(The first paragraph might be a little hard to read or a little disturbing. It talks just a little about how difficult dialysis was for dad so if you'd rather not know, you might want to skip to the second paragraph.)
Dad really hated dialysis. I mean hated it. When I would pick him up on Saturdays from his dialysis, he'd always say (in an exhausted tone) "...aaaahhh! Now I don't have to do dialysis for two whole days. I'm so glad I don't have to go back until Tuesday." This, of course, broke my heart. Every time he'd get in the car and say this, it would just make me so sad for him. His right arm where his fistula (dialysis port) was would be completely bandaged up. Sometimes with dried blood smears down his wrist and hand or between his fingers. I'd open and close the door for him because his arm would either be sore (from where they would insert the needles for access), numb (when he would remember to use his salve so he couldn't feel the access), or just plain weak (from having to leave his arm in the same position for 4 straight hours).
Needless to say, I hated seeing him like this. I mean hated it. For some reason, about a week ago, I started remembering this part of dad's treatment and how much I hated the fact that this huge fistula was in his precious arm. His once strong, healthy, perfect arm. Now also covered with bruises from his being on blood thinners.
But the other night I had a dream about him. Mom, Alisa, and I were sitting on my couch just chatting. Dad walked into the room, pulled his right sleeve up to his elbow, and said in the most playful voice "Looky!!" and held his arm straight out in front of him. No fistula, no bruises. Just like new. Then the three of us started clapping and cheering as loud as we could "Yaaaaay!!! No more dialysis, no more bruises!! YAAAY!!!" And he was sooo happy and was smiling and laughing soooo much. And that made me happy too.
Yay, Daddy! Your arms are as good as new. I love you.