catheter and needles. Same schedule issues. Same result: unwanted things are removed from your body through your blood. But this successful version of dialysis does not use a bunch of membranes. It uses a bunch of ‘me’. I died while at Amasa. But I was brought back as something more useful than I was. And I am not the first. All the dialysis clinics throughout the world have at least one of me per shift. We process all those patients’ blood during our shift. We enable those patients to live normal lives outside that clinic. But we don’t live normal lives outside the clinic. We don’t live at all.
SLAVERY I set up a morning meeting with Grace at Cafe Boronne. It is a Friday, so the cafe is open. Since Covid, it has been closed on Mondays and Tuesdays, which is inconvenient since I enjoy coffee after my dialysis sessions, and Monday is the first session of the week. Dialysis takes up 15+ hours a week of my daylight hours, so the remaining time is very scheduled by me… apparently even manically scheduled… like this is my last day on earth. Rhythms like coffee keep this innate mania a bit in check. “How have you been doing Grace? I know Martha took over after you left Thunder, and your kids were going to Priory, but I don’t know what you have been up to since then. Are you still living off Alpine?” “Yes. Still there. The kids are grown, but we like the house, and it is good for entertaining. I am the angel investor for several companies, and the gaming and VR spaces are doing really well. I also represent the 13th district, so that takes a bit of time. “ - 17 -
