Since my son has been home from college on summer break, I'm realizing my family has been in a constant state of shock since my 2014 health challenge.

Changes in him made me aware of the changes in all of us. He has become more inward with his thoughts and emotions which initially had me kinda worried and concerned. Intellectually I see he has been this way for a while now, and perhaps felt the need to retreat safely in his own head considering his mom, someone he's very close to is no longer mentally and physically available like she use to be. His giant of a dad, has been preoccupied with running our household. Carrying the load, the weight of caring for me, our daughter, while neglecting his needs.

My nearly dying has jilted us all into the reminder of the reality that tomorrow is not promised to any of us, regardless of the qualities of who we are as a person - shit happens.

Truly my husband and I had this grim awakening back in 2000, when our earth shattered forever - we lost a child, a daughter. Maybe I'll write more detail about this devastation in a future post, as the pain is always with me - revisiting the loss is no huge feat. But still, oddly on what would have been our daughter's 15th birthday, I get deathly ill. Bizarre.

Pain can enlighten. Pain can destroy. Ultimately the reward of tragedy is how we chose to triumph.

Quietly we've been doing what we normally do. Expecting nothing from others,  yet eternally grateful for kindness and compassion of those who generously showed they cared; just getting by the best we know how, with genuine optimism, with unwavering courage.

I immediately blogged this post with the intent of personal self discovery. What have I noticed. What have I overlooked. Right now as I do a mental review, press rewind in my mind, I'm recalling what my family has gracefully endured through and with my illness. The wife, the mother that once was, is no more. Yes, I'm here. I'm alive. In my naivety (and perhaps others as well), there was a drastic change.

Yet, my husband, my kids, they KNEW me before the health challenge. My son even shared when I asked him if he's read my blog, "the style, the topic of your writings remind me too much of your condition". Obviously I write completely different. I write from the point of view of someone adjusting and adapting to a different self. Seems as though, I have completely given up from trying to find "my voice". Sage's voice before the health challenge. Writing, expressing was so much easier, smoother then. My thoughts, my words, my speech, my cadence... It's a new me. Improved in some ways. Damaged, but not destroyed in others.

I'm sure those who knew me, see the new me now. Sometimes I wonder what they think. Hoping I'm nothing more than an inspiration, if anything. Strangers say they can't tell. Can't tell what?  I can hear, I can feel my differences. Oftentimes finding myself using the disclaimer mid speech, "I had a stroke..." when I feel my words are not as precise as they once were. Vocabulary less abundant or accurate. I worry sometimes I may sound lethargic or intoxicated.

Rebuilding, revamping is what they see, my family. Physically weaker but mentally stronger. Still the lamenting continues, only silently. Looking deeper into their eyes, I can see what they lost. And honestly, no time was had to grieve a loss. We all kept it moving. Meanwhile, we all lost something of value. Me, more independence, knowledge, energy, power and more. They lost Sage, a wife and mom that was a superwoman. We all have to relearn how to live with what's left. No time to dwell or feel sorry for predicament. Like my husband, my kids... keep going. And be thankful for what's still here, me.

Blood burst through my bandages and onto my dialysis chairs' white bedding sheet that I occasionally use during treatments. As I squeamishly avoided sight of this infrequent occurrence, my vigilant son (in his dad's spot for the day) remained near me unafraid, unmoved, unflustered by what he saw.

I was impressed by and admired his apparent fearlessness, his obvious manliness. Since he's been home on summer break he's shown signs of hard earned maturity, signs of astounding growth. Instantly, this day, my boy is no more. He has undoubtedly become a man.

More independent and knowledgeable in the dialysis process, I immediately removed the coagulated blood resting on my sheet at the nearby sink - aggressively and thoroughly rinsing it with cold soapy water. Still demonstrating what I do/why I do things with my son (or my daughter), the physics major knew of this necessity already. "Yes mom, I know", he responded respectfully, as he stood, six feet nearly two inches - gathering the rest of his mother's dialysis belongings on our way towards the exit.

Since he's been home, he's reminded me that he does not need babying, he's an eighteen year old man now. Innocently perplexed, maternally baffled by "where did all the time go", I attempted to reason with him, "you're my firstborn. You'll always be my baby", he grunts, I continue, pleading "just give mommy more time to adjust". No more patience, "mom, you already had eighteen years to prepare".

This day of the "bursting blood", I was remarkably calmer. My pleasantly attentive technician knows I can't stand the sight of blood, so she does her best to clean it right away. Typically, my husband is there with me.

I could feel something oozing down my arm, this is how I knew to look down, other than feeling its warm sensation, there is no extra pain during this gross event.

It's so common, but rare, other dialysis patients nearby just continue to do whatever they were doing, unfazed. Either it has happened to them, or it is going to happen eventually.

When I was becoming aware of what was going on around me at dialysis, I was horrified by the sight of the AV fistulas (research). During the beginning of my disease, a chronic dialysis catheter - CDC (research) was inserted into my chest. This is a temporary assess due to high risk of infection --which I was later hospitalized (for several more weeks) again for - catheter infection.

It takes a while for the AV fistulas to be surgically inserted and several more weeks for them to become functional. They have to "mature", and to help this process along, it is recommended that patients squeeze on a small stress ball several times per day. Slowly, patient will be weened from catheter to fistula starting with smaller needles on to much larger ones. Cannulation (Research this)

Suddenly coming out of my medically induced stupor, and the aftermath of a stroke (frontal lobe), I began to notice where I was (even though I had been transported from the Urgent Care facility I was hospitalized in via ambulance/gurney three times per week, for three hours each time), someplace foreign. Before my kidneys completely failed (was functioning at 5% by the time I became fully aware and had to be rushed to ER from a scheduled eye doctor appointment {blood pressure  230's/100's} - *I plan to blog more about how everything started later) room, I had no idea what dialysis was. Never even heard of it. And certainly wasn't prepared for it.

So when I'd go to get my treatments, I'd notice lots of elderly people around me, similar to my medical appointments. I noticed other patients and their visitors noticing me (I guess since I was considered so young and new). Along with minimal to slow consciousness of everything else around me, eventually, far far down the line, I became aware of other patients fistulas - and this awareness nearly caused me to have a public nervous breakdown/panic attack (well, actually I think I did) there in the unit. Began sobbing uncontrollably, as I observed the humongous needles inserted into the arm, two of them each visit. AV fistula cannulation - needle in artery, needle in vein (research process).

Seeing the huge, hideous lumps or knots permanently developing on some of the patients arms. Seeing large quantities of blood bursting from the bandages - soiling chair, clothing and onto the light colored floor. Watching the techs work to stop the blood by re-bandaging the area and using a clamp device to hold it until the pulsating from the fistula calms. *Research for more accurate information on why this oftentimes happens. Seeing the patient sit there calmly with all this blood squirting from their arm was terrifying to me. I'd ask the nurses, the technicians, "is THAT going to happen to me?"

Most avoided the question as I quickly saw. After getting my temporary catheter removed and the AV fistula surgically inserted, I became aware of my fate. Regardless of my countless fears (before this disease, I had a very high pain tolerance) and positive thinking for a miraculous healing, if I wanted to live, this was going to have to be my reality ~ regardless of any belief or my  personality.

The AV fistula is permanent. Even after I get a kidney, it needs to remain on/in my arm just in case the kidney fails. *Ironically, I have a half sister (paternal) with the same disease. Her mother donated her kidney. She still has her fistula.

For daily maintenance: I can never ever sleep or carry things in or lift anything heavy with the fistula arm. Never ever wear jewelry or anything tight on fistula arm. Never ever get blood pressure or blood drawn from fistula arm. Never ever anything tight or restrictive on fistula arm. Never ever compete in contact sports due to the risk of injury. Life changes in so many unfortunate ways with this disease.

There is always a pulsating sensation coming from area in the fistula arm, which is called the "thrill". The best I can describe it, it's like a throbbing heartbeat - which will remain in my arm forever.

I've had my fistula now for a little over a year. Already there is the huge disfiguring knot and permanent scaring formed from the needles being reinserted three days a week - which will also remain a part of me for life, even after I get a kidney donation. *I "think", I hope at some point lumps/knots can be surgically removed if they get too grotesque or too cumbersome.

