No Resolutions Necessary

As the New Year appears right around the corner, I can honestly say, for 2012, Thank God That’s Over.  And I mean, I pray thanks to God that this year is over.

Not that I’ve had a bad year, mind you, but I believe I have walked through the Valley of the Shadow of Death.  And true to His Word, God was with me the whole time.  I came out of that walk with a new purpose. 

I started having severe health problems in June – ending up with two separate (but identical) bacterial staph infections of my heart.  In between these very serious, life-threatening illnesses, I got well enough to have my over-grown kidneys removed (and the one little cancerous cell, to boot).

After six weeks of recuperating from surgery, the second staph infection attacked, damaging a little hole in my heart.  I ended up having open heart surgery to patch that hole and to clean up bacteria that had settled on one of my heart valves. 

I think it’s possible that everything that happens to us, happens for a reason – a gift, a lesson, a blessing, something positive.  I have a new attitude – and that is an attitude of gratitude.  I am thankful that everything happened because it changed me.  I am kinder to friends and strangers.  I am patient with people who struggle with little things (like the lady in front of me at the store, fumbling with no success to get her receipt and cash and change back in the appropriate places in her purse – mainly because I know that I am the next lady in line that is going to be doing that same finger dance until I am so frustrated that I just toss the whole wad into my purse knowing that the next time I have to pay for something, I’ll have to wrestle wrinkled receipts, twisted dollars, and loose change before I get to my wallet).  I talk to God more.  I ask when I need help.  I am thankful for the help I receive.  And I praise God for being so awesome.

Bring on the new year!  I have no resolutions to make.  They were made for me by circumstances beyond my control.  I came out of the shadow of death and feel like I’m standing on top of a mountain.

So, bring on the new year and whatever roller-coaster ride it becomes!  I’m on it!

Temporary Lull

I know some people still check out my site - but lately I've just not had the creative wit in me.

After my summer of in-and-out hospital visits and surgeries, I have a different perspective on life.  Mostly, I am exuberant to even be alive.  I had a couple close calls this summer, and I remember having absolutely no energy but wanting desperately to clean my house and find my Will.  Silly.

I have much to be grateful for - in particular, my new grandbabies, Hunter and Abigail.  But I've only seen them three times in the last four months.  It's been sad and wonderful at the same time.  I am in awe when I see them and my heart breaks when I don't.

Recently the son of an older friend came to my door with her Christmas card in his hands.  She died on December 11, suddenly and without lingering or pain, but still.....  The loss is thick.  She was my mother-in-law's best friend and when she passed away, she became my best friend.  20 years older than me.

There has been a lot of loss lately - added to that the overwhelming loss in the United States with the deaths of 20 children in Newtown, Connecticut this week.

The pen just isn't flowing.

We need healing.  Lots of healing.

My Grace

I was reading an interview with writer Anne Lamott in the November 24, 2012 Spokesman-Review,  regarding her book, Help. Thanks. Wow. (http://www.spokesman.com/stories/2012/nov/24/divine-connections/)

I haven’t even read her book, however, I immediately realized that Help, Thanks, Wow is the way I got through this past summer.  It's how I prayed.

I learned to ask God for help, to let Him help me, to thank Him over and over, again and again, and in the end, exclaimed at the Wow that had happened to me.

This summer was a medical roller coaster of overwhelmingly emotional stress, where I started out in June with maybe the flu, then a kidney infection, then more seriously, a staph infection of the blood and heart, to maybe Open Heart Surgery. 

Then, I had internal bleeding from a tear in my esophagus that required a repair and seven units of blood.

I thought I was going to die.  (Especially when a chaplain showed up.) 

In July I had both kidneys removed (which were about 16 pounds total and not working one whit).

Late in September, I experienced the return of the same staph infection of the blood and the heart, which now showed damage to the heart,

October 5, I had Open Heart Surgery. 

I pretty much spent most of the summer crying for help.  And I mean, I was sobbing to God to help me! Please help me!  And then I would be grateful that God was embracing me and thankful to great doctors and great care.  And finally I would whisper “Wow!” because I was better.

I approached my kidney surgery with an attitude of peace and gratitude.  I knew I had taken my hands off the controls, for a change, and left it all with God.  I sailed through.  And said “Wow!”

I was blindsided in late September (I wanted to write “sideblinded”) by a second bout of staph infection of the blood and heart – and the ultimate pronouncement that I needed to have Open Heart Surgery.  That phrase fills me with trepidation, panic, and fear.  Mentally I am digging in my heels and saying No! No! No!  I immediately went into my prayer mode.  I cried out for help.  I wept.  I told God I just couldn’t handle it any more.  And He said, “Good – I’ll take care of it.”  And I was thankful for such a miraculous recovery from such a miraculous surgery. 

Wow!

~Humbly yours,  Jeanie~

More Random Thoughts

* I am 50% better than I was yesterday, when I was 50% than the day before.
* Four weeks of no lifting anything to finally being able to do the dishes tonight!  It was very satisfying.
* Tomorrow I'll even dust.
* Walked all the way around Winco - which is huge - and I think counts for one of my walks down to the school yard.
* Still anxious.  It's like I've drunk 10 pots of rich coffee.
* Still somewhat depressed; however, I am NOT going to say out loud that it might get worse.
* It's all about attitude.

