Our Story, Part 1
Eight years ago I met a man with polycystic kidney disease, otherwise known as PKD. Six years ago I married him.
When we met there was that something different something about him that you've either heard happily married folks talk about, or that you've experienced for yourself. By the time we had gone out a couple times, I knew. This person was going to be my forever. I barely knew him, had barely scratched the surface of who he was, but a voice I felt, rather than heard, told me this, or rather, he, was it.
About the same time I was doing all this knowing and feeling, which I know sounds totally bizarre, he dropped a bomb, "I have a disease called PKD. My grandfather had it, my mom had it, my uncle has it, and I have it."
My immediate, internal reaction was, "but of course you do. I mean, of course the guy I'm meant to spend the rest of my life with with has an incurable disease."
My outward reaction was something like a slow, "okaaaaaay," followed by a somewhat-forced perky, "what's PKD?"
He gave me a brief explanation. I later googled, and pretty much decided that everyone has something and this was his. Looking back. . .how foolish, how simple, how naive.
In the years since he's had doctor appointments, bloodwork, ultrasounds, and adjustments made to his blood pressure medicine. He summarizes the information and I listen and nod at the appropriate times, and then we move on to other subjects. And, believe me, with three children, two preteen daughters from my previous marriage and a four year old son we have together, there are plenty of other subjects.
At a routine visit a few weeks ago, he came home and told me that his pcp said it's time to see a nephrologist because numbers were up from a year ago. That comment was just one in a string of tidbits that we shared over dinner with the kids, and I didn't ask any questions.
His appointment with the recommended nephrologist was on Tuesday, September 24, 2019.
This blog is a result of that appointment.
When we met there was that something different something about him that you've either heard happily married folks talk about, or that you've experienced for yourself. By the time we had gone out a couple times, I knew. This person was going to be my forever. I barely knew him, had barely scratched the surface of who he was, but a voice I felt, rather than heard, told me this, or rather, he, was it.
About the same time I was doing all this knowing and feeling, which I know sounds totally bizarre, he dropped a bomb, "I have a disease called PKD. My grandfather had it, my mom had it, my uncle has it, and I have it."
My immediate, internal reaction was, "but of course you do. I mean, of course the guy I'm meant to spend the rest of my life with with has an incurable disease."
My outward reaction was something like a slow, "okaaaaaay," followed by a somewhat-forced perky, "what's PKD?"
He gave me a brief explanation. I later googled, and pretty much decided that everyone has something and this was his. Looking back. . .how foolish, how simple, how naive.
In the years since he's had doctor appointments, bloodwork, ultrasounds, and adjustments made to his blood pressure medicine. He summarizes the information and I listen and nod at the appropriate times, and then we move on to other subjects. And, believe me, with three children, two preteen daughters from my previous marriage and a four year old son we have together, there are plenty of other subjects.
At a routine visit a few weeks ago, he came home and told me that his pcp said it's time to see a nephrologist because numbers were up from a year ago. That comment was just one in a string of tidbits that we shared over dinner with the kids, and I didn't ask any questions.
His appointment with the recommended nephrologist was on Tuesday, September 24, 2019.
This blog is a result of that appointment.
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