I don't look at my arm anymore, especially not when the needles are being inserted (I notice some patients do watch the entire ordeal). I just remind myself, while taking myself tranquil and beautiful in my head, I have to bravely endure this, do whatever is necessary to keep myself mentally/physically healthy; follow the renal diet (research), avoid drinking too much liquid, get plenty of rest when needed (have no energy without proper kidney function), continuously & consciously surround myself with quality people, places and things. Importantly keep a genuinely positive attitude for not only my sake - because honestly, if were only "me", I'd chosen death long time ago, but mainly for the love and devotion to my husband and kids. For if it not for them, there would be no Sage.

Currently relearning how to sew. Have an old Kenmore from grade school. Had it oiled and maintained a few months prior to my illness. Since my health challenge, many complicated things suddenly makes since. While many simple things are hardest to figure out. Sigh. I don't know.

My son is extremely tall. 6'2''. My daughter is fairly tall for her age too, 5'5 (eleven year old). For my son, while he's home, I want to sew him some pants that fit. Since I had a difficult time finding a basic pattern for his height, I plan to attempt creating my own.

A friend of mine fortuned me with huge containers of fabric weeks ago which I plan to create lots of fun projects with my daughter. She has a newer machine, a Viking Emerald purchased Winter Solstice 2013. Though she's a tomboy, she does many traditionally girly things as well - sew, knit, crochet, etc. *Recently showed interest in dresses which was/is a big deal.

I'm sure there is some masculine material in there somewhere for me to design a pair of cool looking and form fitting pants for my slender built son.  Frugal, I'll find the most priceless way to make nothing into something.

This is exciting. Even just thinking about it (not yet doing), excites me.

"Mom, why do you always push yourself so hard?", my eighteen year old son randomly asked. We've always been very close. Similar and open to one another. I miss exploring our community with him next to me - walking through places holding his hand and he, laid back (like his dad) allows this form of motherly protection and adoration. Meticulously in tuned to each other's thoughts, behaviors and responses -- my birthday is October 15th, his October 14th, a factor? I don't know.

"I push because I always had to. I've always had only myself to rely on, and if I needed/wanted something, I had to make whatever that was happen on my own". Silence. Unable to fully comprehend never having anyone to trust or count on -- especially in your time of need.

He's always had his parents. Parents who served and filled the roles of an extended family - grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins... His dad and I have been his all and then some. Coming into his own, he's quickly discovering some of his college mates have a community of people to count on in their time of need and/or want. Self-sufficiency is all he's observed in his loving home. No complaints, no whining, absolutely no excuses, we just "do" whatever needs doing, and that's it.

"Have you ever procrastinated on anything?", he later asked. I thought for a minute. It's unlike me to give him some BS answer. I've always been very straight and honest with my kids. Even too graphic in certain, I believe necessary cases. I thought for longer than I thought I should have. I knew I've procrastinated on plenty of things. Thankfully my kids, my husband know I'm no saint. I'm very flawed and I know and reflect on this. Sorta patient, like his dad, he waited for my response. Being intellectually and verbally slower now, due to the stroke I guess, he knows I'm no longer as sharp and precise as I once was. All forms of communication is a daily challenged for me. Even blogging.

"Mommy procrastinated on competing in an adult female basketball league. Now that I have this 'fistula (research Arteriovenous AV fistula & photos)' I can never compete in any physical type activities, without risk. I should have done so when I had better health". More silence. Quietly, he understood. His mom once was very active with him and his sister - academically & athletically. Along with borrowing sports books & videos from the library, we'd practice whatever sport he was playing for that season. Even if I've never played before, I'd coach from watching to doing; and from learned knowledge through research and close observation of other coaches (the quality ones).

Since he's been home on summer break from college, I've been trying my hardest to spend every moment with him. I missed him so much while he was gone ~ took comfort in the fact that he was somewhere safe and sound. That I can see, hold, smell, experience him again - unlike where my deceased child is. Yes, morbid sounding, but this is the perspective I use with lots in my daily thinking. I know what wailing/longing, gut wrenching, life alternating agony is, and the permanent results of the kidney failure/stroke/aneurysm on my aorta is not it. I've survived parental bereavement for a decade and a half now, and my does time fly. I remember doubting I'd survive, live another day without my child, but I did. If I can live through that pain, pain which continues, pain which lead to this current illness. I can survive anything, especially petty, trivial day-to-day hurdles.

Reality is, much of what exist, what is endured is trivial compared to losing a child, so I courageously press on with my day to day. Gratefully get up, get things done kind of attitude.

I was anxious for him to be home and see how much I've improved. When this health crisis first occurred, he was in the mist of finals - completing junior college and applying for universities at the time. It was a very stressful period for our small family. But somehow, we survived like always. And being a survivor is what I hope my kids are watching. Languishing in repairable victimization and fixable failure is not an option. Through every situation, I  believe in looking inward. Learning what I can about self. How can I attract positive or repeal negative situations. What are the people I chose to have around teaching me about who they really are?  How can I rise, like a phoenix - more powerful.

Hope they are not seeing weakness in mentality. This time weakness in physical was blatant. For the first time, I had no choice but to rely on others - my husband, my kids, my dad for the short time he stuck around, friends, doctors, nurses, other medical saviors. And my forever cherished therapist.

Right now, my son sees me doing things without assistance like: independently brushing my teeth. Walking to the toilet. Drinking. Eating. Bathing. Sitting up right. Walking. Driving. Speaking. Comprehending. Typing. Writing. Reading. Making decisions. Exercising. Running. Going up/down stairs. Taking my own medicine. Being home alone without my husband near by for several hours at a time. Being alert and aware of my surroundings. Multitasking. The list goes on. Practically an invalid this time last year, daily I'm amazed. For the first time, humbly in awe of myself. Worthy!

I vividly remember laying in my hospital bed - which became my home after two months or so (was in and out of hospital during the beginning of illness) thinking to myself, if I ever get out of this bed, I'm going to ... There was a list basic things I wanted to do and experience before my end.

I wanted to hold & squeeze my kids longer than during those brief visits they had at the hospital. (My husband protected them and rightfully so. I was not in good shape. My daughter still talks about the horror of seeing her "mommy with noodles hanging from her mouth" while in a complete stupor).

Do things I was once reluctant to do or put off, like "play basketball" or talk to certain people - look past their unpleasantness and try to see more substance. I've always done this, but before I would internalize the behaviors of others more. Forever being highly sensitive, I would lament, "what did 'I' do wrong" and try to resolve it with extra kindness. Insecurities from childhood, I know. Unreasonably stupid, but true. Glad my kids didn't inherit the disease to please. They've always been rather secure and confident. Leaders not followers. Observers of foolishness not joiners, thankfully. Wait, I just remembered an incident or two. To be more accurate, "rarely" joiners of foolishness...

Now, I'm sure people are dealing with their own issues, their hidden demons if you will. And there is nothing I can do to change who they are. Other than my typical genuine kindness & compassion, I can give a possible negative person the energy they're familiar. Little do they know, I may have been where they are or I may be enduring something far beyond their comprehension myself. I just don't show my misery to the world. If I blamed strangers of the world for my bad days/life, what example would that represent to my kids? How is meanness/cruelty/hostility benefiting my life? I digressed.

Intentions were to let my son see my day in its authenticity. Mommy is alright. I was so proud of his accomplishments with all that he was going through privately. He's private so most of his friends and acquaintances didn't know his mom nearly died from 5% kidney failure. Being a proud and stoic person myself, I begged him to share his hardships with his friends and others from my hospital bed the best I could. Frustrated in my fragile state, I fought to get him to allow others to cloak him in love and support and compassion since I could not. His dad was a rock for all of us.

This was a good opportunity to see others for who they were. Fair weathered or foul relationships. Give friends a chance to demonstrate traits of a loyal friend. And acquaintances to show their character as well. And oftentimes along the way, meet strangers who become instant friends.

