Picture this.
You’re about to take a road trip — but not the fun kind with snacks, playlists, and questionable gas‑station coffee.
Nope. This is the Road Trip From Hell.Once you hit “start,” you’re stuck.
No bathroom breaks.
No stretching your legs.
No pulling over because you suddenly remembered you left the dryer running.
No escape route.For the next four hours, you’re locked in.Welcome to home dialysis — the road trip where I’m the driver, the passenger, the mechanic, and the emergency roadside assistance… all at once.Before I even start, I have to pack like I’m going on a cross‑country adventure:
supplies, needles, lines, meds, snacks, chargers, distractions, and the mental pep talk of a man about to climb a mountain with one shoe.Because once I’m connected, that’s it.
I’m committed.
I’m on the highway with no exits, no rest stops, and definitely no “Are we there yet?”
(Trust me, I’ve asked.)But here’s the twist:
Even on the worst road trips, there’s always something that keeps you going — a good song, a good laugh, or the hope that the next mile will be better than the last.For me, that hope is a living kidney donor.A transplant would mean freedom — real freedom.
No more four‑hour road trips.
No more alarms.
No more needles.
Just life.
Life with my wife.
Life with my family.
Life beyond the machine.So yeah, the road trip from hell is real.
But so is my hope.
And so is the possibility that someone out there — maybe even someone reading this — could be the person who helps me finally pull over, stretch my legs, and breathe again.If you want to learn more or see if you could be a match, visit:www.akidney4brian.comOne kidney. One change. One life.If you want,
Author: Brian F.
My Story Was Featured — and My Search Continues
I’m incredibly grateful to share that my journey has been featured in the Genesee Valley Penny Saver in an article titled “A Journey of Hope: Brian’s Story of Living Donation.”
This piece captures not just my medical story, but the heart of what I’m fighting for — a second chance at life through a living kidney donor.
👉 Read the full article here:
https://www.gvpennysaver.com/stories/personal/a-journey-of-hope-brian-s-story-of-living-donation/article_81b6dc2c-abf3-4741-9c14-4feb82759c10.html
For more than 20 years, the kidney my aunt gave me allowed me to live, work, love, and build a life I’m proud of. Now, as that kidney reaches the end of its journey, I’m doing everything I can to stay strong — cardiac rehab, diet changes, meditation, and a whole lot of hope — while I search for the person who might be willing to step into this story with me.
Every share, every conversation, every person who learns about living donation brings me one step closer to finding that match.
If you’ve ever wondered what living donation means, or how one person can change a life, I invite you to read the article, share it, and learn more at akidney4brian.com.
My journey continues — and so does my hope.
Getting in Shape for a Living Donor
When I received the gift of a kidney from my aunt — truly a gift of life — I was healthy and strong. But as time goes on, genetics, medications, and life itself start to shape your health in ways you don’t expect.
At 24, I was diagnosed with atrial fibrillation.At 26, diabetes.At 30, I had a heart attack.
Over the years, thanks to anti‑rejection medications, lifestyle factors, and genetics, the list of ICD‑10 codes attached to my chart kept growing. This isn’t unusual for long‑term transplant patients who are monitored closely. Sometimes it feels like every doctor visit adds a new code.
For those not in the medical world, ICD‑10 codes are the standardized labels used to describe diagnoses, conditions, and reasons for medical visits. They’re the shorthand of the healthcare system — and for “professional patients” like me, they become a kind of medical autobiography.
Now at 45, my ICD‑10 list is about a page and a half long. Everything from allergies to dependence on dialysis (Z99.2) and everything in between.
So the real question becomes:How do I make sure that, with all of this, I can survive — and thrive — after a future kidney transplant?
Right now, I’m focused on the things I can control:
Cardiac rehab — keeping my heart as strong as possible
Diet changes — slowing the buildup of toxins between treatments
Meditation — staying centered and grounded through the stress of chronic illness
These aren’t cures, and they don’t replace medical care, but they’re part of how I prepare my body and mind for the day I receive another life‑changing gift: a living kidney donor.
