At the dialysis center, voices fill the air — stories, struggles, advice, laments. It is a strange gathering of souls bound by a common thread: the fight to stay alive, one session at a time. I often sit quietly, listening not by choice but by circumstance. And sometimes, what I hear weighs heavy. Words like, “you will grow weaker, life will grow harder.” Resigned voices, accepting that the years ahead will only bring decline. But in my heart, I cannot — I will not — accept that. My life is not a slow march to despair. I am more than a patient hooked to a machine. My story is not…