he tested negative, the original facility my dad started at was the one he stayed with for the near-11 years he had to have dialysis.
As with most others getting treatment, there were technicians there who my dad liked to be paired with, and those he didn't. Sometimes he'd complain about his port not being properly bandaged at the end of treatments, which they would have to fix before he left. But for almost 11 years, they helped keep my dad alive, and he had made some friends there among the other patients, some of the technicians, and even a few administrative workers in the office.
Or so we thought.
The month or so after we lost my dad was a blur, but one thing I remember to this day - which I was reminded of over the weekend when I passed by the center from which he received his treatments - is that not a single person from that facility ever called to express their condolences, nor did they send a card in the mail. They never tried to connect with my mom over his passing, though she'd been in contact regularly with the office over the near-11 years for various reasons, most of them related to paperwork issues.
The only time someone there called my mom after we said goodbye to dad was unrelated specifically to expressing condolences. It had to do with paperwork, and all they said was "I'm sorry for your loss" in an offhand, cold remark. The only other call we got after that from anyone connected to the dialysis center was a former technician, who found out through word of mouth and called my mom to express her sadness, telling her that my dad had positively impacted her life.
Anytime my mom had to call the center after dad passed away, usually about information needed from them regarding his years of treatment there, no one would ever return her calls.
It was like my dad never existed to them.
Now I'm sure that a patient passing away was and is somewhat common for them. But, when you lose someone who faithfully went in for treatments for well over ten years, someone who had a family who cared for him and also took him in without fail for treatments, and who arranged for transportation when they couldn't, you think it's a given that you're going to hear back from that facility in some small but meaningful way.
But we never did. I mean, it was astonishing to me when I considered that after we had to say goodbye to Muffiecat several years before this, our vet sent us a handwritten sympathy card a few weeks later.
SEE ALSO (VIP): Caregiver's Diary Part 61: The Story of Muffie, the Christmas Kitty
Yet my dad, who was a human being loved by his family and who had bravely battled a disease in what was supposed to be the golden years of his life and who had established some connections among patients and techs, wasn't deserving of a simple call or a card from the dialysis center out of respect, if for no one else than for my grieving mother?
Obviously, after all this time, I'm still bitter about it. Worse, I haven't gotten to the point where I can forgive them for it, which I know is not the Christian way to do these things. People have forgiven others for much graver offenses than this, but every time I think about the egregious slight, it makes me burn with anger.
How dare they treat him as if he were just another faceless patient come and gone? My dad, my oak tree, the man who taught me how to check the oil in my car and who was there for me through some pretty tough times - his life mattered, dammit.
Lord, please forgive me for not yet being able to forgive them. I'll get there one day. But today will not be that day.
ICYMI - my Father's Day column to my dad. Happy Father's Day, everyone. https://t.co/bqqOn6I0Kr
— Sister Toldjah 💙 (@sistertoldjah) June 15, 2025
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