I’m doing everything I can to be ready.I’m hoping someone out there feels called to help.And I’m holding onto the belief that my story isn’t finished yet.
Summer Days, Indoor Life
Summer looks different when you’re a dialysis patient.
With a strict 32 ounces of fluid a day, the heat and humidity aren’t just uncomfortable — they can be dangerous. When your body can’t freely take in fluids, it also can’t cool itself the way it should. That means even short periods outside in high temperatures can raise the risk of overheating and heat stroke, something I have to take seriously every single day.
As the weather warms up, my world naturally shifts indoors. While others enjoy long summer afternoons, I’m often inside during the hottest hours, staying cool, staying safe, and managing a body that plays by different rules.
But this isn’t just about summer.It’s about why I’m sharing my story at all.
After 21 years with the kidney my Aunt Theresa generously gave me, it has begun to fail simply due to age. Dialysis keeps me alive, but it also limits my life — from how much I can drink to how long I can safely be outside on a warm day.
I’m now searching for a living kidney donor — someone healthy, willing, and open to learning what living donation really means. Most donors go on to live completely normal lives with one kidney, and the screening process is confidential, safe, and without pressure.
If you feel a tug on your heart, or even just curiosity, I’d be grateful to connect.Your willingness to learn could be the beginning of a second chance at life for me.
This is summer for me.This is dialysis life.And this is why I’m searching for the person who might help change it.
Still Fighting, Still Hoping, Still Searching for a Donor
Starting dialysis with a brand‑new fistula is no small thing. The first few times can feel like a battle. You can feel the fistula under your skin — the pulse, the pressure — and you line up the needle with confidence. You go in… and nothing. No flashback. No blood flow. Just confusion.So you adjust.
You angle.
You try again.
Still nothing.A new fistula is unpredictable. Its diameter hasn’t fully developed, and it can shift or roll under the skin. Even when you’re right on top of it, it can slip away like a moving target. You try a new needle, a new spot, a tighter tourniquet — and sometimes you still miss.And that’s normal.When a fistula is fresh, even the surgeon can’t tell you exactly where the vein will settle for a few weeks, sometimes a month. While it heals, if you still need treatment, they place a catheter directly into your chest. It sounds terrifying — and honestly, it is — but it comes with one big advantage: no needles. No searching. No guessing.
But the disadvantages are real:
No true showers.
No getting the site wet.
Constant cleaning.
Constant worry about infection.
So how do you learn to hit a moving target with a large‑bore needle?Patience. Practice. Perseverance.I missed a lot in the beginning. I even had to skip treatments because I just couldn’t get the fistula. The first six months were the hardest. No matter how good your training is, no matter how skilled your nurse is — you will miss.
And that’s okay.
You keep trying.
You keep learning.
You keep showing up.
You can do this!
All those early struggles — the misses, the skipped treatments, the frustration, the learning curve — they taught me something important: I can endure more than I ever imagined. I’ve fought too hard, come too far, and survived too many “try again” moments to stop now.And that’s exactly why I won’t give up.
Not on myself.
Not on this journey.
And not on finding the donor who will help me get my life back.My story isn’t finished yet — and I’m not done fighting.
Accesses, Fistula, amd Ports oh my
When you enter the world of dialysis, you quickly learn that not all “access” is created equal. In fact, the type of access you have becomes one of the most important parts of your treatment — your lifeline, literally.
But for people on the outside looking in, all these terms can sound like a medical tornado: accesses, fistulas, grafts, ports — oh my.
Let’s break it down in a way that actually makes sense.
What Dialysis Access Really Means
Dialysis needs a reliable way to move large amounts of blood in and out of your body. That’s what “access” is — the connection point between you and the machine that’s keeping you going.
There are three main types, each with its own personality.
The Fistula: The Gold Standard
A fistula is created when a surgeon connects an artery to a vein, usually in the arm. Over time, that vein grows stronger, thicker, and wider — big enough to handle the powerful flow dialysis requires.
It’s natural. It’s durable. It’s the access doctors cheer for.
For those of us who live with one, it becomes part of our daily life.