Finally I was able to teach him to do something I've never been able to do, ever - let people in. Let them see you vulnerable. If there is a need, give some benevolent, unselfish person a chance to do something humane on your behalf. It's okay to be a recipient of kindness. Believe me, being a people pleaser, or a giver all the time gets exhausting. Like your mom learned years ago, chose your relationships wisely - so that in the dark, devasting times, there will be minimal to no disappointments. You may feel alone, but you won't be alone. People need people. Helping hands.

Being completely vulnerable and letting people in was my biggest life lesson received from this illness. Being totally unafraid of the thoughts & criticisms of others was another big lesson. All needed and valuable lessons. Life is fleeting, favoring no one regardless of personal beliefs or personality. Randomly good times can unexpectedly shift in an instant. No warnings. Life won't seem to care about your beliefs or your personality. Awesome things happen to bad people all the time. Awful things happen to good people all the time. Life happens to us all, keep living...

Noticing how fearless I've become.

Starting and sharing this blog is one of the most courageous things I've done since my illness: other than continuing to choose life instead of defeat. Get up, instead of give up ~ positively contribute to the planet. Staying optimistic about my health. *One doctor who visits other patients at my dialysis unit commented that every time he passes my chair he see's I'm smiling. Looking pleasant. I believe people can sense a fake and a fraud. Apparently he sees my outside reflecting whats inside.

Finally, I don't care what anyone says or does, I'm being and expressing me, Noticing how I'm leaving messages on blogs and other websites - which is something new for me. Someday soon, I may even start twittering.  Facebook? I don't now yet.

I have a collection of writings some where on a dated computer of ours filled with: my poems, short stories, essays, etc. that have never been read by anyone aside from my husband or my kids. Never have I took the risk to write anything on the Internet to anyone. Look at me! Once I realized this, I'm freely exposing myself, my feelings, my thoughts... I had to blog.

I use to care what others thought. Fear of being judged or misunderstood until I realized, I was worrying about what an insecure, inept person (who I more than likely didn't respect or look up to) thought most of my life. Ridicule received from others can come from dark places inside someone's soul with the intent to bring you into their abyss. Yeah, I go back and research some of the old school tormentors. Look at them now. See them, finally see them for who they are (or were), wounded people wounding others. And now I'm like, I actually cared about what THAT this person thought?! Where are they now? Where am I? Compassionately I've moved forward.

My kids never cared what others thought. But then again, they are being raised in a completely different environment. They entered this world under different circumstances. They are safe & secure; been protected & prioritized -- some of the possible reasons why they KNOW they are loved unconditionally. They feel loved. They hear "I love you's", though we don't buy them much of anything. It is our presence not our presents that counts. Fortunately so.

It's a late hour and I'm up feeling jovial and inspired. Just watched this instructional sewing video on YouTube. Whoever invented this technology is a genius! I just love, love YouTube. There I watch instructional videos mostly. There is absolutely no excuse to know nothing in this modern day. I'm shocked when I meet a person who doesn't appear knowledgeable about anything. There is just so much to learn, so little time. How can anyone be bored with an array of subjects at your fingertips.

I plan to learn a several languages during my time on dialysis. Most of my technicians are Filipino. They speak Tagalog. I'm going to learn Tagalog and Spanish - which has some similar "sounding" words, of course, I'll confirm. Then go on to learn more languages from there. I'm going to use this time wisely - I'm on the machine for three hours/ three days per week - every week (including holidays) for the remainder of my life, or until I receive a kidney from a live donor (better) or otherwise (okay).

Also, I'm going to perfect my math skills. Seems like what little I know (my husband is a math person), faded from the stroke, so I'll improve during this time by utilizing several resources - library books, Internet sites, CD's, etc.

My kids know better than to say , "I can't" or "I don't know". Yeah, they'll say, "I don't know, but let me find out". Instead of "I can't" it's "I'll try" because I'll never expect anything undo-able from them. As long as they are able bodied, they are functional. They've been taught how to research and discern information early on, which makes home educating easier since they've been guided and groomed to be competent during their spongier years - starting at infancy.

Seeing me, a doer struggle with ailments proved to them anything is possible. If my mommy can get up and do all the things she does without constant whining and complaining, then I better get off my rump and not disappoint. They've witnessed the pain behind closed doors, but when I go out into the world, there is an affable, stoic spirit. Inspiring rather than burdening others with my issues.

Don't have a computer, no excuses. Go to the library! No library in your area, find the nearest location. Don't have transportation? Utilize public means! Just go and be adventurous -- all the free, accessible resources that are available for you and me to explore.

I've relearned how to knit and crochet on-line. After my stroke, I had to relearn how to do the simplest things - writing, typing, sentence structure to name a few. Couldn't walk, now I'm running a mile at the gym followed by biking for 30 minutes!  Still home educating. The list goes on. No excuses. It hasn't been that long, (2014). My health challenge hasn't stopped me, what's stopping you?

After over twenty years of marriage, I still get goosebumps whenever my husband leans over from behind me, to show me something. All of my senses sing harmonies whenever he is near. I miss him when he is sleeping. *I miss my kids when they sleep as well.

Like just know, my computer-challenged self needed help to print. My husband, he comes over from his computer - which is behind me, to assist me. No grumpiness from having to stop what he was doing to help me. No selfishness. No anything negative, which early on in our relationship, I had to learn to accept. Finally having someone in my life of saw me. Loved me for me. Found me worthy.

My husband: So smart, so tender, so attentive. Broke and all, material things don't matter much to me. I'm loved. My heart is safe with him. We struggle together. Soon, we'll achieve success together.

Already, my kids want what they see their parents have. They grew up seeing consistency. Genuineness. In a marriage, they want: A loving and loyal mate which is a friend they can trust.  My son someday finding a woman similar to his mom. I tell him, "please honey, avoid the unconscious ones with the severe wounds, mommy was a lucky one who survived. We don't need/want any drama".  My daughter, a man like her dad. The bar is high. I remind her, "when the time comes, be patient. Be open. Be awake. Like mommy, be ready  and worthy to receive your king".

During a late evening stroll with my daughter, I went over basic mathematical principles with her. Having had an aversion to math as a kid myself, it was paramount that my kids be academically sound in this much needed and valuable subject.

Since I plan to introduce algebra into her curriculum soon (my son had it at an earlier age. But he is a different learner), I want to make sure she comprehends everything else first before moving on to something more challenging.

This night, I went over "change". Weeks ago I noticed she had some difficulty telling me how much change I was suppose to get during a grocery store trip. Randomly, in real life situations, I ask my kids questions.

Surprisingly (she's very bright), she was very dismissive. This made my mommy radar elevate even higher. Since I'm paying attention to what's going on, I grab this teachable moment by the horns.

Turns out, she is was very capable of doing this "change" on paper, but doing it randomly, off the top of her head, a challenge. I've always had my kids using book dictionaries so they'll know how to use them. Calculators were used only for learning how to use them. Calculate the whole problem long hand on paper is what "Sage" requires. Her not knowing how to calculate change in her head, this is unacceptable, so I've been revisiting certain areas mathematically.

I loved grammar, literature and art as a youngster. So I understand math may not be her immediate strength. Fortunately, she's willing to learn. And, she loves science, which is great. Regardless of her interest, there will be no excuse to be ignorant in a needed subject, which is math. As it is, she's asthmatic (so am I). And that hasn't stopped her from running, competing. No excuses!

While walking and talking (something my now 18 year old son and I use to do often), we held hands as we both smiled marveling at the nights sky. I'm so thankful we live in such a peaceful community. Sure, anything can happen anywhere, but usually I fell comfortable enjoying excursions such as an evening walk even though things are horribly affordable. We sacrifice, for peace...

Due to the pleasantness of us both - she drawing closer to experiencing that time of the month, me have already left those days of a dreaded time of the month - it was a nice time to introduce something she has been avoiding. Math.

Asked her the question. When it took her longer than I felt it should to answer the question from her head, I shared with her what worked for me when I was a kid. Days ago, her dad shared his way. Earlier today, over dinner,  her big brother (a physics major who has already earned several degrees from starting junior college at age fourteen) shared with her his way.

Seems like she better understand. There was no pressure. We were out, having a good time and enjoying each other completely. Just this time last year, I couldn't walk with her without passing out after a few steps. I'm so thankful to have part of my mind back. So thankful to have parts of my strength back. So thankful to be conscious and to know what's going on.  Just thankful.