When Henry Died

It was March in 1975 - my two sons were just two and not quite one years old.  My husband was stationed at a little base in Val d'Or Quebec, where he would say - where the Canadians guard the missiles and the Americans guard the Canadians, while I am fairly certain it was the reverse.

We had been in Val d'Or for almost two years.  He had been invited to go on a small Cessna plane to Hudson Bay with two other Americans (one our commander) and two French.  He turned them down because he was working that shift.

It was a big deal - big news - that they were on a joy ride in a Cessna, that they'd planned on returning Sunday.

Sunday came and went - everyone was certain they had crashed.  The whole community of both French and English were rooted where they stood, waiting, waiting, waiting for that plane to appear in perfect condition and everyone aboard would be laughing as they left the plane.

Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday - all day long, every day, encased in the sounds of helicopters over head.  Helicopters looking for that plane.  I stood in my kitchen and watched and sobbed because I knew they weren't finding live bodies.  I knew it was awful.  I knew that plane had crashed.  Which it had, on Sunday, 10 miles from the base.

My husband was one of the Airmen sent to the site to collect everything - pieces no bigger than a piece of bread.  One wrist watch that he found was flattened as if it had laid on a railroad track.

There was a memorial service for all four (one, the Commander, a good friend).  It was very formal and mostly in French.  I couldn't stand it.  It was unbearable to think that in this SMALL unit, we lost four of our men.  I was beside myself with grief.  And in front of the four caskets was a flower display made to look like a little yellow Cessna.

My husband kept telling me to get a grip.

That night (of the funeral) we decided to try to laugh about something (and be in English) - it was March 18, 1975, the night of the funeral.  We were looking forward to another funny episode of M*A*S*H.

That night, March 18, 1975, the last five minutes. . . . . . . . . . .M*A*S*H killed off Henry Blake!

The air whooshed out of my lungs and I clawed my way to my children's bedroom where I sobbed until I could sob no more.

I cannot even watch that episode anymore without tears.

In August our base was closed.  Everyone left.  We left together, and made a caravan to our new locations - several of us posted to Missouri.  One of them was supposed to be the Commander, who left a 6-month old child.

I think of those four men and the wives and children left behind.  When M*A*S*H is on; when helicopters fly over the house; when small planes circle around for the small air strip a mile down the road.

Good night, Henry.

More Random Thoughts

I have just discovered that my favorite blog site, Huckleberries, has removed me from their blog rolls. So no matter what I write here, nobody will see. One blogger that commented to me two or three years ago, made his comment based on my experiences as a young wife in Val d'Or, Quebec. He was stationed there at the same time as my husband. He checks my blog every single day even though my writing has gotten poorer and more selfish, even though I write MAYBE once or twice a month. Every day. These are my random thoughts for today:

 * I still cry at commercials, but I'm getting better (until I found out I was deleted from the list of favorite blog rolls)
* I am walking further and further away from the house, my safety zone.  Once Mechanic Man called me on my cell as I was just reaching my goal of the edge of the school field.  He wanted to know how I was doing - and this is a straight stretch of road - so I told him I was fine and turning back - there he was standing in the middle of the road watching me the whole time.
*I feel measurably better today for the first time.  Usually I don't feel like I'm making any progress at all.
* Four weeks since Open Heart Surgery and I am HERE and ALIVE.
* Still seek prayer in so many areas of my body.  When it was just dialysis, I could go on with my day like I was a normal person.  Now, every twinge is a reminder that I MIGHT still have the bacterial infection.
*Treatments (IV antibiotic) will end their daily march on my life on Veteran's Day.
* I ask for God's healing presence to surround me, embrace my body head to toe, extend to wherever I am at - home, dialysis, store.  May that healing presence constantly do miracles in my body.
*Made cupcakes today - my first "cooking" since I went into the hospital.  (Of the several things I can't do, said my doctor, I can't cook - and I thought that was ironically hysterical.)  As in ROTFLMAO,
*Grateful for all my friends and family and especially those on the HBO blog.  I've known them for four years; we've met several people many different times.  I'm hoping one of them (the beer maker and BBQer) will feed my soul with his great, great beer and his melt-in-your-mouth pulled pork.  OMG!

Believe, Hope, Peace, Gratitude

I haven't written in a long time and thought I'd just write random thoughts on my past summer.

I have faithfully been upbeat and positive over the last few years. And that attitude has paved my path. But sometimes, I just feel despondent, almost like I've lost a loved one.

* I cry when nobody is looking.

* To punish myself just a little more, I'll watch sad or emotional movies and sit there and sob.

* I am grateful to be alive. When I finally became aware that my surgery was over, I had a tube down my throat and couldn't talk - but I knew that was coming - and I smiled and gave a thumb's up sign to Mechanic Man (who took a picture of me with my phone).

* Grateful for Mechanic Man plodding through each day, for being there all the time, for keeping his emotions in check (because I think he hates this more than me), for cooking, cleaning, washing, etc., etc., while ordering me to sit still.

