kidney redux

This morning I had the unique opportunity of spending several hours with my brother, talking about our kidney transplant experience. We were asked to participate in a video our hospital is producing to educate potential donors, recipients and their families about the process.

We were one of 4 success stories that wanted to share.

That in itself is very cool.

I had no that was only the beginning.

Dave and I don't talk about the transplant anymore. While it was front and center for months, now its an occasional reference or offhand joke. Which is great. Life moves on.

And while we were in the middle of it we talked more about next blood test dates or messages from transplant coordinators or poster design (for our operating room signage). We spent almost no time looking back on how we got to this point, how it felt, where we'd end up.

We had the chance to do that today.

I got to tell him he was my hero, that his lifelong perseverance against chronic illness and challenges most of us will never know, is awe-inspiring.

We talked about getting to the point of needing a transplant. Of the realities of dialysis. Of how he'd never known what it was to feel healthy until now. He'd lost his first kidney to cancer at 9 months, the other was irreparably damaged by radiation and from then on his body was always comprised.

I knew that the gout he'd be suffering from for 20 or so years was gone. I found out today that the severe osteoporosis he'd had was significantly better.

Both thanks to his new kidney.

I watched the entire tech crew laugh and sometimes groan at his puns and swift comebacks. He also entertained them by wiggling his ears which is much harder than it sounds.

He learned that I'm a good speaker. It was nice to see my brother impressed with something I can do.

We discussed the tremendous differences we learned to navigate and accept in the months we spent constantly in touch. I'd forgotten how furious I'd become when he likened his surgical team to finding a good car mechanic. Fortunately I can laugh about that now.

And we acknowledged how sick he was.

He was really sick. So sick that I was terrified if the transplant didn't happen in a timely fashion it would've been too late. I couldn't say that out loud before. But now that it's part of the past it felt good to let it go.

We talked about how grateful I was that I was actually able to help after years of feeling increasingly helpless.

And we talked about miracles. Cynical as I can be, I will never stop considering transplants a miracle. That a life can be so dramatically, so positively, so immensely changed. That surgeons and doctors and nurses and coordinators can make this happen, that a kidney can be taken from one body, transplanted into another and make itself at home.

The one thing I didn't say this morning that I wished I had: while this transplant changed his life immeasurably, it also changed mine.

instructions

I like knowing.

Being able to be prepared.

Having a sense, whenever possible about what to expect.

In life that's not always an option, but wouldn't it be nice if, for more run of the mill, mundane situations, instructions were available?

For example, this morning I went for a mammogram. I wish I'd known in advance that I'd be wearing a short hospital gown—I would've shaved. A quick aside: I'd also love to know why this is a no pants allowed procedure. Seriously, my breasts, and I assume this goes for most if not all women, are not below my waist. As long as I'm asking questions, why the short gown for mammograms? Both long and short were available, with a "mammograms" label above the short bin. Do bare legs garner a better test result?

A note posted in the dressing room about whether the gown opening should be in the front or back would be a nice touch. Out of 3 of us in the waiting room, 2 opted for the front, one chose ties to the back. I kept my boots on, as was instructed. The back tier opted for no shoes but stayed in her socks.

A simple notice in the waiting room about what the test actually entails is a good idea. Translated into several commonly used languages.

Also, a printout of what to do after the test is over would help. I discovered, from the technician of my bone density scan, that if a problem with the mammogram had shown up, they would've known right away and one no longer needs to wait in the waiting room for an all clear signal. Glad I asked, I could've still be sitting there in my short pink, tied in the front gown.

A little forethought could save minor anxiety and countless small questions. For me, it's a worthwhile endeavor.

extraordinary vs. everyday

I have been lucky enough to have done some extraordinary things in my life.

Become a writer.

Publish my lifelong dream book.

Donate a kidney.

I happily (painfully, enthusiastically, worriedly, nervously, animatedly, obsessively) wrote about all of the above. They were events, situations, circumstances that aren't run of the mill and it helped, when going through things I'd never imagined, that stretched and challenged me in ways I wouldn't have thought possible, to write through it all.

Writing helped me.

And sometimes my words helped others. Patients hoping for health. Creative souls who wanted to believe they could write but didn't have enough confidence to try. People struggling in one way or another with the messiness of life. Reading about my experiences put words to feelings and situations so many others grapple with.

I stopped writing. It didn't feel like what I've been doing warranted time and attention.

But maybe I was wrong.

Maybe small things can resonate as powerfully as the monumental.

Maybe instead of feeling lost and incomplete because I'm not accomplishing epic things, I can appreciate that every day, every single day, there are incredible, soul-nourishing moments.

