I'm privileged to know a few renal patients outside of the dialysis facility. Our course, there is one, my half sister (on my father's side). She's close to my age. I'm close to 50 and she's a bit older. And then there are three others - who are probably in their 40's.

All of which are active and doing well. All had transplants. My sister's mother gave her a kidney. One is going back on dialysis soon, but doing well. They are also open and honest about their journey through renal failure. I consider them and the new people that I meet an inspiration. I look at/to them, and see they are surviving and living with this thing. And every time I may reach a low period (which is temporary), I think of them.

Weather has been lovely, but it has been HOT. I've remained quite active physically . As a result,  extreme thirst has been my current dilemma. Due to the fluid restrictions for renal patients each day (fluids from drinks, vegetables, fruits, ice, etc. are a factor), unfortunately I've been arriving at dialysis a bit over my dry weight. And with this, more liquid has to be pulled from the dialysis machine which poses many extra risk. One in which I was recently challenged by. Severe cramping.

Imagine if you will, experiencing the worse muscle cramps you've ever had and being limited in movement while attached to blood pressure coughs and huge needles for three hours.

No, my muscle cramps didn't last for three hours, but at the time, it felt like an unbearable eternity. Husband was napping in the car at the time. With the TV remote, I buzzed the nurse. Thankfully the dialysis staff immediately took really good care of me.

When those cramps come, all composure leaves. I become a different person. Instantly, I'm no longer a compliant, composed patient. Pleading for help, even though help is present. Whatever is on me, blankets, pillows... ends up on the floor. Eventually I'm up standing.

It is advisable to remain seated due to the two huge needles in your arm. And the attached blood pressure cuff on the other arm. If blood pressure is too low, which it usually is. Could faint.

What they do is, return some of the fluids through the attached tubing. The staff this day (remember I have a different crew since my treatment days changed) stayed with me. Held my leg in a position which relieved the discomfort. I begged her not to let go, and she didn't. She then gathered all my items that I had tossed on the floor. Placed them neatly on a nearby chair. Gratitude was expressed repeatedly for her competent & compassionate assistance.

Those cramps... I'm thinking at the time, "I'll never consume too many liquids again". And here I am. On another warm day, possibly over-consuming again  - ice, water, fruit. Sigh! I'm so thirsty.

My son, the eldest is 20 years old today. He's still considered my best(est) birthday present ever and always, born just an hour before my birthday.

Not far, but an hour or so away at a very academically challenging college. Though he's same state, we don't see him as much as we'd like. And rarely does he respond to my frequent calls or text. Sigh! I miss him so. But understand that his dad and I lovingly prepared him for the this phase of his life.

Now that he's deeper into his adulthood, I fear he's farther away from baby{dom}. All I want to do is hold him still.  Adapting, I can no longer do/say the same things by him, he'll check me immediately. "Mom, I'm a man now". I'm still adjusting to what that means.

We are still very close, thankfully. Our relationship is just different now. Really, I remember the changes soon after my initial hospitalization. My kids really grew up fast when that happened (2014). I'm still catching up.

Well, we are going to drive up and see him over the weekend. I'm so excited. This extra joy is welcomed considering the last few weeks I've had with dialysis and my fistula (Google).

Every time we see or talk to our son, changes are evident. It's so weird. Truth is, when you see your kid everyday, you may not immediately recognize their physical or mental growth. But when there is time in the equation, it can be like seeing a totally new person/personality each time you see them.

I've embraced every moment. Just being here, alive and privileged another day. Have an opportunity to experience my husband and kids and friends and even strangers is awesome. I'll never forget what its like to come so close to death and to be forced into long-term stillness. Be vulnerable to where everyone can see. Thoughts became of how cautiously-fearless I'd live my life once I regained my abilities -- to talk, walk, write, eat, comprehend, etc.

So this and other days, especially birthdays are extra special for me. Usually holidays, and birthdays are like another day to us. But for me, everyday is one to be celebrated.

My usual dialysis days have recently been changed. New ones are same time (4:30 a.m.) - Tuesday, Thursday, Saturday. It was a process getting to this point and I won't share much here...

For some time now, I've been suffering fistula (google dialysis fistula) challenges. Primarily by "the stick" during and after. It got to the point, I began having anxiety/panic attacks. Was emotionally fragile. Irritable, impatient, frustrated with my family. Eventually it came to a point, I was plotting an escape from my regular treatments as the pain was that unbearable.