* Again, I'm grateful. Thank you God for hearing me. This business of handing over my worries to you is not that simple.

* I lay awake at night and think that there's been way too much stuff happening to my body.

* Then I grieve for a friend who died just a week after I was released from my latest surgery - and think about him being on the same floor.

* I grieve horribly for the missed baby snuggles with my new grandtwins. (They are 11 weeks tomorrow - I've seen them three times.)

* Very grateful to my son who came to the hospital from Moscow, Idaho with the greatest grandma gift you could ever ask for - a digital photo frame loaded with 75 pictures of his then 7-week old twins.

* Very, very grateful for a picture of my granddaughter, Abigail, with a small grin on her face. It hung on my wall at the hospital and cheered every single person who came in - including stuffy doctors.(No that was a smile; not gas).

* I take that back - my doctors are not stuffy. They are like fathers or brothers in a very loving family.

* I feel fragile - it is going away, day by day - but for a couple weeks, when I did my marathon walking two blocks and back - I walked like a hunch-backed 90-year old lady, clutching my arms in front of my chest (to protect that sternum).

* Will this endocarditis come back? (Had it once in June and I thought that made my dues paid up for extra illnesses.) Endocarditis three months later. Open Heart Surgery.

* Am I going to die?

* I'm very emotional, very introspective. I really need to master this giving-it-to-God trick. We're in a tug-a-war. He says He'll take care of it, I say but I need to do this myself, He shrugs and says He'll take care of it. Eventually I release my worries (of that moment) to Him and find peace and hope.

Fear of Words

Do you ever think that some phrases are better left unspoken. "Open Heart Surgery" is one of those phrases that makes me think a priest is going to give me Last Rites any second. Those were the words I heard when I ended up in Sacred Heart emergency two weeks ago. It was not in my itinerary to hear those words.

Hearing that I needed to have open heart surgery was scary and surreal. Actually having open heart surgery was just as scary. But when I became aware of the time on the clock and that I was in Cardiac ICU, I realized that I had survived! They had me sitting in a chair two hours later. Walking to the hallway the next day. Walking around the halls the next and then suddenly they are saying - you can go home!

What is unique to me is really routine to the hospital. I had one of the finest surgeons in the state of Washington. I had excellent care. And I even liked the food.

So, now I am home, "protecting my sternum." It's a constant in my brain. Don't lift anything, don't push yourself up by your arms, use your legs, don't cook, don't clean, don't drive, don't bowl. Just protect your sternum.

Prayers have supported me and sustained me. God has plans still for me and of that I am grateful.

It's a Miracle!

Wow! Life has gone full circle for me. My son and his wife had twins a week ago. I finally was able to get there two days later and spend the whole day holding one baby or the other, or better yet, both!

I watched my son, my baby, take on this new role of Double-Duty Daddy and was in awe. The miracle that I once carried was now nurturing his two children that was totally awesome!

We all want to be better parents than our own parents. I think it's kind of normal. But to actually see that in my son - that he showed the epitome of unconditional love to each child was breathless. He had no father to emulate and his God-like loving of his new babies came from within. Came naturally.

This is the son that caused me much heartbreak in his teens. This is the son who always tells me how sorry he is that this heartbreak happened. This is the son who, when he got married, was probably the happiest groom on this planet! This is the son, with tattoos all over his arms, who gently held a baby and cooed at him or her and told them what a wonderful baby they were. He has changed 16 diapers so far. He is holding a baby all the time.

And the same for his wife, my daughter-in-law. She could BE my daughter. She came into our lives and I swear to God that she saved my son's life.

She also was cooing and praising her babies - each separately and individually. "My little man." "There's my little princess."

What a miracle!!! They are so beautiful - all four.

I'm greatly blessed.

.

Proof that I'm a Grandma!

10 Reasons to be Grateful For Having My Kidneys Removed!

The reason I have been so absent lately is because I had major surgery, the 31st of July, to remove both of my kidneys, one of which needed to be biopsied for possible cancer in one of the cysts.

Just four weeks earlier, I had spent nine days in the hospital, not related to my kidneys at all. I felt that all the drama I went through in getting different diagnoses was just a practice run. But I wanted to approach my surgery in a different way.

So I went about finding ten good things about having both kidneys removed. I figure there has to be a positive spin here somewhere. But first, I went to several prayer circle friends and told them my prayer for me. I wanted peace and grace in this next stint in the hospital. I wanted calm and hope.

We all came up with themes in the Bible that encourage you to give up your worries and replace those little bundles of fear with peace – the kind only God can give. He asks you to release your burdens and worries and instead take His peace.

1. One thing I’m grateful for in losing my kidneys, is that I could practice what I was praying – and release the fear (of dying) to God and instead hold the peace He gives to me – His peace.

2. It is actually quite peaceful and quiet after surgery and you appreciate little things so much – like shaved ice and orange popsicles.

3. Who needs two kidneys??? We can survive on one. So – I was getting two birds for one stone! Plus, I was already on dialysis, so nothing new was happening.

