Tony wanted a beer. He could have his beer.

Spending time with a dialysis patient.

Tony was in the corner, slid into the crammed dialysis room next to one of the few windows. He had his ipod-white headphones on and didn’t notice my approach. He was far too engrossed in whatever video was playing on his tablet.

I didn’t disturb when I came into the room.

I picked up his dialysis chart and glanced through the most recent blood results, dialysate pump speeds, blood pump speeds, blood pressure charts.

He glanced up, “Ah John!”

It was never doctor anyone.

But he liked me, it’s why I was the one sent in to talk to him whenever he requested to speak to his physicians. I seriously doubted that my boss even knew he existed.

“ HI Tony,” I said with a smile. Despite the long conversation I knew I was walking into, I couldn’t help but like him.

Tony was one of our oldest dialysis patients. He’s eighty-six, fully independent, and comes for his dialysis three times a week.

“What can I do for you today?” I pushed passed the dialysis nurse who was managing another patient and saddled up next to Tony.

“I have a couple of questions for you, John.” He said and started digging through his shirt pocket. “I wrote them all down.” He pulled out a small piece of lined paper with handwritten notes in pencil. Ten numbered questions were on the page.

Most of the questions I had answered before. I indulged Tony. I knew this was more about him having a chat with someone and less about his medical condition. Our conversation meandered through his list of questions. We touched on my family, his family, local politics, how much he hates going into hospital. How much better he felt since getting his heart valve replaced.

“John, I wanted to ask you because I know you’ll tell me. I’ve asked the others but they just beat around the bush.” He said with a seriousness that’s not common for the man.

I nodded for him to continue.

“How much time do I have left?”

I hesitated, but Tony just smiled.

“I read online that it’s about 5 years.”

I shrugged and glanced around the other dialysis patients. I leaned in close to him so only he would hear me over the sounds of pumps and beeping alarms. “The average life expectancy of a dialysis patient is five to ten years, but I can’t say for someone your age.”

He nodded thoughtfully and glanced out the windows, “I’m not afraid of dying, you know. I’ve had a long, good life.” He looked back at me his grin stretching from ear to ear. “It’s the waiting I can’t stand.”

I chuckled and that set Tony off into a hearty laugh.

His laughing caused the dialysis machine to alarm as his blood pressure fluctuated. The nurse mashed some buttons and gave me a dirty look while I sheepishly grinned at her.

“There was one last thing I wanted to ask you,” Tony said, his face clouded and he looked like my son does when he’s going to ask for another cookie.

“Is it okay for me to have a beer? Not a big can, just a small can every now and then.” His blue eyes were full of hope.

I couldn’t help myself and started laughing. “Tony, you’re an eighty-six-year-old dialysis patient. You can drink what you want.”

His dialysis machine beeped again as he started laughing.

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