"I began to question my own intelligence when you got sick", my son shared with me. Honestly, I began to question "my" intelligence when I got sick as well.
Immediately cramming in knowledge when my health changed, he and his dad devoured information when rare ounces of time permitted. Both seeing the [signs and symptoms] along their personal enlightenment to this disease. In hindsight, perhaps we all may have made other choices, if given the chance for a do over - go back in time.
Once that very brief conversation was had, I quickly retreat to my blog to write. I want to recall all the signs and symptoms I had, but ignored. Life saving warnings of what was to come in my future had I chose to continue hiding in my self-induced ignorance.
to be continued...
Thursday, August 13, 2015
My sweet and cute preteen daughter has... been in rare form ALL day. Days like these I remind my frustrated self that she's becoming a woman. Her menstrual cycle is nearly here. But then again, this has been my reasoning since the child was TWO!
I'm at my wits end on days like this, which are fewer and far between. Her personality remains as it was when she came into the world - in utero honestly --- fearless, aggressive and confident. One might wonder how can you tell these traits in an infant. And I say to you, "I have it on videotape".
Not being a parent who wants to alter (but cultivate) who her child is, I have had the wisdom (tried to at least and still trying) to guide but not destroy what's natural, and to some degree, beautiful depending on how you perceive it. Fearlessness, aggressiveness and confidence are all useful and admiral traits that many aspire to acquire in order to navigate through life successfully.
She has always demanded (in her way) to be right underneath me. The kids are close to their dad, but she is extra attached/glued to me. Even when she was born, she'd scream and cut her eyes at me whenever I'd put her in the warmer or turn my back to rest - always demanding her moms attention as if to say, "I'm here!". And constantly I'm in some way saying, "mommy sees you darling".
Not wanting to be controlled by an infant, I'd protest, I'd resist until... she'd win. Having lost a child, a daughter several years prior made me even more bonded [as if I could be closer] and very vigilant, mother lion-ish. All three of our kids were nursed until they naturally weaned themselves and by the time she, the youngest arrived I dared some one to disrespectfully judge MY choices for MY child.
Eventually I learned I was what is defined as an Attachment Parent. I can remember how thrilled and shocked I was to discover there was a name describing a major portion of my parenting style and philosophy (for me). Also, I naively assumed every parent were giving their toddler the freedom to read, to explore, to inquire. Our son started reading (well) by age two. By three he comprehended basic arithmetic - addition/subtraction, eventually on to multiplication/division by four.
I have photos of him at the chalk board, exploring the computer; on video reading chapter books. This was our first born, our son, of course. We had no idea what we were doing. Had no comments on what other parents should be doing. All we had was determination and discernment to do better than what we had, minus any ineffective whining or excuses.
Then my first daughter came, healthy yet unexpectedly and suddenly she died (in my arms... at my breast). No one knows what their tomorrow will be. Journeying through this paralyzing loss, much like a highly focused, wounded pit bull, I became even more hyper-vigilant over my son who is now 18 (who acquired several college degrees already). Totally hands on mom, mind you. I stopped working (was a very successful self-employed hairstylist fortunate to operate in an established, exclusive salon; skilled in ALL hair types) soon after the devastation no parent is prepared to endure.
For a long time I had no idea I was homeschooling until it was time to send my son (first born) to school. Each year, I was like, "I'm not ready to let him go". So we kept him home another year then another. Down the line we realized there was a thing called homeschooling and we had been doing a form of it all along. Content with our choices and the results, we kept going. Made it work through parental bereavement (child loss), financial challenges (unexpected one income), chronic illness (daily migraines) and now health crisis (Renal Failure/Stoke/Dialysis).
I digress, didn't intend to write all this - totally rambling away from subject (which happens since the stroke), my daughter, the youngest and the baby. Everything is connected, as the topics in this post.
Well, what gives me hope with my daughter is my son's recent apologies to his dad and I. He stressed us big time and I soon forgot how I wanted to rip his head off (figuratively). He wasn't a bad or an awful kid. Never bullied or mean spirited to anyone. Just a complicated type of human that we had to figure out. Couldn't parent him as if he were average. And that puzzle had numerous pieces that my husband and I did the work through lovingly (but firmly), patiently piece by piece - alone. Our struggle was ours like all others and we managed through it - peacefully, positively and productively.
When I want to rip my daughter's head off (figuratively), envisioning our family in the news, I take deep breaths and look through the photo album in my mind. Visualizing pictures of that cute, sweet, addicting baby that we were told we couldn't conceive (a joyous birth followed by surreal miscarriages) but is here in the flesh - driving me nuts at times, but she means the world to me and she knows/feels it.