Mine is 10mm — wider than any normal vein in the arm. It’s a surgically‑built super‑vessel, humming under the skin like a quiet engine.
And every session, two large needles go into that fistula.
It’s not glamorous, but it’s what keeps the blood moving and the treatment working.
The Graft: The Middle Ground
A graft is like a fistula’s cousin — similar idea, but with a synthetic tube connecting the artery and vein instead of relying on your own vessel.
It’s ready faster than a fistula, which is helpful when time isn’t on your side.
But it doesn’t last as long and needs more maintenance.
Still, for many people, it’s the bridge that keeps them alive and stable.
The Catheter (Port): The Emergency Door
A dialysis catheter — often called a “port” — is placed in a large vein in the chest.
It’s the quickest access to place, which makes it the go‑to option when dialysis has to start now.
But it comes with risks: infections, clotting, and limitations on what you can do.
It’s not meant to be permanent — more like a temporary doorway until a fistula or graft is ready.
Living With Access: The Part People Don’t See
Access isn’t just a medical term.
It’s part of your routine, your body, your story.
For me, my fistula is something my wife and I manage together.
At the end of every treatment, she places her hand over it to stop the bleeding — a simple act that carries so much meaning.
It’s care. It’s partnership. It’s love in the most practical form.
Dialysis isn’t just machines and needles.
It’s the people who help you through it, the routines that keep you steady, and the access that keeps you alive.
Why This Matters
Whether you’re a patient, a caregiver, or someone trying to understand a loved one’s journey, knowing the difference between these access types helps you see the bigger picture.
Dialysis isn’t one-size-fits-all.
Neither is access.
But each one — fistula, graft, or port — is a lifeline in its own way.
And for those of us living this life, we know:
Access isn’t just medical. It’s personal.
The Amazing Kidney: Small Organ, Big Purpose
The kidneys don’t get much attention, but they quietly keep us going every single day. They clean our blood, balance our fluids, and help our bodies stay steady and strong. Most of the time, we don’t even notice them — until something goes wrong.
What Kidneys Do
– They clean your blood — getting rid of the stuff your body doesn’t need.
– They balance your water and minerals — so you don’t get too dry or too swollen.
– They help control blood pressure — keeping things steady.
– They help you make red blood cells — which give you energy.
– They support strong bones — by helping your body use vitamin D.
That’s a lot of work for two little organs.
Why This Matters to Me
For me, kidneys aren’t just an anatomy lesson — they’re my story.
Twenty years ago, my aunt gave me one of hers. That gift gave me life, time, love, and memories I would’ve never had without her. Her kidney carried me through two decades of living.
Now, I’m in a place where I need another gift like that — a living kidney donor who can help me keep going for the next chapter of my life.
A healthy person can live a full, active life with one kidney.
For someone like me, one kidney means more years with my family, more mornings, more moments, more life.
If you feel moved to learn more, share my story, or explore what living donation means, you can visit:
👉 akidney4brian.com
Every share helps. Every conversation helps. Awareness saves lives.
Memorial Day
Today we remember the brave men and women who wore our nation’s uniform and never came home.
They fought for freedoms they hoped future generations would fully experience — even if they didn’t always have them themselves.
We honor not just their names and faces, but the ideals they carried:
service, sacrifice, courage, and the belief that one life can save another.
That belief lives on today in many forms — including the quiet, everyday heroes who choose to become living kidney donors.
They don’t wear uniforms, but they embody the same spirit of giving something of themselves so someone else can live.
On this Memorial Day, may we honor the fallen by living with purpose, compassion, and courage.
And may we remember that heroism doesn’t only happen on battlefields — sometimes it happens in hospitals, testing centers, and conversations where someone says, “I want to help.”
Myth: “I need to live near the donor.”
🧠 Myth
“I need to live near the donor.”
💡 Fact
False. Donors and recipients can live anywhere in the U.S.
Distance is not a barrier.
Myth: “Living donors can’t live active, normal lives afterward.”
🧠 Myth
“Living donors can’t live active, normal lives afterward.”
💡 Fact
False. Donors return to full, active lifestyles — including sports.