My journey on the “PKD path” started when I was a child, but my family’s journey began earlier. My grandmother died of polycystic kidney disease (PKD), and my mother was diagnosed as having it shortly after my birth, after having a cerebrovascular accident, which she surprisingly survived. The doctor told her that she shouldn’t be afraid: “She would be able to raise her own kids.” He was right; she only started dialysis after several years of having nausea and tiredness.