In golf, a gold medal was earned a few weeks ago. Golfed 2 under par. Instructor handed me my daughters card. Didn't comprehend why he'd show me. Obvious ignorance to golf had me more aloof, but thankful. My husband explained the significance of golfing under par during our route home.

Success or challenge, I'm usually neutral. My focus is on my daughter's body language. Her demeanor during every win, every loss. Is she humble. Is she supportive. Is she sensitive to her opponents. Is she arrogant. What's her internal dialogue. What did she learn from the win, the loss.

One thing I've noticed is, in certain sports (she competes in many) like golf in particular. You get whatever you've earned. Any unfairness becomes more limited. Seems like there's less of a chance to receive any form of accolades, any form of special treatment without the cultivated talent. No being selected to some important position or group because of nepotism. You received what you earned.

Having attended a couple of little league All Star games, it's apparent some players are routinely selected to this privileged opportunity for reasons other than talent or temperament. Our daughter attends these games with us and sits through the observation of watching certain players struggle in positions where she undoubtedly skillfully excelled, but have been repeatedly denied the honor to participate. Impressively, she spectates while maintaining a positive attitude. That's a champion.

I believe it builds character sitting and watching others doing something you deserved too. She sits, she cheers, burgundy/white pom poms in hand with a pure heart. Former teammates pointing, perhaps noticing her arrival from the dugout. Hopefully they too are learning something substantial through being aware of  her presence. Some probably knowing deep down, she should be in their spots. When the other parents of these chosen All Stars see us, hopefully they see something genuine in all our characters. We come to support, to encourage; but all to enlighten ourselves and our child.

Maybe watching some of the players she's competed against or with  over the years will motivate and regenerate her game style to some capacity. Watching an All Star level  could excel the intensity in which she competes. She'll have something to draw from next time she steps foot on another field.

I believe next season, times when I constructively critique my daughters performance, she has a better understanding of why I inspire her to push - "pain is weakness leaving the body", to do her best. No goofing around during practices. Listen intently to the coaches. Let mommy help you when her energy permits her to be able to practice with you - don't take this precious moment for granted.

Practice perfect until it becomes habit, is what I instruct. Under certain circumstances, I instill excellence in my kids. Not perfection, excellence - which means, in our household, "doing your best". Pushing yourself. Perfecting your weaknesses, solidifying your strengths. Getting stronger, faster, quicker. Building your endurance, your stamina, your flexibility. Applying what you have been taught and researched. Be competent and courageous.

Even when you're good, be excellent. If you're going to quit, do so based on your timing, give no power to others to force you into quitting due to some unfairness{es}. If you aspire to be the first female MLB player, then keep going. Stay fit, get stronger. Mom & dad got your back.

Just imagine if I gave up when I lost a child. Gave up when my health changed for the worst. Just imagine if I demonstrated being a quitter to my kids. Yeah, I stopped working when my child died. I had to for my own sanity. I was self-employed. I had to figure out who I was. Suddenly, life became about me, not the people pleasing I was accustomed to. Unfortunately, now that my mind is right (to work), my body isn't so much so. I trust that things will work out. They have this long. I digress.

My daughter earned another medal in golf since the previous. A silver. Both rewarding because in this sport, she received exactly what she earned - through hard/smart work. Through perseverance.

Rarely do I feel like an adult. Oftentimes I resent having to "act" like a grown ass woman - with maturity and sound choices. I guess this is the result of such a challenging childhood. Having to grow up too fast has it's disastrous setbacks. Early trauma's can mentally (and physically) stunt growth and development.  As an adult woman, I find myself longing to have emotionally available and unselfish parents loving arms to sob into any time of the day. I remind my kids to be thankful they have parents to lean on when times get tough. We will always be here - no judgment. No criticism. No resentment towards them needing/wanting us.  We brought these precious lives into this challenging world. We knew intellectually there will be times they'll need us, even when they reach adulthood. I wonder do sexually irresponsible people ever think about what they are getting themselves into when they put themselves in a position to create a child. Daily I worry if I'm guiding healthy minded human beings. Am I (and my husband) modeling quality behavior to mimic. Are we choosing their environment consciously with quality people doing quality things? Are we demonstrating effective ways to choose our relationships wisely; while teaching people how to treat you (with respect). During my parental bereavement, during my health crisis, it was imperative for me to conduct the sudden loss of my child, unexpected loss of good health in a courageous, civilized, controlled manner. Grieving without taking my personal pain out on others; grieving while still caring for my responsibility without complaining; living the remainder of my life with strength, dignity and respect. It's just the four of us, and hopefully I've shown them that all things are possible with a positive, productive, peaceful attitude. Get through life's adversities with an open mind towards learning beneficial lessons about oneself, about ones fellowman. Evolve as a person through pain. Become more fearless, more ambitious. Leave this life with something good because of you. We can't chose our family. We can chose our friends, our environments. Who you chose to have around you (positive or negative energies) is a choice. Any negative family members we can sagaciously love them at a distance. Have a forgiving heart while wishing them the best without being affected/infected by them. Sometimes when you have kids to raise, it is best to protect them from negative, destructive influences. Don't risk them ingesting the same poisons that nearly suffocated you. If you barely survived horrific dealings with your parents or the people your parents chose to have you around (and seeing, knowing how wounded you are), why have your kids around these same type of folks?  Is the aftermath worth it? I'm really a small child in an adult body. I wasn't finished growing up when certain things were permitted to occur to/around me. I'm more the wiser having hit pause  on my unconsciously lived life decades ago so that I can  adequately and begin to fearlessly comprehend and reflect. This is scary and risky. People tend to stay busy, keep lots of people around so that they will not be alone to think. To remember. Running away from pain is a survival mechanism but a dangerous one. Sometimes life's experiences forces you to stop while the rest of the earth continues to rotate around you. You may want to get back into its rotation prematurely without being fully ripened, but tragedy can paralyze you into remaining still. remain on the wisdom tree until ready to be harvested. This happened to me twice. Each time I got stronger get wiser, probably smarter too. But still, never feeling completely like a grown ass woman. Like my kids are privileged to do, I wish I could curl up into a parents arms. Experience the aura of security, warmth, love, nurture and awe.

I'm so excited. In one hour, my husband is going to rent an average sized moving truck. It'll stay parked on our street until first thing in the morning (Saturday). He's driving it solo, due to spacing, to pick up our first born. Our eighteen year old son from college, which is about an hour away.

I'm so happy and this is all I think about. When I get down, this is my happy thought.  My tall, gorgeous adult-baby will soon be in my arms again. *Reminds me when my husband first brought the kids to the hospital. He wisely kept them away initially. I was in bad condition. When I held them both in my arms, while in my hospital bed, the rain clouds parted. The sun shined on my bed that day.

My son hasn't responded to many of my frequent phone calls since school started last Fall. My conversational needy-text would hurtfully go ignored.  Adjusting to this new chapter in my life, I'd keep busy with my youngest, with my recovery. with my marital commitment. As for my son,  I thought we'd, being extremely close and all, would communicate via modern day resources: phone, email, text, Face Time, Skype. I was accustomed to him being away from home when he skipped high school, instead, going straight to community college at fourteen.

Responsibly, he'd catch the bus to school. Tutor students. Participate in substantive activities.

Graduating ~ several degrees later, now at a four year college, he's farther away from us in mind and body. Never could I prepare myself for this detachment. Seems like yesterday, we were flabbergasted. Immaturely trying to figure out what to do with this new responsibility: a long crying creature once we returned home from the hospital. Always tackling things on our own, no complaining, only celebrating. Somehow, we succeeded.

Days after my/our son first left home, I sent him a text that read, "honey, do you need any condoms?" Minutes or seconds later, my phone rang. Finally! I can hear my child's voice again.

Sternly, "mom, I'm not having sex!" Instinctively I knew this was the case. He was raised with me/ with us talking openly about about the topic.There was no fear-mongering, only scientific facts.