4. All that space! (the kidneys weighed about 10 pounds a piece. Yes. I was hiding twins!)

5. I have a waist! I haven’t had a waist since my last baby was born – he just turned 38.

6. I can breathe!

7. To all of those who rolled their eyes at me when I said I had a back ache “because of my kidneys,” I don’t have a back ache any more. It really was my kidneys!!!

8. I can lay on my back and feel a flat stomach!!!

9. I get to buy new clothes! Why??? Because. . . .

10. I am my old college weight! 120 pounds.

Oh, and 11. It was indeed cancer but since it was contained in the one kidney, I am CURED.

I feel like I’ve spent the whole summer, recuperating. This all started June 1. I will be fully recouped by mid-September. The one regret I have is that I will miss the birth of my two grandbabies. Mommy will be induced Thursday and maybe Friday I can travel to Moscow and at least see the grandbabies.

Hopefully by September I can make longer visits and be of some help around the house – and take in dialysis at another facility – one in Lewiston and one in Moscow.

I’m in the Land of Overwhelm and Can’t Get Out

Where, oh, where have I been for the last several days, you ask. Well, I spent nine days in the hospital over various things, none of them related to my kidney disease, and a couple of them happened because I was in the hospital. Go figure.

Since the beginning of June I have not felt well. At all. I went to urgent care two days in a row. Finally, their blood work on me produced a diagnosis. I had a staph infection of the blood. And I thought I had a whopping kidney infection – and after all of this, that would be a truly trivial deal.

Once I got to the hospital, though, there were a couple days of loading me with antibiotics. Then, the morning I was going to go home – only a couple days later – they ran another test and said I needed to stay and have a second, more detailed scan. Now, I not only had a staph infection but I had a cluster of bacteria growing around my heart valve – called “vegetation.” And I can never think of the name, so I usually say I have a bloom. Sounds better.

Then I was losing blood internally – to the point that I needed to have several units of blood. My first transfusion. I was kind of hesitant to do this because it changes the antigens in my blood that will be matched for a transplant. So – now I’m different. I have seven different people’s blood in me. I wonder if I will take on different traits? And finally the hospital fixed the bleeding problem.

At one point they told me I might have to have open heart surgery. Then they said, no – the hole in my heart is tiny and something I was born with.

You know it’s got to be pretty bad when the chaplain comes in and says a prayer for you.

It led me to ponder attitude. Attitude is everything – but I could feel myself losing my grip on my positive attitude. I was thinking, “oh, dear, I could die.” And then I was trying to unring the bell by trying to erase that thought. You know, the whole, you-are-what-you-think deal. I’d press my lips together and try to think of something else.

It’s truly amazing how your reaction will domino to your partner. Every piece of news we got, we’d stoically sit there – both of us thinking – this is really bad. Both of us in a daze, as I went from one diagnosis to a worse diagnosis.

At the end of my stay, I seriously looked for cameras for “House.” I was an episode of “House” where this would go wrong, that test would show something else, another thing would go wrong – only not through a one-hour episode, but through several days.

We all get a lot of “stuff” on our individual plates. Some of us have a disease. Some of us have cancer. Some of us have kidney failure. If the Keeper of the Disease of the Week held your plate out in front of you and said, “Here, you can have THIS on your plate, or you can have THAT on your plate. Your choice,” well, I would be content to just keep my kidney failure, thank you very much. But there are others who have additional things – like Diabetes. Or cancer. And you think to yourself, wait a minute! My plate is full! I don’t need any more diseases. But some people just have more than their share.

I am so grateful to be home and not in a hospital bed. After this is all over (six weeks of daily antibiotic treatments), I’ll try to beef myself up for my next item on my “plate” and that is to have my left kidney removed because it contains a suspicious looking cyst.

My writing is decidedly boring – but this way I connect with all my friends so they know what’s happening to me.

O Fun!

I think I have enough on my plate. You know - a little dialysis here, a little dialysis there, blood pressure crashing, blood pressure over the top, blood won't clot, blood runs amok, weight rises, weight falls better than any weight loss program I've ever seen.

Now there's a spot on one of my kidneys. This was discovered during one of the gazillion (seriously) tests I've taken over the last three years to get on the transplant list. And that's another story. (I'm on the list, but since my COBRA ran out, now I'm on hold until I get Part D insurance under Medicare.)

Anyway - there is a spot in the top center of my left kidney that might be renal cell carcinoma. And then it might be just a cyst filled with blood vessels. But they can't do a biopsy because they don't want to risk the chance of spreading cancer cells. This is all in preparation for that coveted day that I get "The Call" for a new kidney. After the transplant I will have no immune system and any cancer cell - I mean ANY single cancer cell - will explode into a rampant, full-blown, fatal cancer.

So - I saw a surgeon a couple weeks ago and he is "certain" it is cancer and I need to have my left kidney removed. There is an upside to this - my kidneys are so huge that it is amazing I don't look pregnant. They are overtaken by cysts, and the cysts have cysts, and the mutilated, deformed kidneys are each about nine inches long, probably 8 to 10 pounds a piece, and are taking up valuable space for a new kidney.