And maybe that's what life is all about—not just the monumental accomplishments but everything there is.

Like seeing my mom looking better this Thanksgiving than she has in years.

Playing catch, as the sun set, in the pool with Jon, Iz, and Jack.

Having puppies head butt me with excitement when seeing me when I walked through the door.

Melting back into being home after being away.

Sitting with how much I love and appreciate my family.

I am grateful for the extraordinary. And learning to be even more so for the everyday.

Diving Into One Fish

Fun. Creative. Urban.

Three apt words One Fish creator/designer/owner Colin Cowley uses to describe the fresh take on fashion he explores in his new clothing company, which launches its inaugural line today.

I was lucky enough to talk to Colin about his vision, his plans, and his backstory right before the world discovers One Fish.

What was your inspiration for your designs?

Inspiration comes from all over. New York City. Fashion culture. Product design that I like but then think about what I’d change. I’ve always been obsessed with colors and shapes, contrast, brights and darks.

I don’t sit down and create on a regular schedule. Creativity comes in chunks. I start with one big shape and see what happens. One idea can turn into a series that can take a month to work through.

What’s the significance of the One Fish name/logo?

I did a huge 10-foot mural in college—and the only part that people talked about was the 2-inch fish in the corner. That fish earned his name and image as the company logo.

Who do you imagine wearing One Fish?

I originally planned to cater to the urban hipster, limited edition culture but after getting feedback from wearing One Fish t’s around the city I realized the appeal is much greater than I imagined.

What do you do besides creating cool shirts?

Anything athletic. I boxed in college. I ride my bike all over NYC. I also shoot video, for short projects, and music videos.

What’s your backstory?

I’ve lived in NYC my entire life. Drawing in my spare time has been the only consistent in my life. That and my interest in fashion. It’s exciting to join them into a new career.

How do you see the company and the products evolving?

There are so many things I want to do: sneakers, jeans, accessories. I have a specific progression in mind when I look at the greater whole. My goal is to have a fully functional line of clothing so someone can wear a One Fish outfit from head to toe.

What’s next for One Fish?

Along with the first line of t-shirts and hoodies, there’s a promo video in the works, a digital look book and a website that’s launching 11.11.12. The grand plan?  Incorporating video, photography, design and clothing into one unified vision.

Where can people find One Fish merch?

www.onefishclothing.com

thoughts about today

at HuffPo:

http://www.huffingtonpost.com/elissa-stein/hurricane-sandy-election_b_2082442.html

with love and hope for the future

an unexpected compliment

Last night Jack was working on a biography poem - a 7 to 10 line structured writing piece that got across more personal details than he was comfortable with.

His favorite part was finding adjectives to describe himself. Determined. Creative. Motivated. Aggravated (that pertained to dealing with his older sister).

He then thought of adjectives for me. We overlapped on just about all. Then he told me what I am the most is a problem-solver. Technically that's not an adjective but I'm not complaining.

He said no matter what the situation, the challenge, the stumbling block, the obstacle I always find a way to work through it to a positive outcome.

Then he said I wasn't just a problem solver, I was amazing at it.

And that I'm kind. And crafty.

How amazing to have your child take a step back and see you as someone besides the person who does laundry and gets up early to make sure everyone gets to school on time.

Yet again I know being a mom is the greatest thing I will ever do.

more stretching

Math properties.

Subject pronouns.

Weights and measures.

If it wasn't for google I wouldn't be able to help with homework.

Back to biography poems.

in a perfect world . . .

This is not one.

If it was I wouldn't have lost the entire post of written while waiting for Iz at the orthodontist. Which, it turns out, is a very good place to write. I've given up trashy magazines, my interest in words with friends is on the wane, the crowded waiting room filled with pre teens and actual teens means no meaningful conversation.

It's not like I'd written anything all that extraordinary either. But I'm committed to 40 days of getting words out.

It's still a struggle to find my voice and the flow that used to be so effortless.

But, I couldn't go to bed tonight without writing.

And so the routine starts to settle in.

today

Today was a perfect buttered cinnamon raison bagel dripping with butter.

Walks with dogs in nippy weather.

Finishing Mark of Athena.

Beading and needlepointing at a yoyo meetup in a midtown McDonald's.

Broccoli and oh so much garlic at Carmine's in Times Square.

Being in the very last subway car.

Navigating clashing emotions from everyone I was with.


Ripping apart the sweater I'm knitting. Again.

Getting 50 bags of potato chips and wax bottles of sugar syrup from my brother.