Had him research certain things. Ask questions. Many things we all learned together. Creating and maintaining a safe and secure atmosphere so he felt free and heard; and seen. Checking out "what a boy needs to know" and body parts type books. Lots of science - biology, anatomy. Appropriate literature on sex, STD's. Spontaneously & liberally discussing emotional dangers of early sexual intimacy. choosing mates using your brain, etc. Educated him very early on about healthy boundaries. Self-defense. Good touch, bad touch, along with being vigilante. Paying attention. Keeping my kids a priority. Making sacrifices because they didn't force themselves to be born. I/we made the choice to give them life - and we, as a couple were responsible for that life.

Having survived a challenging childhood myself, I know firsthand what being ignorant to your body feels like. Feeling scared and alone. Having no one to confide in. Not understanding my power and my right to set boundaries.  Self-blame for adult neglect. Certainly, I could have turned a different person. I'm compassionate. Easily I can empathize, sympathize. More than likely, I've been there.

Never can I be too busy, too aloof, too self-absorbed, too naive, too anything to let predators penetrate their innocent lives or their pure bodies. Parenting is so hard, especially when you're a wounded adult. My pain was not in vain, it made me the parent I am. I digressed.

*It's amazing how a post about one thing can lead into something else.

He's coming home and I'm so elated. Days ago I texted him, "honey, be prepared for a kissing attack". That's what he called them when he was a little precocious kid. When he was born we had this awesome pediatrician. He was a fairly new doctor at the time. Very smart. Very calm. Very likable young man. During one visit, doctor did a routine check-up which included removal of my son's diaper. A faucet-like stream unexpectedly began to...doctor's shoes ended up soaked. Older, new parents, clueless, and alone navigating our own path through life. Nervously, we all laughed.

On another visit, I remember asking the doctor, "if I kiss my baby too often, will that affect him (his skin)". May sound like a silly question, but I was concerned because I couldn't stop. And until this day, I won't stop. Looking back, seems like most of the day I was kissing and squeezing and holding, and cuddling and staring at this new life created from unconditional love. The happiness I felt then, continues. I am so honored to be his (their) mommy.

"Ouch!" awakening from a sound sleep.

Loud screaming echoing from my bedroom. My husband leaves his desk, where he works from on my dialysis days. I'm in our bed napping before my eleven year old daughters evening golf activity.

Sporadic jolts of severe muscle spasms has been the case since about fifteen minutes remaining from morning dialysis. This particular day, I was heavier at my post treatment weigh in - research dialysis dry weight, so technicians had to remove extra fluids (especially since we were going into the weekend.  With two days - Saturday, Sunday of no dialysis - artificial kidney doing what healthy kidneys do). Bravely I lay there in my chair. Figuring I'm so tired, I'll sleep through extra pain.

My  husband rubs the cramping areas. One at the base of the top of my right foot. The other behind my right knee. I felt, it too late into my procedure to notify technicians, willpower came over me as I counted down to the final hour.

At home, rubbing this sport cream he uses for his cramping after competing in adult men's basketball helps me to some degree. My daughter, doing assignment in her room next to ours wants to help. I request, she continues her academics. He gives me a baby food sized glass we've kept since our son was an infant, filled with Gatorade to replenish lost fluids from the days dialysis treatment. Reluctantly, still sleepy,  I drink. All I want to do is, get back in bed.

This weekend I'm determined to not gain too much. Push through those cravings. Fight the thirst. Last thing I want is any more discomfort.

It could have happened to me.

Big, strong, focused men quickly took up space near my dialysis chair this morning. Familiar faced, I recognized that concerned look as I awoke from a much needed nap. Hours earlier, my husband was encouraging me to go to sleep. We have a busy day ahead. Curiously babbling about nonsense to whoever was near or would listen. Typical of my behavior when I've been awake all night.

Seemed like it was a lifetime ago, when yellow and blue suits, thick boots and gear were at the dialysis unit for me! It was February 2015, exactly one year after my release from a two month long hospital stay back in February 2014.

February 2015 (with purposeful plans to revisit my transitional care unit to express additional appreciation and to show them how much I have improved), I was at my usual time, early a.m. being dialyzed. Suddenly I was jilted awake from a nap in excruciating pain. There were these unfamiliar, rapidly progressive tightening in my chest. Difficult to breath or to speak, I gestured one of the technicians over to my big, blue assigned chair, #21. Pointed to my chest, muttered "pain" I think was the word. My husband must have gone to the our vehicle for something at this time, but when he returned, several technicians had began to surround me.

Quietly wondering, "was this pain all in my head", as it was so sudden and unexpected. After all, when I fell off to slept, I felt fine. Eventually it became difficult to breath. Our on-sight nurse gave me a pill to chew on or keep under my tongue (I don't recall exactly) - which is a common drug for this situation, nitro.

About every 15 minutes or so, I was asked if I felt better. Typically with a high pain tolerance in my distant past, "No" was my worried reply.

The nurse asked if I wanted them to call the paramedics. Never wanting a big fuss over me, I asked, "do you have to?". She proceeded to tell me, I paraphrase, "we can't let you go home like this". Soon afters, she made the call.

Continued in an uncomfortable incline position, I asked if I could sit up. Being an asthmatic, standing or walking around (and hovering over) brought forth some slight relief. For the first time, it failed. I began to silently panic from my discomfort, from my ignorance to what was happening. Naively I presumed, all I had to deal with was complications related to my kidneys or something with the frontal lobe stroke. I'm still learning about this disease. There is so much knowledge required.

By this time, nurse had administered several nitro tablets while the paramedics (and fire department) were in route. The more time passed, the tighter my chest became, the more terrified. I looked over to my stealth husband, "honey, what's happening".

Once the emergency workers arrived, they immediate surrounded my chair. Much like what happened to the other patient this morning. They were professional and immediately earned my trust. I felt I was in safe hands and these guys were going to help make things better.

They asked the nurse how many nitro's I already had. Eventually they requested I be given one more, which didn't make a dent. By this time, I was prepared and ready to get on somebody's gurney. Get me to the hospital, I was thinking. Quickly my husband began gathering our belongings - the lawn chair he brings to sit in for comfort. My huge, overstuffed dialysis bag. My blankets, sheet, and pillow which draped the chair.

This morning, I could feel a few of the paramedics subtly being aware of me. After all, what is a young, fit woman doing in this predicament surrounded by all these geriatric patients? I can read most people's minds, especially when it comes to this. Look at me, though my locks are silvered, I can easily be passed for someone in their early 20's (just kidding, late 30's). I digress.

Back to February 2015, I was transported by ambulance to one of the local hospitals of my choice. Exactly 15 years ago, I lost a child. I avoid going to the hospital where she later died at (not that there was any negligence there). As a result, I was whisked away to a hospital a little bit farther (the one I was initially hospitalized in).

Today my husband and I were able to watch the ambulance take that other dialysis patient away. Curious, I asked if they has lights flashing like that with me. He remembered, the driver specifically telling him, he wouldn't be able to follow. During my 2014 hospital stays, it was common for me to travel to and from my dialysis treatment via emergency vehicle. Secured on a gurney, unable to communicate, my dear husband following behind, or on board my assertive and knowledgeable voice and loving advocate.

Memories are slowly resurfacing as I type. I want to post this before nap in preparation for my daughter golf tournament later in the evening. Anyway, I arrived to the hospital with these amazing guys who made sure I was comfortable, answered answerable questions during the trip there. I found myself trying to memorize all of their names, like year prior. It is customary to draft and deliver "appreciation letters" for significant quality service I receive.

My husband right there, where he has always been, inquisitive and prepared for whatever happens next. Naturally calm and impressively optimistic, we rested in the hospital room feeling out billing requirements and providing health information.

By now, I've had I don't know how many nitro's. My condition was progressively worse by now, yet I was grateful to be at the place where wellness was possible. Over the years, I've been privileged amazing care. Had some really smart physicians caring for me, along with other competent and compassionate medical related professionals.

Here,  now in the ER, my panic had lessened but was still prevalent enough to cause quiet stress. All this time, my husband was rubbing my body - shoulders, arms, legs while assuring me, everything will work out just fine.

Many tests were done to determine the accurate nature of my discomfort. It was later determined that I had suffered an aneurysm in my aorta. The quest efficiently became, is operating imminent.