I got a second opinion yesterday and this new surgeon suggested that I have BOTH kidneys removed because they are not functioning. They don't filter any of the toxins that kidneys normally filter. They don't help produce oxygen in my red blood cells. What little urine I produce is only a psychological benefit - my mind thinks I'm doing just hunky dory because I still pee - dialysis is just a thing I do every other day. I'm perfectly fine, thank you very much. Only, I'm really not fine - my insides are squashed by my bully-bad kidneys that are doing nothing but continually growing and forming more cysts.

Surgery is scheduled in three weeks. And I'm kind of scurrying around tying up loose ends because this is a pretty damned serious surgery.

Also - if this little questionable cyst turns out to be cancerous, I am on hold on the transplant list for two years. So - the clock is ticking.

It's Mother's Day!!!

It’s Mother’s Day – MY day – when I am supposed to be the Queen for the Day, waited on hand and foot, breakfast in bed with burnt toast and undone eggs and relishing every single little bite.

Only, not today – both my sons live out of town – one near Moscow, Idaho with his very pregnant-with-twins mother-to-be wife – and one who lives near Laughlin, Nevada. Both sons will have their fill of mothers today – wife and mother-in-law for one, a gazillion-million grandmothers flying in to Laughlin to gamble, hit the slots, drink fluffy low-alcohol drinks, gamble, twitter, giggle. . . . and gamble. . . their way through their day – for the other one.

But I have a little mother living right here with me – my new kitty that adopted our house as her new home six weeks ago. Unknown to us, she arrived already knocked up. And so we spent days thinking, isn’t she cute – she’s eating so much that she’s getting a little chunky.

And then. . . .

She had three kittens last week – and it gave me pause to think of mothers of another kind – animal mommies. Mothering is totally instinct for animals. They don’t even think about it. For that matter, they don’t even know they are pregnant. They don’t attend birthing classes. They don’t have showers. They don’t cry at the drop of a hat when they get panic attacks, thinking of all the future days of breast feeding, changing diapers, running after a two-year-old getting into trouble, leaving them on their first day of school, ALONE, arguing with a teenager, watching them graduate, planning their mega wedding, holding their “baby’s” first baby (all this thought in one blink while worrying about giving birth in three months). Animals don’t do any of this.

And most animal mommies are instant single Moms of multiple babies. Right off the bat! And they just go along with it. No trauma. No, oh-I-wish-I-could-go-out-and-spend-time-with-other-adults-partying-all-night. No being depressed that they are all alone in this parenting thing. They just take care of it.

My kitty is just a natural mother. She attends her kittens twenty-four/seven, and allows herself brief little breaks maybe three or four times a day. No complaints.

She did, however, MOVE her kittens from the Kitty Castle to a hidden, hard-to-get-to place in the corner of our bedroom, at the foot of the bed where I have stored stacks of winter blankets, shoes, books. There is this one small open spot just big enough for a small-sized mama cat and her three kittens to curl up and nest – unbothered by humans just having to pick up the babies and examine them. Hell no – I’m not going to do that again – she might find a place I can’t get to at all. This way, I can hang over the edge of the bed and “look” at the kittens, while petting the Mommy and telling her what a good job she is doing.

Happy Mother’s Day, Gracie Kitty!

Now, I’m going to stare at my cell phone and send mesmerizing, hypnotizing thoughts to my two sons to call me.

Oh, dang it all, I’m just going to call them myself and tell them Happy Mother’s Day. After all – if it weren’t for them, I wouldn’t have this special, be-kind-to-me day.

.

Dialysis of the Day

Not very catchy - but I have noticed a rising count of "Dialysis of the Day" themes on different television shows. It's anything. CSI people announce that the alleged criminal that they have been stalking like mad men couldn't have done it because he was with his mother "at dialysis."

Even the Undercover Boss! One of the first episodes, the boss is disguised as a lowly janitor and is in tears during a lunch break while listening to the sob story of his co-worker's daily dialysis. (But note to readers - it is truly remarkable when you find someone on dialysis that actually has a day job, or night job, or some kind of job that works around the three-day-a-week dialysis stints.)

Then there was Susan from Desperate Housewives and her outrageous unlikely Lucille-Ball-Does-Dialysis routines - getting sympathy from a cop who wanted to write her a speeding ticket and instead escorted her to dialysis; the waiter at a class restaurant giving her someone else's coveted reservation because she was "on dialysis." And the totally outrageous "facts" that Susan would have dialysis for SIX HOURS, four days a week. Highly unlikely. (See my piece on her here)

Now there is Army Wives. Claudia Joy and her diabetes. I saw this one coming. I knew when she collapsed last week, that it was somehow related to her diabetes and I saw the writing on the wall. It would be about dialysis. One thing about this particular theme song. The writers have finally given some semblance of reality about dialysis. Only squeezed down into an emotional whirlwind of uber-drama and tears in less than 50 minutes. They added a touch, though, that I relate to.

I dreaded going on dialysis. It was such a big deal, and scary, scary, scary. The needles are Ha-Huge. Two of them. The scarring at the site is ugly and your clothes change - always wearing long sleeves. I just was petrified. And I kept it inside. I didn't talk about my fears. I held it in. When I finally went in to get set up for my first dialysis treatment, it happened that my nurse has the same thing I have - polycystic kidney disease. It is the most common kidney disease - and the most common disease to result in dialysis. Next to diabetes.