Today wasn't painting the apartment.

Taking a much needed nap.

My favorite yoga class of the week.

Going for a run.

Baking brownies.

Cleaning my desk.

Writing something meaningful.


But there's always tomorrow.

projects

Today we started painting the living room.

I'm knitting a sweater.

Beading an intricate bracelet.

Decorating Iz's room.

Writing. Well, thinking about talking about contemplating writing.

But not actually doing it.

It's a practice.

Even this little bit counts.

I pitched an article. Have an epic PTA project running through my head. A kidney book, a fiction project and menopause to tackle.

But first, there's some shoulder shaping I must get to.

growing up

Last night I ran for freshman VP of Brooklyn Tech's PTA. Several other people nominated themselves. A sizable crowd turned out to vote. I gave a 2 minute speech summing up who I am, what I've done and what I'd like to do.

I won.

I had the feeling I would. And to be honest I was a bit ambivalent about the whole thing without really knowing why.

But here's what I know today.

3 years ago, the last time I started on a PTA board, I didn't know how to run anything. I didn't want to. I was happy sitting quietly in the corner, designing posters and fliers for people. I didn't feel comfortable getting up and speaking in public. Didn't feel my ideas were valuable or worth sharing. I avoided spotlights and any responsibility bigger than what went on in my own little fiefdom.

By the time Iz graduated I was co president. Created an entire communications system. Spoke as easily to large groups of people as I would to a handful.

I shared ideas. Turned them into reality. Helped build community. Forged new relationships. Put myself out there in ways that had never crossed my mind before.

This school is much bigger. It's the largest high school in the country actually. It's daunting to dive into such an epic unknown. But I can see from here positive differences I can make. Ideas are flowing and instead of quietly sitting in the corner I'm ready to make things happen.

I'm growing up. Along with my 14 year old.

Maybe I'll start sporting an ear cuff and Dr Marten's.

beauty is in the eye of someone

I did an interview last week which ended with:

Do you think there is a vaginal cultural ideal?

I laughed out loud and we had to start over.

Did I think there's a certain sort of vagina girls and women aspire to?

Wow.

That is a thought that has never, ever crossed my mind.

For there to be a beauty standard, there would have to be way more vaginas out for public viewing. Or at least someone's viewing. Then, in comparison, those of the female persuasion would need to look at their own. And at that point, they'd need to know what they're looking at.

To be honest, I don't know many women or girls who've sent much time examining their vaginas.

To be even more honest, I don't know if that's true. I've never asked anyone if they've looked at themselves from that angle. No, wait. I did once have that conversation with a yoga instructor who leads women's empowerment groups. When she brought up the self examination part of her workshop I kept nodding my head but stopped listening. I didn't want the visual of a room full of women lounging on pillows, staring at mirrors held between their legs stuck in my head. Just that thought made me way too uncomfortable. Looking back, I'm not even sure that's what she said but I was so afraid it was where she was going I couldn't go with her.

I've given birth, vaginally, twice. Wrote a book about menstruation and spent three years talking about nothing else. But vaginas as a topic to discuss, explore, examine?

Haven't gone there.

Yesterday in Barnes and Noble I came across: Vagina, a New Biography sitting on a front table. I mentally made fun of the subtitle, dissed the cover design, and dismissed the author without knowing having read word one of her new tome.

Because I was uncomfortable. About an integral part of my body. Throughout history  this discomfort, this non awareness, this hiding from an important part of ourselves,  has gotten us in trouble.

Lysol as a douche?

Home abortions?

Scented tampons?

Maybe it's time to take a deeper look. Not at my vagina necessarily. But at how to be more open about something that's usually not a conversation starter.

speed writing

I barely thought about writing in the rain, sore throat, too much laundry, after school play dates, new book release, design challenge sort of day.

But that's ok.

Tomorrow, who knows.

oops I did it again

This is the third time I'm starting a 40 day writing commitment.

Third time's a charm.

Good things come in threes.

I don't know of a third thing to add to this list but I suppose saying this time is the right time works for me.

Habit.

Routine.

Part of my every day.

And once the writing starts, the projects and ideas and creativity follow.

That's the plan.

finding a place in the world

I spent yesterday at my first video shoot.

There were many take aways.

There are some fascinating professions I wish I knew about when I was younger.

From this side the grass not only looks greener, but it's glistening with early morning dew.

I miss being in the middle of creative endeavors.

I like being the talent, the expert, the person in the know.

But sometimes that's a lonely place. Especially for something as niche-y as menstruation. And for someone who's not a doctor or a scientist or a professor? Not many calls for my expertise.