On this day, I was hospitalized. Emergency workers said their "good byes", I along with my husband expressed our sincere gratitude then off they went to save the next person.

Fortunately, my aneurysm wasn't fatal and will require routine monitoring for the remainder of my life. My hospital stay became more relaxing than the previous two. This time I was alert and independently functioning. Honestly, I recall mentioning how much I needed a break. Being hospitalized for so long the first time was like home for me. I grieved not having nurses care for me, I missed the noises and the meals. Weird, but true. Perhaps my secret longings attracted another hospitalization into my existence.

Positive thoughts go out to that dialysis patient in needed of emergency care. I've learned to be a tiny bit more thankful each time I return home from my early morning dialysis appointment. Like I said, anything can happen. It can happen at anytime to any one of us. No one is exempt - no matter how good, how bad; how righteous, how flawed. Tragedy, without warning can easily seep into our reality. This is why I'm glad I'm a thankful person. Taught my kids early on to be thankful.

Don't spend your days, your life complaining. Whining and not doing anything to improve your misfortunes. There are people suffering worse, and may wish they were you! Be grateful.

Nap time.

Since I'm beginning to doubt I have anyone in cyberspace reading my possibly boring post, so why not write about what's going on at this very moment for a feeling of a needed "release". This personal blog is a type of therapy for me, right?

I just tried to have a decent bowel movement.

Currently it is Friday, June 12th (2015), 1:23 a.m. In approximately 3 1/2 hours, I need to be up and out the door and in my dialysis chair no later than 4:45 a.m. Had a busy-fun day but I can't sleep. My eyes are heavy and itchy. As of now, I'm the only one in my home awake, as usual.

I'm wired but too fatigued to do what I use to do, [prior to Feb. 2014] which was clean -- scrub and dust an entire room in my home. Reorganize. Discard useless items. Possibly write a poem or a short story. Cuddle behind my sleepy kids. Listen to their heart beats. Caress my husband.

Dance around my living room in the nude listening to funk music or classical rock. Or go for a late night walk/run. Explore internally & externally.

My life is now, preserving and utilizing my energy wisely. As a result, I hate looking around my home at dusty, dirty or dated things. Obviously we have outgrown this place. Too poor, or more optimistically speaking, too non rich to do anything about our circumstance. Feeling real pessimistic right now.

Yeah, we can get rid of a few things, which we do. But most of the clutter are: educational tools, sports gear, musical instruments, books, yarn, containers of writing material, over sized furniture which took practically a life time to pay off (bad investment decision), I digress.

Reason why I sat at my computer to blog in the first place is because, I'm constipated.

This has been a reoccurring theme since I've been on dialysis. Before, being a hater of spending lengthy hours in a bathroom, I'd wait until it's on the edge, go, plop, wipe, wash hands, spray, I'm done. Exit the smelly closet of a place hopefully to never see it again for another few hours.

Now, my life is spent sitting in a place where I don't want to be, waiting for a miracle to happen. Pushing and squeezing what feels like an full sized child from my anus. Which causes even more fatigue to the point, I need assistance getting off the toilet. I hate being dependent!

It's like my butt hole shrunk. I can remember when I was in the hospital, nurses would constantly inquire, "Mrs....have you made #2?". Out-of-it from the frontal lobe stroke and medications administered, I had no idea what they were talking about. Til this day I can't recall any bowel movements or urine. I couldn't walk, so did I go on a bed pan? Seems like I'd remember that! My well being was totally in someone else's hands, which remains bizarre to me.

The BM process causes me to moan and groan. My family knows what's happening by my wails. I feel so frustrated. If I take meds, softeners for this, the stools become too watery or loose for my taste. If I do nothing, I have to deal with moments like this until I get a kidney, I guess.

I try to decorate my bathroom in such a way that it is inviting or cozy. But it is too small. No windows, yuck. Cluttered. Non luxurious. Boring.

Plus, I randomly began looking up topics related to my disease in order to be a better informed patient. "How Dry Weight and Fluid Gain affects dialysis patients". "Fluid Control for Kidney Patients". What I see, is discouraging. All the side effects listed. Meanwhile, I'm thirsty. Already drank over my limit, possibly. Can't even finish a soup. Or eat fruit or jello because of the fluid. Damn! Moments like these are that 10% of the  time when I feel down.

Wish I had parents to call (as my overworked husband needs his rest) like my kids have us. They can call on us anytime, for as long as there is breath in our lungs, we'll be here, there, wherever, whenever. Life's challenges seem to cause me to lament not having supportive and present parents.

Saying goes, when you know better, you do better. Truly, some people are just not equipped to love, to parent. "I'm lovable. I'm worthy". My steadfast husband proved that. And to me, this is weakness on my part. Longing for something I cannot have. For something I never had. Seemingly ungrateful for what I do have, which is far from true. All this over bowels which are struggling to move. Silly.

If only I can have a normal bowel movement. The Renal Diet, and Fluid Restrictions seem to be the culprit. I'm still too ignorant to clarify in greater detail, but not being able to consume certain things and having a machine do the work your kidneys should causes certain side effects. Sigh.

I wonder who is still urinating at my dialysis unit. Is everyone having these exhausting bowel movements? By no means is this a "Whoe is me", but damn, I get tired. I'm human!

Sat in the library basement. This is where we go during the weekday evenings to work on our individual projects - me, my blog. My husband, his office work. My daughter, her assignments (we home school). Had issues with my laptop. It wasn't allowing me to long on to WiFi for some reason. So as I sat, I observed. Unable to type - transfer what I wrote in my composition book (Sage's Blog) -[which was a different topic post] to my computer for another post.

My husband sat adjacent, doing his work on his laptop; multitasking, watching the NBA finals from his Samsung tablet while we both kept an eye on our daughter (who sat about 5 yards away within eyesight), making sure she was working productively. Of course, I photographed that moment.

While in this very same seating arrangement a day prior, I was successfully typing on my computer. In the midst of a healthy stream of thought-to-words vibe, this woman appears. Noisily. Almost intrusive. To the point, is she insane?! Instantly annoying me at the time of her invasion -- with her huffing and puffing. Breathing heavily as if she ran over a mile, then up (oppose to down) some stairs to get there. Anxiously rumbling through her tiny overstuffed bag filled with paperwork with this look of shock; eyes bulged, appearance dis-shoveled. Then, reading her textbook (or some sort of important book) ALOUD to herself - nonstop. The more she read, the more my energy shifted. I could not focus. There was zero self discipline within me. Like a petulant child, I began to rant and rave adamantly, but quietly to my husband as if he were my daddy and going to tell the big, bad mean lady to stop being so rude. Yet my knowing in wisdom, it's best to keep my hostile mouth shut.

Middle-aged. Abnormal looking bulging eyes. Slightly heavy set, height challenged female with enormous sized natural breast - seemingly larger than her whole body frame. She had a presence when she entered, when she sat down. Immediately I hoped her stay was brief. You can hear her coming without even seeing her. That day, was not the day for me. I was on full writer's mode. Not even my daughter could penetrate with preteen neediness or moodiness, no matter how hard she tried.

First, the woman pulled out a full box of Lysol wipes from her black purse ~ instant fresh wipes, this is an awesome invention, so I'm not mad at her about sanitizing her work space. I can relate to possibilities of OCD or germaphobe type tendencies. Rejoiced when I got older - this condition was finally given a name. Yay! I'm somewhat normal despite my obsessive need to clean. I digress.

She then whipped out her wipe loudly (to me, it sounded like thunder, yes, the whipping of the wipe) and aggressively began to wipe down her area as if she were in the privacy of her own home - house cleaning (sanitizing) after a dirty adult party. Followed the wipe with a noisy dry paper towel (which sounded like fingernails on a chalkboard) presumably retrieved from the close by restroom.

Noisily (sounding as if she was more than one person, a gang of school children to be more precise) got out her laptop and unorganized paperwork; and slammed her books on the table. All while still huffing and puffing. Mind you, it's evening. Library closes at 9 p.m. I was mindful of the possibly she may have had a long day. Probably took a bus here - based on her arrival with the over stuffed bags, hair all over the place, heavy breathing and such. Maybe she had some exam the next day. She has a preteen at home driving her nuts like my daughter occasionally does. I was sympathetic, but very annoyed. And I wished I had it in me to make her aware of the way she was changing my energy.