I tell my kids how honored I am to be their mom and my actions demonstrate that unique and genuine affection. Oftentimes I miss them when they are sleeping...
Prediction is, someday my daughter be like her quality brother, shameful of the stresses her behavior(s) put us through and in that moment of her sincere regret, I will be assured that her dad and I raised another quality child ~ one more with awareness, compassion and thoughtfulness. One who recognizes the sacrifices made to provide the best life possible [despite the unthinkable childhood "I" survived]. I'm here proving that history does not have to repeat itself and that there are no excuses not to appreciate your living and breathing child (despite their behavior) minus any conditions. I survived many obstacles as a testimony --through deep reflection and forgiveness ~ that good things are possible.
I'm at my wits end on days like this, which are fewer and far between. Her personality remains as it was when she came into the world - in utero honestly --- fearless, aggressive and confident. One might wonder how can you tell these traits in an infant. And I say to you, "I have it on videotape".
Not being a parent who wants to alter (but cultivate) who her child is, I have had the wisdom (tried to at least and still trying) to guide but not destroy what's natural, and to some degree, beautiful depending on how you perceive it. Fearlessness, aggressiveness and confidence are all useful and admiral traits that many aspire to acquire in order to navigate through life successfully.
She has always demanded (in her way) to be right underneath me. The kids are close to their dad, but she is extra attached/glued to me. Even when she was born, she'd scream and cut her eyes at me whenever I'd put her in the warmer or turn my back to rest - always demanding her moms attention as if to say, "I'm here!". And constantly I'm in some way saying, "mommy sees you darling".
Not wanting to be controlled by an infant, I'd protest, I'd resist until... she'd win. Having lost a child, a daughter several years prior made me even more bonded [as if I could be closer] and very vigilant, mother lion-ish. All three of our kids were nursed until they naturally weaned themselves and by the time she, the youngest arrived I dared some one to disrespectfully judge MY choices for MY child.
Eventually I learned I was what is defined as an Attachment Parent. I can remember how thrilled and shocked I was to discover there was a name describing a major portion of my parenting style and philosophy (for me). Also, I naively assumed every parent were giving their toddler the freedom to read, to explore, to inquire. Our son started reading (well) by age two. By three he comprehended basic arithmetic - addition/subtraction, eventually on to multiplication/division by four.
I have photos of him at the chalk board, exploring the computer; on video reading chapter books. This was our first born, our son, of course. We had no idea what we were doing. Had no comments on what other parents should be doing. All we had was determination and discernment to do better than what we had, minus any ineffective whining or excuses.
Then my first daughter came, healthy yet unexpectedly and suddenly she died (in my arms... at my breast). No one knows what their tomorrow will be. Journeying through this paralyzing loss, much like a highly focused, wounded pit bull, I became even more hyper-vigilant over my son who is now 18 (who acquired several college degrees already). Totally hands on mom, mind you. I stopped working (was a very successful self-employed hairstylist fortunate to operate in an established, exclusive salon; skilled in ALL hair types) soon after the devastation no parent is prepared to endure.
For a long time I had no idea I was homeschooling until it was time to send my son (first born) to school. Each year, I was like, "I'm not ready to let him go". So we kept him home another year then another. Down the line we realized there was a thing called homeschooling and we had been doing a form of it all along. Content with our choices and the results, we kept going. Made it work through parental bereavement (child loss), financial challenges (unexpected one income), chronic illness (daily migraines) and now health crisis (Renal Failure/Stoke/Dialysis).
I digress, didn't intend to write all this - totally rambling away from subject (which happens since the stroke), my daughter, the youngest and the baby. Everything is connected, as the topics in this post.
Well, what gives me hope with my daughter is my son's recent apologies to his dad and I. He stressed us big time and I soon forgot how I wanted to rip his head off (figuratively). He wasn't a bad or an awful kid. Never bullied or mean spirited to anyone. Just a complicated type of human that we had to figure out. Couldn't parent him as if he were average. And that puzzle had numerous pieces that my husband and I did the work through lovingly (but firmly), patiently piece by piece - alone. Our struggle was ours like all others and we managed through it - peacefully, positively and productively.
When I want to rip my daughter's head off (figuratively), envisioning our family in the news, I take deep breaths and look through the photo album in my mind. Visualizing pictures of that cute, sweet, addicting baby that we were told we couldn't conceive (a joyous birth followed by surreal miscarriages) but is here in the flesh - driving me nuts at times, but she means the world to me and she knows/feels it.