Every stick is not the same. From my experience, there is a good stick. And there is a bad stick. Reality is, some may have a touch for the technique, some may not. My experiences were too inconsistent, mostly painful. I tried to speak up, gracefully. My ever-present husband tried to speak up, gently. Both, ignored. Neither of us knew what to do. I felt stuck. Trapped. Doomed. As if I was confined to my own type of hellish existence. My limited options seemed nonexistent. Eventually, I cracked. Optimism was no more. I was becoming farther from who I was/am. My truth.

Fast forward - best solution for my dilemma became to change the days. With new days (included with a different chair/area), same location though. Different experience. I am no longer in extra agony from the stick (which is two, huge needles left in my arm every time for the three full hours).

With the changing of the days, my families whole routine has to be changed. My husband, an accountant (whose company let him work from home on my dialysis days so that he can accompany me to my treatments and medical appointments) had to get approval to make changes to his work schedule.

Changes to the extracurricular activities I frequented with my daughter, Changes to the routine activities I attended for my personal well-being & enjoyment. Change. No one likes that. But this condition is daily teacher about change, in particular. I must adapt to situations no one would want to bare. I must be flexible for those limitations that adds to life challenges but, keeps me alive. Change - in cents or in circumstance... yeah, those honest will admit, no one likes that.

Initially worried about how the changes would affect me and my family and others, I ultimately had to learn how to be even more assertive (I "thought" I was, but learned I wasn't when it came to "me"). Make sure I was receiving the best care possible without my usual fear of possibly hurting feelings or being misunderstood or even feeling judged. And if pain or inconvenience could be minimized for me, I needed to seek treatment from those better skilled and competent to deliver.

Though negatively affected by this experience, I'm thankful, nonetheless.

This woman (complete stranger) just went  off on me.

While at a family-oriented environment, with my twelve-year old daughter sitting at the table with me - me, hyper-focused, knitting. And my daughter, studious. Completing her academics.

We were both seated at a small, rounded table near the entrance of the facility. All our bags, books, yarn, laptop, tablet, phones, lunches, water bottles, etc. were neatly piled on top of the table we were utilizing. I sat in one chair, my daughter in the other. Also, I had additional bags on a third chair (I saw that there were numerous available chairs nearby just in case some one needed seating).

We were there, enjoying our day together. Productively & peacefully doing what we normally do. Suddenly, here comes this woman. With her energy, "are you using this chair?" Barely looking up, as I was very focused (trying to comprehend cabled knit hat pattern I was reading), "yes", I responded.

She spoke again, sternly, "well, can't you put your bags on the floor?" Me, not paying attention really, somewhat passively, "where will I put them?" Again, I wasn't thoroughly in-tuned to what was going on really. I felt her energy but didn't feed it. I was preoccupied with my child and my yarn & needles.

Prior to sitting, I figured there where plenty of available seats (same exact chairs) adjacently stacked. But, for some reason, this woman must have wanted the chair "my bags" were on. Sigh!

When I mindlessly asked that woman "where will I put them", and why did I do that. Hugely present by this time,  angrily she griped, "well, can't you put them on the floor?!" Confused, but unmoved, I uttered, "I'd prefer not to" assuming incorrectly that she'd eventually keep it moving.

The she was, in my face (literally) now, attempting to intimidate, "you know these chairs are not here for what you are using them for. You should be a better example to your child!"

Continued with my face down, knitting. Aware of the type of nature this woman was demonstrating, I carefully removed my bags and scooted the chair toward her.

Yelling crazily by this time (mind you, this was a mature woman with her two tween boys next to her judging the example "I" was setting), "I don't want the chair now. You should have just gave it to me when I asked for it. You are a poor example to your daughter..."

This woman whom I've never ever seen in my life, who does not know if that was my daughter or not, went completely berserk in public with a lobby full of people (adults and small children).

Intuitively, I knew not to acknowledge her. To remain quiet. Be still. Nothing at that moment coming out of my mouth may have come out productively. Let this moment pass.

Eventually the woman walked away, her voice fading deeper into the busy lobby. Soon as it was clear, I glanced toward my daughter. Asking if the woman and her child were out of sight.

My stunned, assertive daughter began to say, "mom, the woman was right. You should have just gave her the chair in the beginning". My reply was, "it was her approach, her demeanor. And before I knew what was going on, she was going off on me". I went on to say, "whatever that was had absolutely nothing to do with me or the chair". I instructed my daughter, "learn from this. Have compassion. We don't know what that woman is going through. Nor does she know what we may be going through".

We both sat there speechless. Mood interrupted, but temporarily. Quickly, we proceeded to do what we were doing before that tornado came through. The air was clearing. We took bites of our lunches. Sips of our water. Carried on as if nothing happened. Later, as we continued to sit in the same spot, curious, I asked my daughter, "what did you learn from that experience?"

