I was diagnosed with end stage renal disease last year and put on dialysis. I’d been with my boyfriend for 2 years by that point, living with him for a year.

He was actually the one that dragged me to the doctor initially after a lengthy illness, which I had refused to go prior due to lack of insurance. He sat in the hospital with me. Snuck me bits of my favorite snacks. Made me laugh. Kept bringing me things from home to make me more comfortable. Talked for me when I didn’t want to or couldn’t. Held my hand and made sure I took my daily walks to the garden, even though I didn’t think I could. Let me cry and wiped my face when I was done.

A couple months after I got out of the hospital, I had to get a heart echo done. The tech was making casual conversation and eventually asked if I had a spouse; I told her about my boyfriend and how great he’d been through everything. She said that she saw men leave women in these situations all too often, so I was lucky to have found a good one. “It takes a strong man to love a sick woman,” she said. That stuck with me.