I tell my kids how honored I am to be their mom and my actions demonstrate that unique and genuine affection. Oftentimes I miss them when they are sleeping...
Prediction is, someday my daughter be like her quality brother, shameful of the stresses her behavior(s) put us through and in that moment of her sincere regret, I will be assured that her dad and I raised another quality child ~ one more with awareness, compassion and thoughtfulness. One who recognizes the sacrifices made to provide the best life possible [despite the unthinkable childhood "I" survived]. I'm here proving that history does not have to repeat itself and that there are no excuses not to appreciate your living and breathing child (despite their behavior) minus any conditions. I survived many obstacles as a testimony --through deep reflection and forgiveness ~ that good things are possible.
During an appointment with my wonderful vascular surgeon, I brought up my concern about some scaring and huge lump/bump/hump development; along with throbbing achiness and blistering bruises on or around my Ateriovenous (AV) fistula. Yeah I suspected I'd fall victim to this grotesque disfigurement on my arm, but I didn't expect it to occur so soon - as I've only been on dialysis since 2014 and I was comforted (while panicked at the sight of other patients arm) in hearing that as long as your technician utilizes a wise & effective technique by not putting needle in same area each time, thus giving previous punctured area a chance to heal, one might avoid the permanent ear sore.
Upon Internet research, I've learned that these lumps/bumps/humps are called pseudoaneurysms which developed from repeated sticks that are necessary to perform hemodialysis. Though cosmetically unappealing they are are of no hazardous concern and are common among dialysis patients. In my cleverness I have begun to knit and crochet sleeves -- knit/crochet colorful wrist band-looking covering for mine. *Also am pondering [currently working out the logistics] starting a charity where knitters/crocheters make these sleeves for dialysis patients.
During my doctors visit I had lots of questions about what is happening with MY fistula. Thankfully there was nothing too serious going on according to the ultrasound done prior to appointment, just a suggestion to have dialysis technicians stick the needle in a different area each time to allow previous area to heal, which makes sense. Right now, lump/bump/hump developing is where the artery or vein (can't remember exactly which) is dilated. Now its at two millimeters. If it gets to three, he'll re-evaluate to determine if surgery is needed. There is lots of space on my arm for techs to work with and if utilized, I can maybe avoid further horrendousness to my arm. Never do I watch the enormous & excruciatingly painful needle(s) going in or coming out but I'd hate to bring attention to something a professional should already know. Reality is: this is my arm, my life here. I have to assert myself in the gentlest most effective way possible. Note:[younger self surfacing] ~ very passively as a back up, had doctor write what HE recommends on a sheet so I can hand it to techs during my next dreaded appointment. Sigh.
So far during my health challenge I have been privileged quality care, for which I'm mindfully grateful. Oftentimes I compassionately think about kidney patients in various parts of the world. Wonder what kind of care they are receiving and how they are coping. I only hope one day I'll have the resources to altruistically make a difference in someone's life. Presently, this blog is a start.
Upon Internet research, I've learned that these lumps/bumps/humps are called pseudoaneurysms which developed from repeated sticks that are necessary to perform hemodialysis. Though cosmetically unappealing they are are of no hazardous concern and are common among dialysis patients. In my cleverness I have begun to knit and crochet sleeves -- knit/crochet colorful wrist band-looking covering for mine. *Also am pondering [currently working out the logistics] starting a charity where knitters/crocheters make these sleeves for dialysis patients.
During my doctors visit I had lots of questions about what is happening with MY fistula. Thankfully there was nothing too serious going on according to the ultrasound done prior to appointment, just a suggestion to have dialysis technicians stick the needle in a different area each time to allow previous area to heal, which makes sense. Right now, lump/bump/hump developing is where the artery or vein (can't remember exactly which) is dilated. Now its at two millimeters. If it gets to three, he'll re-evaluate to determine if surgery is needed. There is lots of space on my arm for techs to work with and if utilized, I can maybe avoid further horrendousness to my arm. Never do I watch the enormous & excruciatingly painful needle(s) going in or coming out but I'd hate to bring attention to something a professional should already know. Reality is: this is my arm, my life here. I have to assert myself in the gentlest most effective way possible. Note:[younger self surfacing] ~ very passively as a back up, had doctor write what HE recommends on a sheet so I can hand it to techs during my next dreaded appointment. Sigh.