Beyond annoyed, I leaned over to my husband. Began to rant and rave about my grievances. I doubt if he even knew. Or cared at the time. Tunnel visioned, he can focus. He said nothing, as usual. He's a very calm man. The one I fell in love with. Instinctively I knew it best I not speak. She was in close enough proximity to whisper, "please keep it down". But as annoyed as I was, pissed to be blunt, that whisper may have came out not so nicely. Being a dutiful mother, demonstrator of good etiquette & behavior, modeling for my precocious daughter (and for the dignity of myself), I did the most peaceful, the most civilized thing. I quietly gathered my computer and I sat my angry bird self down at a space still close to my husband and my child, but far away from "that woman".

Back to the beginning of this post: Low and behold, the very next day (tonight), I was seated in the same area. Same sequence - my husband next to me. Daughter across from us. My computer malfunctions. I'm sitting. Wandering in mind. Watching. Absorbing surroundings until my husband is ready to leave. Guess who comes in and sits right across from us - again. "That woman!" I looked at my husband, discreetly whispered, "if that woman makes all that noise again tonight, I'm going to address it". He continued sitting there quietly watching his basketball game. As if I didn't say a word.

She sat down and I observed her more closely. Thinking there must be something going on with her mentally or something. No grown person makes that much noise in a library and not be apologetic. So I watched, being a people watcher and all, curious. The more I noticed, the more curious I became. Here, I had more time to "notice" things unlike before when I had to focus on my writing. Now I'm in a position to exercise more reason, more rationale in my possible internal dialogue.

Today, I observed what was written on the book she was wrestling with: USMLE. I wondered what that was, so I googled (chromed) it on my Iphone. "United States Medical Licensing Examination".

Hmm, maybe this is some serious medical issue here. Maybe she's in the medical field. But, I wondered, "why doesn't she have an inhaler for that breathing". Today I noticed her unusual looking large eyes. Day prior they seemed just large as if she were, uh needing something. They seemed to look as though they are about to pop out. A Halloweenish look of surprise - to attempt to describe. Then I remembered a few aunts with a thyroid condition. I think their eyes bulged as a side effect to the medication for that disease. I was sitting there idly guessing. Obviously bored by this time.

Gregarious by nature, I asked her, "I noticed your labored breathing, by chance are you asthmatic?" I suffered terribly with asthma as a child. Better now. But I can vividly remember how it was difficult to breath. And I wondered how she was able to do all the things she was doing (cleaning, moving papers, etc) By the way, she wiped down her table like last time. Everything was a repeat. But this day, I was less annoyed by her presence.

Her affable reply, "no, I have....". A disease I've never heard of. Since my stroke, I request people spell things I can't immediately comprehend. Sometimes if I can visualize it, I can better understand.

"Pulmonary Arterial Hypertention" (research it) she said. I have never heard of this. She looked pleasant but sounded ill with the breath and with the eyes. She proceeded to explain bits of the disease and eventually she's going to "suffocate to death". "Oh sh-t!", I uttered in my mind. What the hell is this? This woman is like, walking dead but still functioning day-to-day with normal activities. While sounding as if she's going to pass out with her next step. I sat there stunned hoping I didn't show it. Just a day prior, I wanted to unleash my verbal wrath on her - a complete stranger.

She was very gracious and surprisingly likable. I mentioned I notice she was studying a medical book, was she in the field or in pursuit. Turns out, she's a nurse. She's employed by DCFS. I had her elaborate. She did and described what she does. Once I was better informed, I was thankful I didn't know what Department of Children and Family Services was for.

She's now studying to become a nurse practitioner. That's what that bulky book (USMLE) she was reading aloud the previous day was for. This woman has goals in spite of her circumstance. Bravo to anyone who is enduring devastating obstacles under the most challenging situation.

She wasn't a whiner or a complainer but a survivor. Here it is, this annoying woman and I had so much in common - both fighters against the odds. She felt safe enough to be vulnerable with me. Said she fears someone will attack her and she won't be able to defend herself due to the disease suffered. She mentioned she can get hit by a bus and die that way. I view my disease in a similar fashion. Anything can happen. Just keeping living your best, a quality life until there is no more life in you.

She's middle-aged. On the heavy side for a someone her height. She commented, she should lose weight, but also was realistic - if she can barely get down a few stairs, walk to the chair she was seated in without huffing and puffing, how and the heck was she going to exercise. I listened intently as she spoke. She has a boyfriend, so I guess she's definitely not letting her illness stop her. There is no cure or medication for her disease.

You just never know what someone is going through. [Oftentimes people are shocked when they hear I had a stroke. On dialysis. Need a kidney. Have an aorta aneurysm]. What someone has been through. Most of us have a story - some good, some not so much. Instantly, I had the utmost compassion. We chatted a bit more until I let the conversation naturally end.

I'm so glad I was sagaciously mindful of my words initially. Never do I want to offend (or be offended). I believe thoughts, words are things. They can hurt or they can heal.

"That woman" inspired me. I'm sure she has no clue how irate I was with her demeanor, her behaviors, her ticks. She has no idea how in my head she was/is. As I watch her, I write. I think she propelled me into an even better person. Minutes after we spoke, I wrote this blog in my composition book. Unfortunately I could barely read exactly what I wrote in those quick three full pages. After the stroke, I couldn't write at all. Having a blog is something superamazing. I wrote as I continued to observe her (still huffing and puffing, moving papers around) until the library closed.

Next time I see her, I can pause for a moment. Be more tolerant (as I remind my kids). More reflective and not so consumed into what "I'm" doing. As usual, I think I've met another stranger-friend. I've become even more inspired. More enlightened. More conscious. Anytime this happens, it's a good day. Temporary technological difficulties helped me SEE a great gift.

Restless. Couldn't rest while on dialysis this morning -- (I'm on the machine by 4:45am. Three hours each visit - Monday, Wednesday, Friday. This is my life until I get a kidney). My exhausted husband was right beside me, as he has always been (and my dad a couple of times in the  past - in cases of other obligations with our kids), today he was snoring. Loudly.

I didn't want to disturb him, so I independently tried to do things for myself, with my limited mobility - fistula (research vascular access) in my left arm. Which has two huge, painful needles inserted for the entire treatment. I have to keep this arm straight for the whole three hours.

Today my head began to hurt and I was feeling a bit queasy. Probably because I arrived to the unit heavier. Weighed prior to each visit to help technicians determine how much of my blood needs filtering. Dialysis machines purpose is to do what my kidneys cannot - my kidneys were only functioning at 5% back during 2014 - sudden hospitalization. My high pain tolerance kept me courageously completing daily task, doing things I suspect many healthy people wouldn't do without complaint & anguish. All this time, my body was shutting down. I was slowly leaving this earth.

I digress. Obviously I'm consuming either too much food even on this dreaded Renal Diet or the forbidden, over reaching my fluid restrictions - which for me, is only two liters per day.

Since I was heavier this morning, I needed extra fluids pulled. This can be risky (so it's best not to get into this situation in the first place), pulling large amounts of fluids in one visit can cause bodily discomforts on top of the usual discomforts of the dialysis process.

This morning I had the headache (was a daily chronic migraine suffer for decades prior to illness. So I panic when any head pain is felt), nausea and some mild cramping. My intent was to self medicate before discomforts worsened. I had prescription Tylenol in my dialysis bag along with a small water bottle. Carefully I reached into my bag, successfully obtained what I needed, then... this is where things kinda went downhill. While putting my water back, thinking the top was on securely, the whole thing spilled into the bag. Arrgh!

I only sipped the full small water bottle to preserve my fluid intake, so as a result, most of the water was soaked my sturdy canvas bag. I had no choice but to wake my husband. Patiently, he removed all items which were: library books, a composition book (which  is where I write my blogs until I have time  to type on my laptop), writing tablet, notebook, coloring book, crayons, small purple stress ball (for fistula development), large sized playing cards, clipboard, an Oprah magazine, small knitting project (a colorful scarf I was working on), a hard surfaced/ travel sized Othello board game, and a stack of youth activity flyers - which I was planning to input dates & times into my phone.

