Life has an interesting way of slowing some of us down. Prior to my health situation, I was going and going - even with the chronic migraines, I kept going. Either my mind or my body or both was in constant motion. And there I was, thinking my daughter's death (2000) slowed me down. But looking back from this moment currently to before hospitalizations (I can no longer say, since my illness because apparently my health was deteriorating progressively over the years since 2000. I was just in denial, I guess), I was too busy. Yeah, I stopped working. Went on what I called a "hiatus". But fifteen years out of work is turning out to be more than a hiatus. And now, with a physical disability (without the benefits) I find myself fearless and motivated. In a letter to my clients fifteen years ago, I stated, "I'll return when my passion does". Staying away from a craft that I loved - hair-styling  was not what I planned. Hell, I didn't "plan" anything. Life just happened, for me, painfully [head held high]. My point in writing was to express how I'm currently reflecting on the realization the slowing down. And being on dialysis since 2014 now, I'm growing accustomed to this slower pace. Yeah 2000 I started seeing things in more of a slower fashion, I mean really really "seeing" with consciousness. The world seemed and has remained different since the loss, but it's more so. Now in this much more altered state, my body has been forced into idledom. Which forces an attentiveness. A sightfulness. Added discernment. Regardless of my ailments, I still exercise without any excuses. Push myself to do as much as I can for myself. Maintaining (controlling) a sense of independence despite any frailties. While on dialysis I'm doing things I normally did but with a different brain that forces me to try to comprehend in a intricate way. Common sense things no longer come as easy since the stroke/renal failure. Being challenged in understanding basics is foreign to me but has accelerated my growth in an odd way. Perhaps I'll write more concrete once I have found the words to express this feeling that I'm desperate to share. This feeling of appreciation in this life challenge that has me now a holder of a blue disability sticker for the vehicle in which I travel. Additional "stillness" is seeming to be a needed fortune that has me in this moment, blissfully grateful yet perplexed at my own gratitude. In my surreal lifetime I have been and learned to be even more resolute, resilient and rational with life's setbacks. In the slowness, becoming more thankful and aware of that which I'm thankful. Each milestone, rising like a phoenix within the stillness.

Took some much needed time to revisit my reasons for blogging. Now that I've regained my writer's confidence, I will document them here for personal reflection.

I'm blogging because I love to write. Even though I'm not trained or remotely skilled to write anything professionally, I appreciate this blogger forum to explore my thoughts in an open space.

I'm blogging because I end up typing really long emails and text to express a full thought. Over the Internet years I've been told, "you should put this in a book". Many people have told me they've saved my emails and text. Why? I don't know but I hope because they found my writing interesting.

I'm blogging because I wish I were a professional writer. I imagine myself in a nice secluded cottage some place picturesque.  Beauty and occasional ugliness has been my muse. I'd  rather create in an attractive environment. Blogging gives me the feeling of being a real writer - in my head.

I'm blogging because it's therapeutic. Through my daily experiences with life, with my recent health challenges (beginning 2014) and now with my recovery evokes a plethora of thoughts that I want/need to get out. Blogging allows me to purge those mental ramblings in one space. Being that it is shared, it forces me to be more reasonable, more rationale with what's flowing in my head.

I'm blogging because I would like to inspire others in some way. I may not write solutions or come up with lots of "Aha moments", but everything I share is coming from a sincere place and if readers have any solutions to something I may be posting they are welcome to share. This way, other readers may be inspired by another's discovery. So there is no moral to my every post. And that's okay.

I'm blogging because I want to share with others how I'm coping with my reality. What I deal with and how I handle it. Perhaps there is someone  (or know someone) dealing with the same or a similar thing. Reading my blog may help them feel less alone and more validated in their circumstances.

I'm blogging because after my near death health challenges, finally I found the courage to share what I write, thus what I think is shared with others - people, readers who may find what I'm writing interesting and not boring.  I hope to attract curious readers who want to know, "what's going on with Sage these days? Does she have her kidney yet?". Or, "what is she ranting about now?".

Like me, some personalities may find this type of writing fascinating. May be inspired by it's contents in an odd way - the honesty. How I get through dialysis, the aftermath of the stroke, follow the Renal Diet, home educate my kid, have a son in college, be a wife, friend, etc. And I realize my writing style, it's not for everyone. Hopefully like minded, similar minded which are unique minded personalities will find my blog and enjoy reading it as much as I enjoy writing it.

When I'm finally fortunate a healthy kidney, first thing I'm going to freely do is, drink a humongous pitcher of iced water with no trepidation, followed by an assortment of juicy fruits & succulent veggies. Dialysis/Renal disease - these liquid restrictions are killing me, figuratively.

Weight gain has become rapid lately. Weighing in before each treatment has become the bane of my existence. As of late, each weigh in is followed by emotional turmoil at its reading. It gets higher and higher which means, I need extra fluids removed at once, which poses a risk of excruciating muscle cramps during treatments or worse.

It's 4th of July holiday weekend now. I can barely enjoy myself with the constant focus on what I'm consuming in beverage or food. I thought I was self-disciplined enough to get through the complications of this disease like a champion. Lately, I  have been failing myself and those who possibly are inspired by me in silence.

Moments like these are when I wish I had helicopter type parents who hovered my diet and prepared healthy meals for me. Parents who were willingly involved with my recovery and longevity. Yeah, I'm an adult, a grown ass woman. But every child (young or old) yearns for the nurture and guidance of an unconditionally loving, supportive, generous, unselfish parent. Especially if they've never had it. I wish. I wish. I wish.

I wish I were financially wealthy to hire a staff - to cook, to clean. This way I won't have to worry about maintaining those necessary things that has taken so much energy, time and patience to successfully keep up. There would be no guilt or shame in having someone else do the work I've already "paid" them to do. When fatigue from the condition overwhelms me, at least I'll know my personal chef is preparing something suitable for the renal diet I'm on until I get a kidney. Even after the kidney, I plan to continue healthier eating habits.

And my hired cleaning person can alleviate me of my OCD habits and tendencies by simply maintaining a regimen of suitable sanitary and orderly living conditions in my almost hoarded living space (lots of books, yarn, board games, containers...) so that I can avoid obsessing over/ being easily distracted by the littlest, trivial things around me.

Eliminating the sodium intake is crucial. Not only for the high blood pressure, the stroke, the heart issues, the kidney challenges, but for overall health maintenance. High sodium can cause me to get thirstier and crave more liquids, which is something to avoid, so I do.

Before the awareness of my health conditions, I consumed high amounts of iced water on a daily basis. Craved it, enjoyed it. And now, with my frequent runs, bike rides, trips to the gym; completely active lifestyle, my appetite for water, for ice increases. I'm at a quandary. I can have so little liquids it seems so abnormal for me not to naturally drink what my body craves. Sigh.

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...