So far during my health challenge I have been privileged quality care, for which I'm mindfully grateful. Oftentimes I compassionately think about kidney patients in various parts of the world. Wonder what kind of care they are receiving and how they are coping. I only hope one day I'll have the resources to altruistically make a difference in someone's life. Presently, this blog is a start.
Wednesday, August 12, 2015
With great reluctance, my son finally read a few of my blog post. I've been practically begging him (an incredible writer and avid reader himself) to read and critique my writings.
Having had a brain injury - stroke, my thoughts jaggedly flow through my words in text. They are oftentimes fragmented and all over the place. Something I'm aware of but can't change now. Hopefully my brain heals completely. But until then, THIS is a genuine representation of who I am today. Unfortunately I procrastinated with a host of things in the days of better health. A plethora of ailments is what I'm boldly journeying though presently ~ determined to cease every moment.
He is aware of the differences in his mom, of course noticing the drastic changes (decline) in my writing style; and he delicately shared with me his reasons for avoiding reading my blog.
An admirer of his mom, I had no idea. Even wished he could write like me, wow! He's so open...
My blog represents and reminds him what happened to his mother back in 2014. I'm sure my coming so close to death and the physical and mental transformations because of the health crisis causes too much pain that he's not ready to deal with. He is a physics and computer science major at a highly academically demanding college. He needs to be fully focused and unemotional to tackle the daily regimen required to be a successful college student.
He remembers how I use to write, speak, think. And all that is different plus more now, hopefully temporally. Being a lover of words, I was very precise with a richer vocabulary.
The difference with me now and then, I'm more fearless. Unafraid and less concerned about the opinions or judgments of others. Those who knew me before and see me now might have some ambivalence in experiencing the "new" me, Sage. Seems like it takes more courage for those to witness the outcome of tragedy than to live it. This is my life now. And If I am expected to live it with the utmost grace and tenacity, I would hope that those watching can loyally experience its benefits along side me for the long haul.
My son (and my husband & daughter) is proud of me. They support me to the fullest and desperately want me to be authentically healthy and happy. Optimistically, I strive towards health and happiness daily. If not for myself, for them. Their unconditional love is my motivation. My inspiration.
It is my hope that my readers out there recognize (or can relate to) my journey. Each post takes a great bravery to post [and hit the button, "share"] as I'm my biggest critic. It agonizes me that I have yet to find my original "voice" in speech or in writing. Despite my struggle, I'm on the path to gold in which getting through each day without giving in or giving up is my ultimate treasure.
So far, my readers are silent. May they all one day soon acknowledge by sending a "shout out" to express, "we hear you"...
And if anything, in the long run, hopefully, I'm not boring. Fragmented maybe, but not boring.
Having had a brain injury - stroke, my thoughts jaggedly flow through my words in text. They are oftentimes fragmented and all over the place. Something I'm aware of but can't change now. Hopefully my brain heals completely. But until then, THIS is a genuine representation of who I am today. Unfortunately I procrastinated with a host of things in the days of better health. A plethora of ailments is what I'm boldly journeying though presently ~ determined to cease every moment.
He is aware of the differences in his mom, of course noticing the drastic changes (decline) in my writing style; and he delicately shared with me his reasons for avoiding reading my blog.
An admirer of his mom, I had no idea. Even wished he could write like me, wow! He's so open...
My blog represents and reminds him what happened to his mother back in 2014. I'm sure my coming so close to death and the physical and mental transformations because of the health crisis causes too much pain that he's not ready to deal with. He is a physics and computer science major at a highly academically demanding college. He needs to be fully focused and unemotional to tackle the daily regimen required to be a successful college student.
He remembers how I use to write, speak, think. And all that is different plus more now, hopefully temporally. Being a lover of words, I was very precise with a richer vocabulary.
The difference with me now and then, I'm more fearless. Unafraid and less concerned about the opinions or judgments of others. Those who knew me before and see me now might have some ambivalence in experiencing the "new" me, Sage. Seems like it takes more courage for those to witness the outcome of tragedy than to live it. This is my life now. And If I am expected to live it with the utmost grace and tenacity, I would hope that those watching can loyally experience its benefits along side me for the long haul.
My son (and my husband & daughter) is proud of me. They support me to the fullest and desperately want me to be authentically healthy and happy. Optimistically, I strive towards health and happiness daily. If not for myself, for them. Their unconditional love is my motivation. My inspiration.