My nurse was taking my history and at the end, turned to me and said, "You have been on a very difficult journey." I wanted to weep with relief that someone else really understood. So, the drama on Army Wives wasn't far fetched.

It's just that those of us on dialysis want so much to lead normal lives. The "drama" is so not our reality anymore. If we are really lucky, we have day jobs. For most of us, dialysis is a routine that we simply do, without fainting, crying, weeping, gnashing our teeth. It's simply a "thing" we do and then go shopping, or gardening, or to work, or whatever we want that has nothing to do with needles, blood, nurses, kidneys. Nothing. We are normal if but for the three or four hours we are tied to a machine.

Being on dialysis is overwhelming in the moment. We have to watch what we eat (and the rule of thumb is, "If you like it, you can't have it.") We have to worry about too much Potassium. Too much Phosphorous. Too much Sodium. We have to watch our blood pressure. We have to watch our weight gain. We have to watch our liquid intake. It's just truly all-consuming. But we all walk out the door at the end of our treatment and dialysis doesn't come out with us.

So - we'll see how Claudia Joy handles this. Dialysis is NOT the dire-dark-cloud-hanging-over-your-head thing the writers keep trying to portray.

My humble opinion.
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If Cheney Can, So Can I

Oooo, former VP Cheney made big headlines - he got a heart transplant! Good for him! It means that age is no limitation. He is 72. Can you imagine getting a heart transplant??? It boggles the brain. I think of the heart as pretty darned close to being my soul. How can you transplant a soul???

Anyway - I think I’m an almost expert on this subject.

I have officially been placed on the “list” for a kidney transplant. I have gone through a myriad of tests to prove I am ultra healthy, other than my kidneys. All transplant wannabees have to be healthy in every aspect - particularly be cancer-free. I am 62 (63 at the end of April).

I am still viable (what a relief!).

My donor can be even older which can increase my odds of getting a transplant, although it won’t be as good as a younger donor.

One thing: I am on “hold” until January because my COBRA extension runs out this summer and I can’t get Part D (Medicare) until the sign up in December. Which means, I need Part D to pay for the anti-rejection drugs that run about $3,000 a month. So - to answer some of your questions - money helps, but only in maintaining your new organ.

I am happy to be on the waiting list, even on hold. It averages three years. So, I figure I’ll be 65 or 66. And I have to live to be 90 years old because that is how I figured out my 401(k). At any rate - a transplanted organ (or at least in my case, a kidney) lasts between 10 and 20 years. (There are cases of much, much longer - and I am always amazed to meet people who have had more than one transplant.) There are about 80,000 people in the US waiting for a new kidney. There will be about 25,000 who get their wish.

By the way. The transplant center would like a list of my living donors. Like, I'm going to walk up to you - my friend - and say something like, "Hey, I love ya, man. Can I have your kidney?" After all - you have two and I only need one. So - hey, man. I love 'ya. Can I have your kidney?????

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Cat's Meow

I have been kind of Jealous of my friend, Cindy’s, cat stories. First there was Milo and all his cute little kitty ways. Then there was the appropriately named Thor. And pictures.

I wanted them to be my kitties. I miss the purring, the cuddling, the antics, and all the funny ways of a cat.

Then I thought I would focus my thoughts on imagining a cat coming to me, like a kitty magnet. {Mentally sitting in a lotus position, quietly humming – maybe even purring – and viola, the Kitty God would smile upon me and a potty-trained kitty would knock on my door.}

I have tried this mental exercise for two, three years. How old is Milo, anyway?

So, I came home from doing laundry Sunday afternoon and hear this meowing. I meow back.

Meow!

Meow.

And then appears before my wondering eyes, a little fluffy black kitty. And she LOVES me! Right off the bat. Love at first sight.

I brought her in and she made herself comfortable on the couch. Then on a chair. Then on Mechanic Man – and like Goldilocks, she found the most comfortable place. Snuggled right up to Mechanic Man’s neck, purring quietly, as if she has always been there.

Her name is Gracie (named by Mechanic Man, who adamantly stated that we had no room for a cat).

I must get a digital camera and post competitive shots of MY kitty.

Single Moms, Hear Them Roar

Nothing has incurred my wrath as much as the latest, absolutely ridiculous, bill being proposed in Wisconsin that would make it "almost" illegal to be a single mother. Slapping my face ala Home Alone's Macaulay Culkin.

I was browsing Yahoo tonight and this is what I found! Wisconsin Bill Claims Single Moms Cause Child Abuse

Ask me how irritated I am with that headline. . . . No, don't ask.

I am a single mother, having raised my sons since they were 2 and 3 years old. They are 38 and 39 now. Mature, happy, content, and unscathed by the absence of their father, who paid them no mind until they were adults. The boys have grown into healthy young men and their father missed out on a LOT. His loss, I'm sorry to say.

