A man sits in a reclining chair, tubes connecting his arm to the machine that will clean his blood over the next four hours. Three times a week, he comes to the dialysis unit, the treatment that keeps him alive but also dominates his life. He cannot travel far, cannot skip sessions, cannot forget that his kidneys have failed. A woman performs peritoneal dialysis at home, the nightly treatments allowing her more freedom but requiring constant attention to sterility and supplies. She prefers home dialysis to the clinic but the responsibility weighs.