It is my hope that my readers out there recognize (or can relate to) my journey. Each post takes a great bravery to post [and hit the button, "share"] as I'm my biggest critic. It agonizes me that I have yet to find my original "voice" in speech or in writing. Despite my struggle, I'm on the path to gold in which getting through each day without giving in or giving up is my ultimate treasure.
So far, my readers are silent. May they all one day soon acknowledge by sending a "shout out" to express, "we hear you"...
And if anything, in the long run, hopefully, I'm not boring. Fragmented maybe, but not boring.
Tuesday, August 11, 2015
My eighteen year old son is home from college. He came home before, then left again to work on campus and is now back until school resumes. And of course, happiness is grand when he's home.
My kids are always teaching me (yes, one of their primary role models, teachers and parent) something. I learn something new and beneficial about myself, about them or about life in general. I must confess, each time I'm amazed. Small, then big and growing conceptions of their dad and I's love has been my greatest physical examples of what matters in life.
Talking to my son now, on an intimate level (we are really close) is enlightening. He is conformation of all the sacrifices, discipline, education, modeling; guidance, love and nurture were all worth while. If I weren't his mom, I would wish to have some sort of connection with him, the person.
I look and listen to him, thinking to myself, "wow, what a human being". His thoughts, ideas and beliefs are his own and he is comfortable in knowing he can freely share & be anything with his parents. We are and always be here for him. I've always reminded my kids to be acutely aware and thankful for the quality of their lives.
Recognize everyone is not as fortunate so approach challenging social situations with compassion and be grateful that some of life's insurmountable devastation's are beyond even your precocious comprehension. Stay conscious. Surround yourself with authentic substance & quality. And be authentic and of substance & quality.
I have profound gratitude in the knowingness that all that time, during his developmental adolescence when in maternal frustration I "thought" he wasn't paying attention or "getting the lessons", turns out, I was wrong. My heart smiles every time I watch him ~ evolve more than the embodiment of what I envisioned at his birth.
My kids are always teaching me (yes, one of their primary role models, teachers and parent) something. I learn something new and beneficial about myself, about them or about life in general. I must confess, each time I'm amazed. Small, then big and growing conceptions of their dad and I's love has been my greatest physical examples of what matters in life.
Talking to my son now, on an intimate level (we are really close) is enlightening. He is conformation of all the sacrifices, discipline, education, modeling; guidance, love and nurture were all worth while. If I weren't his mom, I would wish to have some sort of connection with him, the person.
I look and listen to him, thinking to myself, "wow, what a human being". His thoughts, ideas and beliefs are his own and he is comfortable in knowing he can freely share & be anything with his parents. We are and always be here for him. I've always reminded my kids to be acutely aware and thankful for the quality of their lives.
Recognize everyone is not as fortunate so approach challenging social situations with compassion and be grateful that some of life's insurmountable devastation's are beyond even your precocious comprehension. Stay conscious. Surround yourself with authentic substance & quality. And be authentic and of substance & quality.
I have profound gratitude in the knowingness that all that time, during his developmental adolescence when in maternal frustration I "thought" he wasn't paying attention or "getting the lessons", turns out, I was wrong. My heart smiles every time I watch him ~ evolve more than the embodiment of what I envisioned at his birth.
Embarrassingly gained over 5 plus kilos in ONE weekend. Argh! This is not good considering what I'm up against. Kidney disease has certainly been humbling at times. I consider myself a disciplined, mindful, rational, cautious person. But if I can't control the liquids I consume, what am I?
My dialysis days are every Monday, Wednesday & Friday. Rain or shine, holiday or not I must be punctual in that blue, cushiony dialysis chair promptly by 4:45 a.m. Fortunately always accompanied by my dear husband.
As I type I'm nibbling on a few small chunks of cold watermelon. This succulent, beloved fruit will be included in my modest liquid intake for the day, so every bite though appreciated, is not as enjoyable as it could be because of prescribed dietary boundaries. I hate this. And sometimes honestly, I just hate my life (thankfully this feeling is fleeting). But restrictions, limitations nobody wants. Yet to live, they are necessary -- for me. Sigh.
I must continue to improve. Mentally, physically & emotionally.
My dialysis days are every Monday, Wednesday & Friday. Rain or shine, holiday or not I must be punctual in that blue, cushiony dialysis chair promptly by 4:45 a.m. Fortunately always accompanied by my dear husband.
As I type I'm nibbling on a few small chunks of cold watermelon. This succulent, beloved fruit will be included in my modest liquid intake for the day, so every bite though appreciated, is not as enjoyable as it could be because of prescribed dietary boundaries. I hate this. And sometimes honestly, I just hate my life (thankfully this feeling is fleeting). But restrictions, limitations nobody wants. Yet to live, they are necessary -- for me. Sigh.