However, I have no regrets in any of the hundreds of days I had with two beautiful little boys, through grade school, through middle school (probably the war zone of parenting, whether it's one parent or two, or a whole village), high school, college, military, and marriage. I did it alone and I had my moments of angst - but never, ever did I feel we were less a family because their father wasn't in the picture, nor were either boy abused by having one parent.

Republican Senator Glenn Grothman should be ashamed of himself. Not only that - but he's never been married and doesn't have any children. How can he be so amazingly dense???

Maybe Mr. Grothman should spend some time with a single mother. He wouldn't be able to keep up with our very busy calendar - driving kids to school, driving kids to sports events, driving kids to doctor and dentist appointments, driving kids to karate class, taking crash courses in some higher form of math just to help with homework, tending little injuries, soothing fears, reading favorite stories, playing Yahtzee and giggling until our sides hurt, going for drives, going on picnics, riding our bikes together. I could go on and on. In the end, though, the boys turned out quite nicely for me abusing them with my lack of a husband. Thank you very much.

And what about single Dads???? I know several. You mean to say that children of single Dads are safe from the "abuse" factor because their Dads are macho males vs. children of single Moms who are weak submissive females? I could go on. . . The whole idea is just silly

Work! Work! Work!

I am employed!

After two years, and four months (but who is counting besides me), I am employed! And through a blog friend, no less. So, blogging at the speed of sound or light is not just a frivolous activity that screams Get A Life!

I have been floundering around here for way too long. I tried to call it retirement. But retirement isn't all it's cracked up to be.

I'd volunteer to take up my idle time, but I couldn't afford the gas in my car. Now I will have a little income, but not too much, to offset the low income I get from disability.

Plus, somehow being employed makes me feel like I'm worth something. I don't know what. But I'm better than being a lump sitting on the couch.

Hallelujah!

And, now I will have a little mad money for my two grandchildren, due in August. I can hardly stand myself. O the things I will buy. Toys. Clothes. Pampers. Formula. Toys. Digital camera. Toys.

Ok, you get the idea.

The Transplant Call

It happens when you least expect it. The call. The magical call in the middle of the night, where a voice says, "We have a match."

Oh, not to me. I'm still waiting. But it's magical, nonetheless. Two of my people have received the call in the last couple of weeks. By "my people" I mean, my dialysis roommates. We are regulars, meeting at the same hour in the still-dark morning, greeting each other like we're at a party. One of them calls it "the pool." As in, I'm laying around at "the pool." (I am at the mini-spa thinking that someday one of the techs will finally do my nails.)

I've come to really enjoy my companions. We have a LOT in common. Dialysis is a firm constant in our lives, and with it comes all the variables. Each day brings new adventures that our friends and family don't really hear about because it is utterly boring. Did we gain too much weight; carry too much fluid; will our blood pressure crash; will the needles "take" (and if they don't, THAT is another problem); is the flow too low; too high; will we be able to hold off the sites afterwards for just ten minutes; or will we not be able to clot and have to hold off even more (like I do frequently); aud nauseum. (Boring boring boring)

We are very fond of each other and we relate on so many levels. Yet, if one of us ends up in the hospital, we are the last to know - if ever. HIPAA laws prohibit the staff from telling us anything about the others. Yet, we talk to each other all the time and know intimate details about our families, our friends, our bodies. So, when "the call" comes to one of us, that person simply disappears. One day you are breezing in to your "chair" and saying hi to the guy sitting by his imaginary pool, and the next time, he's not there. You ask where he is - and the answer is "I have no idea."

I got that answer a couple weeks ago - and no amount of squinty-eyed looks would break the tech. Four techs in a room full of 20 people (well, now 19), and she doesn't have a clue. Give me a break.

It was only later, when I was leaving with one of my other cohorts, when he told me that the pool lounger got "the call."

Now - why does THAT information have to be so top secret?

I suppose the center is trying to "spare our feelings." Hearing the news that someone received a new kidney has mixed responses. You are happy for them. And immediately sad for yourself. And then you feel guilty about feeling sorry for yourself. And then you close your eyes so nobody can see the sudden tear that slips out. It's a conundrum.

And then some new person arrives and sits in Pool Man's chair. Scared out of their mind. Until you say hi, welcome to my mini-spa.

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Looking Through the Mirror

I am looking to my children, watching as they experience the thrill and excitement and pure happiness at expecting two babies in six months. I remember the days, when I carried this son, my second pregnancy. The thrill when I felt the first kick. The moments when I was washed over with speechless awe that a LIFE was growing inside me. I am almost envious. There are things that you permanently give up when you age - being pregnant is one. Carrying inside you a miracle; total and absolute proof of God. I always felt sorry for men when I was pregnant. They have no clue what that is like, only on our word.

I am watching my 30-year-old niece, as she spends her second trip to the island of St. John, temporarily trying out living and working in the island paradise until June. How exciting that is! Isn't it wonderful to have such freedom and spirit as a young woman without hindering yourself with a husband and children. I'm a little envious of her, too.

No - I wouldn't give up my two sweet babies, now men in their 30s. I wouldn't ever give up the miracles I carried.