I told her to keep an eye out. Eventually the woman has to exit past us. Be sure not to stare but be aware. You never want some volatile person approaching without warning.

Sure enough, the woman came out. Had to walk past us again. Calmly, I kept my head down. Still knitting, but not submissively. This time, I was watching an instructional YouTube video of the pattern I was initially following. Was wearing headphones.

To my surprise, the woman didn't glare or exit angrily. She did quite the opposite. She peacefully and politely approached me. Got in my face again, but tenderly.  Looked me straight in the eye with a sincerity, "excuse me, I'm sorry" she said. Shocked, but I but careful not to show it.

I removed my headphones, raised my tilted head, not thinking of what else to say, I acknowledged her gesture. "Thank you", I said minus emotion. Then she left. Boys in tow. Air, even clearer.

Once she was gone, my daughter and I looked at each other. "Wow" we both said. I immediately asked, "what did you learn from that whole experience honey?" That was a good lesson. What an experience. In the end, my daughter, those boys learned from the woman and I both that day.

Had an appointment with an ENT (Ear, Nose, Throat) doctor. This was my first time seeing this doctor or going to this office.

I sat in the waiting room nervously. Usually my husband accompanies me to my medical appointments, especially all the "first time" ones.

As I was filling out all the tedious and confusing paperwork (keep in mind, I'm a stroke survivor), I was not only wondering if I was wise and accurate in what I was writing and, if I this office could "bill me".

With the medical insurance my accountant husband's company provided, our co-pay is a whopping $60.00! Calculate that with 3 or more medical visits each week, coupled with all the weekly prescription refills AND monthly medical bills overdue.

While there, I felt warm all over. The longer I waited (which was over an hour by the time I was seen), the more nervous I felt. During, I didn't feel too comfortable with my experience thus far, and I hoped that I would at least LIKE the doctor I was scheduled to see.

Finally my name was called. The staff who called my name failed to make eye contact. This always cause me pause. As I was placed in the room, more questions were asked, and she still never made eye contact. I realized some people are grossly socially challenged, but damn, I had to pay $60.00 for you not to even look at me?!

Speaking of which, luckily, they were able to call my husband (who goes into the office on my non-dialysis days) to get the payment via credit card by phone. They wouldn't bill me. And I rarely have money on hand.

So, the staff eventually left (without making eye contact), and I waited several more long minutes. The doctor eventually enters. Cheerfully and making courteous eye contact, thankfully. I like him already. He comes in confidently and competently. Immediately he does would ENT's do, I suppose.

He proceeds to check my ear (which I had a horrible ear infection that prevented me from swimming for a while). Noticing the infection, he cleans my ear out, suggesting I continue prescription my other doctor prescribed.

But what I was there for, was that since my renal condition (since 2014), I've had awful breath issues. Frequent brushing/flossing/cleaning tongue/mouthwash/gum/mints...to no relief.  I've always been very meticulous about my oral hygiene, so any challenges with my mouth is concerning.

He stated that this was common in renal patients, especially with all the medications. And there was not much that can be done. Arrgh!

I like him, but was hoping he'd have some sort of solutions. Fortunately he is referring me to a Gastrointestinal doctor. Again, hoping for an immediate remedy to my bad breath.

Yesterday while out on our typical day at a family-oriented facility. I was walking to my vehicle - parked in the handicapped area. A bit of an older gentleman was slowly but barely walking assisted by his cane ahead of me. Remembering what moments were like when I was re-learning how to walk, I patiently slowed down as not to make him feel rushed or uncomfortable or embarrased.

As I carefully inched my way passed him, I noticed his shoes were untied. Not wanting him to possible trip, I brought the untied laces to his attention and even offered to tie them for him.

To my surprise, he sternly turned around, facing me and said matter-of-factly "no! I want to trip, fall and break my neck and die!"

Whoa! I did not know what to say. Rarely am I speechless. I paused. Searched my thoughts. Wondered if there was anything I could possibly say to this stranger that would show my intentions. Reveal my sincere compassion and in reality, my understanding.

I have felt that exact way countless times. Difference is, he had the bravery to say what he was thinking and what he was feeling without caring what I felt or thought. As I made my way to my vehicle, I took a deep breath. I both admired his honesty and wished him well - in my mind.

Suffering is something that we all experience at some point in our lives. Reality though is, some of us have suffered in unthinkable ways. Ways that often have us hoping for means to be out of misery. And this does not mean we do not appreciate life. It mean that death seems to be the only relief.

From personal experiences, instinctively I knew not to tell that man how to or not to feel. What to or not to believe. That's the last thing a person who is obviously suffering wants to hear is someone else's opinion on how they should feel, be or think.

May he find peace - his way.