By my fourth dialysis session, I looked like death in a hospital gown.
The nurse on duty wouldn't say it out loud—but I caught the way she blinked twice when she saw me shuffle out of the elevator. I didn't need a mirror. I could feel it. I was cold, bloated, and gray.
Tedd met me in the hallway like he always did.
But this time, instead of asking how I was feeling, he said,14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqZfpqus14F
"This is no longer sustainable, Jaimie."
I tried to argue. "I can do this. I just need a bit more sleep. More iron maybe."
He stared at me, unblinking.
"Jaimie... you look like your soul is trying to leave your body and your body's too tired to stop it."
I laughed weakly, trying to hide the fear clawing at my throat. "Dramatic."
"Honest," he replied. "And you need to tell your family."
I froze.
"Why?" I said bitterly. "So they can blame me for drinking soda and skipping rice? So they can make it all about their pride again?"
"They'll do that, maybe," he admitted. "But at least they'll know. And if anything happens—God forbid—they deserve that chance. And so do you."
That night, after another session of blood cleansing and a quiet ride back to my apartment, I did it.
I called my father.
Not my mother. Not Isabel.14Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxNWECVHmyL
My father—the source of so many of my first scars, but also the only one in the family who might listen without hysteria.
His voice cracked when he heard me.
"You're where?"
"In Makati Med."
"For how long?"
"Almost three weeks now."
"Jaimie..."
I heard the weight in his pause.
When I told him about the CKD, the dialysis, the stone formation—the silence on the line stretched thin like thread.
Then came the words I didn't expect:
"Stop the dialysis."
I blinked. "What?"
"You need to live, anak. Not just survive. I've been looking into alternative treatment—stem cell therapy. It's expensive, yes, but if it will save your kidneys and your life, I'll fund it."
I didn't know what to say.
It was the first time he ever offered to help without guilt, without strings, without shame.
But Tedd intervened gently.
"She can't go straight to stem cell," he told him during a quiet family meeting. "She still has two stones, one in each kidney. We can't treat her fully until we get rid of them."
That's when my father suggested something he'd read about—Radiowave Shock Therapy.
A non-invasive treatment that uses focused shockwaves to break kidney stones into fragments that can pass more easily.
"Tedd," he asked, "would you be willing to guide her through the whole process?"
Tedd looked at me before answering.
"I already am."
And he was.
When I was wheeled into the radiowave room, Tedd was the one who held my hand before they started.
When I was groggy and sore afterward, he carried me back into the room himself.
And when I finally cried—not from pain, but from the overwhelming fact that someone stayed—he didn't say a word.
He just wiped my tears, tucked me in, and turned off the fluorescent light that always made the room feel too cold.
For the first time in my life, I wasn't fighting alone.
And though my body was breaking and rebuilding itself from the inside out...
My soul finally began to rest.
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