Talking Flow though is a joy. Looking at the bigger picture. Starting, continuing, having the conversation. Yesterday though I was rusty. I used to talk this every day. It's been years at this point since it was daily conversation.

Today I'm wondering, as usual, what's next. I'm feeling, for the first time in a long time, that perhaps my Flow role isn't over. Yet. I just have to work harder at finding ways to stay involved.

an out of the ordinary day

I spent today on a video shoot.

Was fitted for wardrobe. Wired for sound. Hair slickly ironed. Circles under my eyes covered up.

When escorted through the set someone would loudly say "talent coming through" and they were talking about me.

I signed contracts. Ate a gourmet lunch. Met producers and sound engineers. APs and camera men. 

Someone held a water bottle for me. Someone else monitored whether my scarf and shirt looked ok on camera.

People in various locations watched me on a video feed.

The director asked questions and I talked.

And talked. 

And talked.

About menstruation. Vaginas. Body image. Fem care advertising. Blue liquid. Pad development. Wandering uteruses. Hysteria. Ritual cleansing.

How important it is be open. To have conversations. To feel comfortable with our bodies.

Sometimes I feel like I've never done anything that makes a difference.

And then there are times like today. 

back to square one

So my goal to write every day for 40 days lasted for 3 and then I blew it yesterday. Well, maybe I didn't blow it but I didn't write.

I don't know that I even thought about writing.

And that's what this is all about.

Making the writing so much a part of me again that I can't go to sleep knowing I haven't done it.

A part of my routine like brushing my teeth or scraping my tongue or checking my email. Things I do automatically, without debating or thinking or struggling or wondering.

And so, today I'm starting again.

Day one.

Fighting a slight cold. A bit nervous about my documentary shoot tomorrow. Re-knitting the sweater I'd already half done.

Frizzy hair.

Waiting for The Office to start.

Quietly basking in my family all doing their own things but close enough so I can feel them nearby.

kidney reminiscing

Today I had my year post-transplant check up. 3 and a half months late.

But that was ok. As a donor it's more of a formality at this point. I'm not on a regular drug regimen. I don't need blood levels checked often. I'm just healing.

Healed.

No, actually, still healing.

I still get a bit nervous heading uptown. Much emotion is tied to that mostly beige waiting room, the run down hallways, the overcrowded lab. I spent so much time there, had so many vials of blood drawn, heard such good and not so good news. But today was more of a dipping my toe back into the donation process than anything too overwhelming. 

I discovered:

the lab bathroom still doesn't have instructions on how to give a urine sample

I still could spend hours chatting with my surgeon

the people in the lab are, as always, delightful to talk to

I weigh less now than when I started the donation process (who knew my kidney was more than 5 pounds?!)

it's not crazy that I feel the effects of medication more strongly than I did before

Advil is not completely forbidden

it's time to have my done density checked

And I remembered how profoundly I changed someone's life. Even though I struggled so hard afterwards—my own emotions and anxiety knocking me flat for awhile—I am nothing but grateful that I was able to do something, to make a difference, to help change things for the better. 

a day in the life

Today started off like most back to school days. Up at 6:45, breakfasts for everyone, packed up lunches, made Rice Krispy Treats (that doesn't happen every day). Left at 7:30 to get Jack to school, then back home to walk the dogs. Met a dear friend for breakfast at 8:15 and then things took a turn for out of the ordinary.

Jack's doctor's office called to say they couldn't fill out the medical form I'd dropped off Friday until he had a physical. He needed the form for flag football practice today at three. Good news was they could see him at 11. So, I did alternate side parking unit 10:30 then ran back to school to pick him up, much to his surprise.

Zipped him to the doctor—he's now 5 feet tall, gained 5 pounds, got 2 vaccinations—and zipped him back to class in time for lunch.

Ran home to pull together options for my wardrobe fitting for the Kotex documentary project I'm thrilled to be a part of. Grabbed a garment bag full of shirts, pants, shoes and jewelry and headed to the film offices downtown where I spent 2 hours trying on a variety of sadly drab outfits. In the end we came up with a funky NYC writer ensemble that worked for the many people who needed to approve what I'll be wearing.

From there I ran home to let Iz in—she'd been locked out for 45 minutes.

Back up to pick Jack up from tryouts.

Quick pit stop at A Salt and Battery for fries.

Back home to walk the dogs.

It's been a day—a mix of ordinary and extraordinary, regular scheduled programming and experiences I've never had before. Relaxing with kids and puppies and chatting up creatives and account people.

I love days where my different worlds lap at each other's edges.