I "borrowed" my niece just before her 13th birthday and took her to the Oregon coast for a week. My sons were grown and out of the house. She was the daughter I never had. She turned 13 while in my care - my brother kind of sweated that one - afraid I'd return with a yucky snotty Teenager. No matter how I influenced her, she grew into a remarkable young woman, very independent, with goals and dreams and wishes.

I want to live vicariously in both my daughter-in-law and my niece - two young women I love with all my heart. I also want to hold them high, applaud the Heavens for creating such beautiful creatures. Thank you, God, for life, children, adventures, living.

I am looking in the mirror at laugh lines, crinkles, and creases. Signs that I have lived somewhat a happy life. I'd like to do it again. I can't call it a "do over" because I just want to do it again! Maybe I'd put a summer island in there somewhere but I'd also include the wonderful days of new motherhood. It never, never leaves you. They are always my babies.

Being Outrageous!

We need more fun in our lives. I keep wanting to do something silly and outrageous. Like, skip down the sidewalk. Can you imagine? Picture driving down the street and then glancing over at a gray-haired woman, skipping and laughing beside you. I wonder if I can do it.

Or, hanging your head out the window while you are driving - grinning like a happy puppy basking in the breeze.

Then there is my friend's granddaughter who "flies" to grandma's house from the back seat of the car.

A few weeks ago, I went for a walk with the Spokesman Review's (Spokesman-Review)Paul Turner and we greeted people, all strangers. Their reactions varied from suspicious caution to total I-don't-see-any-strange-weird-people avoidance of eye-contact to hesitant greetings back. It was fun. We got a lot of smiles back but generally everyone was self-aware, looking at their cell phones, looking at the space in front of their shoes, concentrating on their navels.

But wouldn't it be fun to wave at people, while you are at the light, acting like the person on the other side is your long lost best friend from First Grade, and then greeting them with "It's Great to See You!" and smile big, and keep on walking. I might get more reaction.

I've got to go - I'm going to take my car through the car wash and then scream like a wild woman when the spidery webs wash over my windshield. YaHOOOOOOOOO.

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Life! What a Roller Coaster Ride!

A good family friend called me this morning to tell us her husband had a severe stroke yesterday. My heart just broke. Bud and Lucy are Mechanic Man's parents' best friends. They became our surrogate parents when his mother had a very similar stroke. My first thought when Lucy called was suddenly filled with images of nurses, doctors, hospitals, nursing homes, pneumonia every other day, lost weight, lost spirit, the total devastation and sorrow and tragedy. It was overwhelming.

I hate to think of Bud being incapacitated. He's such a goofy, free-spirited guy. They have been selling antiques at swap meets and antique shows for years. He's been famous for setting up their table and then wandering around the other vendors and coming back with four or five items to re-sell. Half the time, they would load up more than they brought with them.

At the same time, I am gearing up to welcome my first grandchildren into the world. Life. It's a ride. You go up and down - but you go!
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Is Your Spouse a Strange Bedfellow????

Just curious. Are you sleeping with a politician??? Haven't you been warned about how "politicians make strange bedfellows"?

I for one think I'd kick him out of the bed.

Take our former Mayor of Spokane, for instance. Please take her. Queen Mary [Verner] defines a strange bedfellow. What's that??? My definition of a Strange Bedfellow is a greedy, slimy, snake that is selfish, egotistical, smug, snobbish, money-grubbing (literally money grabbing) and hulks around like a vulture, feeding off the poor and meek.

If I were her spouse - I'd kick her out of my bed!

Why would you even want to go into politics if the prerequisite (it appears) is to be a Strange Bedfellow?

I think they (and specifically HER) should go lay in the bed they made and close the door! Forever!

We village people have much more integrity in each of our humble homes than all the strange bedrooms combined. We'll take care of our country just fine, thank you.

Now go back to your coma.

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Live, Life, Love

There are so many reasons I am looking forward to 2012 - don't worry! It isn't going to end! I have too many reasons to have 2012 be the best year ever in this century.

For one thing, I have had about 12 years of loss. Little losses. Big losses. But losses, nonetheless. My firm lost one of its big money-maker attorneys, when he left just before the end of the year, in a huff, taking several attorneys with him along with million-dollar clients. The first year following this event saw several losses - of coworkers who had become friends - of clients that I had become attached to - of a whole branch office in Moses Lake, where I had most of my work, along with more friends and beloved clients. By the end of that first twelve months, we had lost over 30% of our people.

Then Mechanic Man's mother had a stroke - and for three years, she was here but she was not. Another loss. More poignant than all the others because we MISSED her while we cared for her. Living, but not living, personality lost, wit lost, spirit lost, heart lost.

A year after that my own mother suddenly became ill and at only 79 she lost her will to live and died three weeks after being told she had cancer. Double loss. Having her just quit, just give up, was another loss, followed by the very real loss at her death.

Then back home to taking care of the shell of the woman who was my "other" mother.

Followed quickly and overwhelmingly by the loss of my kidneys.

The recession.

Continuation of the consequences of failed kidneys, dialysis, losing my job, which was everything to me.

Now we reach a new year and with it the great news that I will become a grandmother for the first time.

The wheel of life turns, and makes a full circle! Life is coming!