DialysisDiaries
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Otto holds the first stitch
Learning slowly, one loop at a time—finding quiet grace in dialysis hours, with wool, waiting needles, and a gentle companion beside me. Continue reading
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The Empty Chair: A Liturgy of Absence.
Christy’s absence in the dialysis ward creates a profound sense of loss, highlighting the bond with caregivers and shared memories. Continue reading
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Of Lanterns, Bears, and Finding the Sun
113/69 may not be very low for most people, in fact it is well within the normal range, but my normal tends to be high so it was quite a drop. This poem was written during the night after such a drop. The darkness hums too loud to bear, each whisper sharp and near; my… Continue reading
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A small sweet mercy
This morning was a Tuesday free from the humming dialysis lines—the chest-port resting, the machine silent for a day. I travelled up to Dublin, but by evening the journey had taken its quiet toll. The poem grew out of that very ordinary kind of tiredness: the moment when even cooking feels like too much, the… Continue reading
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The hum of lines
I wrote a poem this week called The Hum of Lines. It is not a bright poem. It sits in the quiet room. It listens to the machine. It hears the slow, steady movement of blood through borrowed pathways. Dialysis has a soundscape. The hum of the pump. The soft alarms. The rhythm that is… Continue reading
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NeuroDivine Update
A quieter day from me. Dialysis was tougher than expected—my blood pressure dropped sharply, and we couldn’t remove as much fluid as planned. It looks like I’ve put on a bit of weight, which explains the hand and leg cramps even without reaching “dry weight”. So while we tried to regulate the BP, I was… Continue reading
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Machines. Mercy. Meaning.
In the long, measured hours of dialysis, I began to notice how healing is carried not only by machines and medicine, but by the people who sit beside us, the families who steady us, and the landscape we carry within. This hymn‑poem grew from that stillness—a way of naming the courage found in ordinary care,… Continue reading
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Chosen and Kept: The Sacred Liturgy of Presence and Care
In the quiet hum of the dialysis unit, where machines pulse with steady rhythms and time is measured in millilitres, Declan and Marcus find a sanctuary. Their story is not one of mere survival but of abiding joy, friendship, and the sacred dance of queer kinship amidst constraint. Dialysis life imposes limits—fluid restrictions, dietary rules,… Continue reading
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Coat. Bear. Grace.
Reflections from the dialysis chair—on presence, partnership, and the stories still unfolding. Dialysis takes it out of you. The hours are long, the movement minimal, and the body feels like it’s been borrowed by a machine. For me—an autistic gay Irishman living in Kildare and receiving treatment in Port Laoise—it’s not just about the treatment.… Continue reading
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Bank Holiday Blues
When the timetable shifts, so does the soul. A reflection on dialysis, delays, and small mercies. Continue reading
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Morning Mercy. Two Cats and a Quiet Question
I woke slowly this morning, not to alarms or aches, but to the gentle weight of love. Niamh, our white cat, had curled herself close to my chest—near enough to feel my heartbeat, wise enough to stay clear of the dialysis line. Her presence was soft, deliberate, like a prayer that knows where to land.… Continue reading
NeuroDivine 