I must continue to improve. Mentally, physically & emotionally.
Friday, August 7, 2015
Starting off the weekend magnificently. I received my monthly dialysis labs today (not sure exact term used). Everything they test me on - which are substances like: phosphorous & potassium (limitations explained in the Renal Diet) measures much like a progress report or report card. Having been an academic person in my formative years, still, I can appreciate this days readings from more of a "sense of accomplishment", relieved perspective.
Now that my taste buds are returning, it's getting more challenging to meet the standards required of this life or death possibility. Lately my readings have been very poor, almost to embarrassment and I'd rather avoid the "binders" (research for kidney patients) - pills nephrologist prescribe which I guess grabs a portion of the harmful parts from higher phosphorous & potassium foods from each meal - meaning, to my understanding there is an extra pill (which is large/may have side effects), taken before every meal that you'll have to add to your already lengthy assortments of medications taken to preserve your already compromised life.
To my disappointment, I have been undisciplined and perhaps unintelligent in my food choices and portions. It felt so freeing and less health challenging to binge (too heavily, I guess) on certain restricted food items. Since the onset of my health awakening, my dear husband had been closely monitoring my health, especially what I consumed ~ for my safety, of course.
And now that I am slowly returning back to a somewhat "normal" state of being, more independence and all, I've been expected, understandably so, to be responsible for my own well being - when it comes to food, medication and exercise that is. It's like I was spoiled to some degree and lately, childishly rebellious toward the rules of mindfully controlling the quality of my sustenance.
I quickly learned my lesson when my adored & appreciated doctor and nurse practitioner and dietitian, they all gently informed me (all on separate occasions) that my labs are increasingly elevating towards my detriment and it was imperative that I get a handle on my eating [and drinking].
My liquid intake has been too high as well. Perhaps this explains the extra bloating and puffiness that I feel and see. I've always loved huge glasses of iced water and I believe, times when I feel "well" I behave as if my health was fine and find myself going overboard with the liquids and the cheeses and such, which is the opposite in terms of Will Power that I'm modeling to my precociously observant preteen daughter, who's still at home, of course - watching my every move as if "I" need supervision.
I suspect I'm back on the right track now. Scary things can happen ( luckily nothing too severe for me so far, but there is a litany of undesirables, even death that awaits the recalcitrant patient) if someone in my condition neglects to follow the requirements necessary in order to stay alive and well.
Now that my taste buds are returning, it's getting more challenging to meet the standards required of this life or death possibility. Lately my readings have been very poor, almost to embarrassment and I'd rather avoid the "binders" (research for kidney patients) - pills nephrologist prescribe which I guess grabs a portion of the harmful parts from higher phosphorous & potassium foods from each meal - meaning, to my understanding there is an extra pill (which is large/may have side effects), taken before every meal that you'll have to add to your already lengthy assortments of medications taken to preserve your already compromised life.
To my disappointment, I have been undisciplined and perhaps unintelligent in my food choices and portions. It felt so freeing and less health challenging to binge (too heavily, I guess) on certain restricted food items. Since the onset of my health awakening, my dear husband had been closely monitoring my health, especially what I consumed ~ for my safety, of course.
And now that I am slowly returning back to a somewhat "normal" state of being, more independence and all, I've been expected, understandably so, to be responsible for my own well being - when it comes to food, medication and exercise that is. It's like I was spoiled to some degree and lately, childishly rebellious toward the rules of mindfully controlling the quality of my sustenance.
I quickly learned my lesson when my adored & appreciated doctor and nurse practitioner and dietitian, they all gently informed me (all on separate occasions) that my labs are increasingly elevating towards my detriment and it was imperative that I get a handle on my eating [and drinking].
My liquid intake has been too high as well. Perhaps this explains the extra bloating and puffiness that I feel and see. I've always loved huge glasses of iced water and I believe, times when I feel "well" I behave as if my health was fine and find myself going overboard with the liquids and the cheeses and such, which is the opposite in terms of Will Power that I'm modeling to my precociously observant preteen daughter, who's still at home, of course - watching my every move as if "I" need supervision.
I suspect I'm back on the right track now. Scary things can happen ( luckily nothing too severe for me so far, but there is a litany of undesirables, even death that awaits the recalcitrant patient) if someone in my condition neglects to follow the requirements necessary in order to stay alive and well.
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