My Samsung tablet, large/red off brand headphones and Iphone were already out on my side - dialysis chair flip tray. A few items were dripping, in need of attention, but luckily nothing was too soaked. Surprisingly I wasn't frustrated by my inability to assist with the clean up. *This illness has taught me early on to let go of control. Receive help from others and not feel shame or unworthy.

Flyer sheets were quickly beginning to show signs of water damage. Aside from the disturbance to my amazingly calm husband and some inconvenience in terms of getting comfy again, I was grateful no library books were destroyed. My husband began to gather paper towels from a nearby dispenser.

Funny thing is, once things were beginning to settle, I had to pee. And temporary disconnect from the dialysis machine is a process. I have to notify a technician. They'll come and gently unscrew certain tubs, then make sure the dangling ones are securely tapped down. Hopefully my blood pressure is not too low, if it is, walking is difficult. Eventually off me, the patient goes to relieve oneself.

My husband patiently asked, "can you hold it". Here I had two or more hours remaining and I was already restless. Acting like a bored child with so many toys to play with, all I can do is take a deep breath when dealing with myself sometimes.

Fortunately, I managed to "hold it". Speaking of which, every time I relieve myself, it's a celebration. Many dialysis patients stop urinating all together. Imagine that for a while. No longer using the toilet. And the defecating is another subject. Stools get harden. Constipation. I guess due to the fluid restrictions. Kidneys are an instrumental part of our body. I thought I knew about my organs, but I soon discovered how ignorant I was to the full scope of how the body operates.

Oftentimes if you're still urinating, only a drop comes out. And I avoid being the process of being disconnected from dialysis machines only to sit for a "drop".

Regardless of a plethora of health challenges, I remain genuinely optimistic 90% of the day. Yeah, admittedly I have the occasional gripes - which I quickly learned I can't share with everyone, yet I endure all the suffering because I have so much to be thankful for. A king of a husband by my side from the beginning, no excuses whatsoever. Two living (lost third, I'm in that group no one ever wants to join, a bereaved parent) children. It's just us. Not much, but I consider myself wealthy - in love, in trust, in loyalty, in commitment, in joy with my small family. Only because of "them", I still breath. So far, I'm grateful I stuck around for this long. Life is good!

Oh my gawd! My eleven year old, "tomboy" daughter is showing interest in dresses!

Today, we browsed through our local Ross (a store that attracts shoppers similar to me - frugal). My daughter, has now reached that age of acquiring enjoyment in malls and shopping. So, since I comfortably regained my driving privileges and abilities  (ceased for over a year due to 2014 health change), she and I have been exploring ~ frequenting our usual fun & affordable places -- library, farmers market, parks, craft (yarn and fabric) stores... but now also, gym AND the malls.

I've never really been into malls. In my youth, there were certain malls my girlfriends and I would walk through to "boy watch" innocently, but other than that, that was about it. I've never been cool or hip or in the know with the latest fashions or trends. The boy thing was more like a group-think and follow which is something I hope my daughter is too busy with more important things to catch.

We were roaming the store with an eye out for size 12 women's shoes for rapidly growing feet. She has tons of size men's eleven masculine shoes. Absolutely nothing in terms of clothes or shoes feminine, not that anything is wrong with that. We let her be herself. We go with the flow as long as she is respectful and productive; of quality character. Admittedly, there was a time when I would squeeze her into girly clothes. Even then, she'd protest, but I had a bit more control then. There were just so many cute dresses that were hard to resist. But that only last for a short time. Most of her life has been, wearing her older brothers clothes. Or we'd purchase more masculine clothes that she was interested in - if they were on sale.

So now, finally was the day. A day I didn't think would come so suddenly. My baby girl is becoming a woman. With typical womanly interest - dresses. Pretty dresses. Yellow has always been her favorite color. I hesitantly pointed out a lovely "yellow" dress after seeing her grabbing cute little age-appropriate dresses. She liked! I stood there startled. Still shocked, wondering what I was going to do knowing I had zero dollars. Excited, I let her try on the dresses. At least I could photograph this moment. Share it with my few friends, after first texting her dad and big brother, of course.

She came out the dressing room looking like a princess in my eyes. I was already too exhausted from our busy-fun day to shed tears. Earlier we worked out at the gym. But this priceless moment was documented on film and now in my therapeutic blog.

Later that evening, when my husband returned home from work (his employer allowed him to work from home on my dialysis & doctors appointment days), then after her golf lessons, we hurried back to Ross. By now, my husband was grumpy from such a long day of his own, and like many men, didn't want to spend all night in a store spending more money, but my daughter was determined to show her daddy how she looked in these dresses. And with reluctance in seeing a confirmation of how much his little girl had grown, he saw. Saw the beginning of a new world for our family. Dresses. And eventually, shoes and purses galore. Wow, amazing.

Hopefully she learns quickly how to master the sewing machine she owns. Yeah, a sewing, crocheting, knitting, doll playing tomboy -- and lover of love. Hugs, kisses; stuffed animals and stories & cartoons about friendship.

Maybe we both will improve on our sewing skills, which has been a goal for us both. I can see my husband in the fabric stores with his eyes crossed. Like I mentioned before, a new world for us.We'll lovingly go for the ride with her. Adventure through this life supporting, nurturing and loving her.

I bite my toenails!

While hooked up to the dialysis machine this morning, I thought of this habit of mine that many may characterize as, "gross", but I don't care. As I stared down at my feet while at an incline position, it was obvious I had been chewing a bit too often.

Instantly I remembered how lengthy and strong my finger and toenails had become during my two month or so long (2014) hospitalization for this disease. Though I was out-of-my-mind (didn't comprehend anything going on in and around me) - I guess, due to the sudden stroke and daily medications administered during my duration; still at some point, I was able to notice this first time occurrence ~ finally, finger & toenails!

I've always been a nail biter who desired nails that were real. Nails that I can groom and click on the desk or use to scratch my back. Nails that were feminine, adding beauty to my chubby masculine hands. And when my nails grew, I was silently elated. Unable to speak or adequately jester then, I'd marvel at them when cognizant to see or feel them. Amazed, I'd click them on my hospital table.

Fondly, I remembered my habitually estranged dad visiting me at the hospital. Sitting quietly by my bedside --with thoughts unsaid, unknown but felt through his concerned eyes. Through his touch, finally, I felt love from him. No longer able to experience him (estranged himself again), however, I'll never forget that feeling. Til this day, when I think of him, when I long for him, I go back to those hospital days. When I was at my most vulnerable, weakest, neediest moment. I had a piece of him.

Meticulous, and somewhat as anal as I, he'd bring nail clippers to the hospital along with a few other grooming things. And on one visit, he'd brush my teeth gently & lovingly. He'd attempt to feed me (eventually, brilliantly teaching me how to chew with music - "Oh Happy Day" by Edwin Hawking singers played as I eventually relearned to swallow in that very moment). He'd moisturize my legs and feet with lotion. He'd move on to clip & file my nails. Focused and precise, I didn't stop him as I could have easily put my hand up, languaging "stop, not the nails dad!". But this was a moment with me and my dad. A first time moment never ever had, that will forever be cherished.

Wow, look how the topic of  "toenail consumption" unintentionally got me here - writing about something deeper more heartfelt. I digress...

Well, sadly here I am, finger and toenails are no more. Nor is my dad, who is alive, choosing to remain in my life. Both gone, both were good while they lasted.

Eventually, my nails began to break and chip. My attempts to salvage them with glue or gel tips on broken ones became futile. With now an assortment of nail polish colors collected, this new found luxury has become a part of my past. Regrettably, I lost my will power. So now, I bite. Nibble on clean finger and toenails - focusing more on the toes while trying to preserve the fingernails.

Looking at my embarrassingly [un]manicured feet (and hands) - as I lay surrounded by library books - cuticle and skin poorly maintained, sigh. My frustration makes me want to nibble even more, if only I could get my foot to my mouth while on this dialysis machine without bells going off.