It was a giant step from my three days a week dialysis treatment at the York County Dialysis Center in Biddeford for the past two years and that of actually performing peritoneal dialysis in the bedroom of my Kennebunk apartment. But that step was taken a week ago under the watchful eye of Connie, my nurse instruction

All my supplies, box upon box, arrived on Friday and were stacked against the bedroom wall. I arrived at nine at Center in Biddeford and was greeted by Connie. After taking my weight and blood pressure, she suggested that I go through the steps ”“ actually 17 if you count washing your hands while wearing a mask for three minutes ”“ and then following the steps religiously .

I passed the test, and Dr. Michael, one of the nephrologists who follow the dialysis patients on a weekly basis, entered the room. He was one of the physicians who checked me out in the ER at Southern Maine Medical Center when I had fallen on the black ice while walking to my car several weeks ago.

Connie told him she thought I was ready to start my program at home and he instructed me to call if I had any doubts about my treatment or if I had a question. “We are here to be your consultant,” he assured me. “Don’t hesitate to call.”

The next step was to drive home with Connie following and for me to conduct my second treatment of the day in my bedroom. While I had a sandwich or lunch, Connie organized the supplies and then I went through the steps of the treatment.

All again went well, and I was on my own for the third and fourth treatment before falling asleep. Connie kept in touch on the telephone and the next day after a good night’s sleep ”“ not getting up at 5 a.m. to drive to Biddeford for dialysis ”“ I went through the four prescribed treatments at home.

Connie checked me on the telephone and warned me about the dangers of infection even though I followed each step of the procedure meticulously. The bedroom if not absolutely clean could cause an infection. I should make sure that all was clean, even the furniture wiped down with disinfection, including a bit of bleach.

Now, as I have written a number of times during the past two years, I’m not the greatest housekeeper. My generation is the World War II generation, which was called the greatest generation, but I remember if you went to Harvard or Yale or Dartmouth those years, a maid made your bed and tidied up your room. I’m not trying to excuse myself, but suggesting life was a bit different those days.

But I’m trying to follow Connie’s warning. I’m vacuuming, wiping down the furniture, changing the sheets frequently and trying to keep things in order.

Naturally, I was feeling the pressure on my first treatments alone. I think that is only natural at 86, my age, or even 56. But I do have to say. Connie, my nurse instructor, motivated me and kept me going. Without her compassion and expertise, I wonder if I had got this far. She is one of those persons who you meet in life, no matter what your age or circumstance, who plays a vital role in changing your perspective. And all I can say, humbly, God bless her and her work.

— George Douglas writes regularly about his experiences as a kidney dialysis patient. He is the former editor of the Boston Post. He lives in Kennebunk and can be contacted via e-mail at gadoug23@earthlink.net.