A famous New Yorker editor advised when I submitted a piece for their Talk of the Town column years ago, write about the grace and not the pain and you will catch the reader’s full attention. And this column will follow that editorial advice of years ago.

As readers know, I have been on dialysis for three days a week for two years and now I’m in the process of being trained for having dialysis at home through a surgically implanted catheter in my stomach. All went well and I now was being trained to conduct peritoneal dialysis on my own. In fact, in my last column, I wrote about the sixteen steps of that type of dialysis or the “kidney you didn’t know you have.”

I took my morning shower, had a good breakfast, and was off first to see Dr. Edward J. Quinlan, my cardiologist, to check my pacemaker, and then to my nurse/instructor for more training. However, I didn’t make my appointments.

I was carefully walking to my car in the apartment’s parking lot, the sun was shining, and I stepped into walk between two parked cars slightly covered by snow and hiding the treacherous black ice underneath. I went down, feet first, hitting the back of my head. I lost consciousness for a second, I think, and I couldn’t get up. I started to throw up and apparently was in and out of consciousness. I can’t tell precisely how long on the ice but it had to be around a half an hour. A fellow resident saw me and called 911.

A Kennebunk police officer was the first to respond and I don’t know if he fell on the ice or not. I know he slipped on the hidden ice, but I think I lost consciousness again.

The next thing I remember was in the ambulance and they were cutting off my LL Bean farm jacket, pants, sweater, and shirt with a giant pair of shears. My legs were shaking and they were trying to get an IV needle in my arm without success.

I do remember that as a last resort, they put a screw in the bone of my left leg and I have never in my 86 years of life felt such pain. It was as if I had broken my leg in five places and I was screaming in pain. As soon as the IV was working, fluid in my body, the pain ceased, thanks God.

After tests and two staples in the wound in the back of my head, I was admitted and taken to the fourth floor. Dinner that might was a jar of Jell-O.

However, in the morning, I had scrambled eggs for breakfast and before undergoing my regular dialysis at the hospital. Dr. Quinlan checked me Saturday afternoon and allowed me to go home after having me walk on my own up and down the hospital corridor. I was given a shot in the leg before the nurse, Patrick, took out the screw in my leg.

My friend, Liz Walsh, brought me clothes to wear home since my other clothes were actually in pieces. Despite the staples in my skull, I slept well and was greeted by my cat Fiona.

My concern was that the fall would in some way hamper or prevent my having peritoneal dialysis, but Connie, my nurse instructor, and Katherine, the social worker visited my apartment. They assured me that the program would continue. I would have to move the furniture in my bedroom in order to store the supplies and equipment that I would need for home dialysis.

A week after the fall, the staples were removed and on March 1, I was back training at the Home Dialysis Clinic in Biddeford. despite the weather. And I thank God that I didn’t break a hip or suffer injuries that would have prevented me from having dialysis in my apartment in the future.

— 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.