Now it's writing, baths, dinner, laundry, design work and bed.

last minute musings

Days are getting away from me—easing into my writing practice with some sort of regularity hasn't clicked yet.

But it will.

Ideas are starting to swirl.

Faintly. Quietly.

I'm feeling more grounded in myself than I have in a really long time.

Just committing to take time to write, even if just for a few minutes is a soul tonic.

Oh. That's a great name for something.

Writer's Soul Tonic. Could be a cool pen and notebook pack.

Hmmm.

Love random ideas that fit into a space I didn't know was there.

working through the rust

This getting back in the writing saddle isn’t easy. It’s creaky. It’s strange. It’s uncomfortable when writing used to flow like breathing.

I’m rusty.

Tentative.

Nervous.

Having said that, I’m relatively sure it’s all in there, waiting to be given space again.

My writing voice, which my kids say is remarkably like my talking voice and that’s what makes it so good (this unsolicited observation is one of endless reasons I’m eternally grateful to be their mother) was on hiatus for a long time. I’m not used to accessing this part of me.

I’ve been feeling so badly about myself lately—actually for a long time—about how little I’ve accomplished since my last book came out 3 years ago. But yesterday this mini refrigerator light bulb went off. All the things I thought were filler, were time fillers, were not significant enough to give credit to were actually all necessary to get me to here, a place where I’m ready to tackle something big on my own.

With FLOW I wasn’t ready. I didn’t know how to stand up for myself. To be heard and respected. To value my own opinion and worthiness. I let myself be treated like a light weight, a fluff ball, an intellectual subordinate. I gave myself no credit for who I was in the process and allowed the denigration of all I brought to the project to take over.

That destroyed my creative soul for awhile.

And I couldn’t put myself out there again.

Turns out I was putting myself out there in different ways. Building confidence, composure, conviction in who I am and what I do.

Donating a kidney was all about bravery and selflessness. Looking at a bigger picture and putting someone else first. Staring into the unknown and not running away.

Running a PTA was all about leadership and vision. Communication and organization. Creating systems and forging new paths. 

Being a more present mother was all about attention and focus. Living in the moment. Love. Empathy. Understanding. Instead of being so wrapped up in the side projects I always had going on I was able to be a better part of my family.

I’m feeling a little flow. Not much. This isn’t effortless like it used to be. I’m editing and revising as I type instead of letting it pour out with ease.

But that’s ok.

It’s still here.

Now it’s time to nurture it a bit.

day 2: ideas flowing

Menopause. Kidneys. Crazy inventions.

I'm finally in a place where I can imagine delving, diving back into a project. There were so many things to write flowing through me today but I never got to put words to keyboard.

That though, isn't my 40 day goal.

Tomorrow I start the day writing.

put one foot in front of the other

I stopped writing. Abruptly screeched to a halt something that had become meaningful and personal and enriching and sustaining.

I only started writing on a regular basis about a month or so before Flow, my last book was published. More than once I'd been asked what my writing practice was and I was ashamed to admit I didn't have one.

I felt like a phony. In spite of this big book, my dream project, about to hit shelves everywhere, I didn't consider myself a writer.

So I started writing. I set myself up with a 40 day challenge and it was hard. I'd grapple with ideas, struggle with sentences, debate whether or not I should it the publish button on this blog.

Was anything I had to say worth it? Would anyone care? Would people realize I was faking this author thing and call me out on it?

But I kept writing.

I wrote the experience of sending a dream project out into the world. The thrill, the excitement, the despair, the crushed hopes, the frustration of it not doing well, the yearning it would do better.

As that came to a close I was lost about what next. But I kept writing, often about just that.

Then I donated a kidney and my subject matter and reason for being melded again. I had purpose and substance and meaning.

I wrote that journey from even before I knew it was starting through the months and months of anxiety and joy and endless unknowns.

After that I froze. I was healing. My brother was doing great. But I couldn't write anymore.

I couldn't feel.

I couldn't create.

I couldn't breathe.

I was petrified at the most basic of levels and didn't know how to get out.

But I'm feeling that perhaps in all that time writing had become a lifeline and I'd been denying myself a vital outlet. That expression is necessary. That even when no else one is listening, it's important to hear yourself.

So I'm starting at the very beginning. One step at a time. 40 days of putting words down, of thinking, of feeling, of crying, of creating. And then who knows.

rolling oms

After chanting final oms during a yoga class last week, sun glowing through shimmering orange curtains, walls dancing vibrant sunset hues, I thought about how many times I’d be there. Not exactly there as in color, time and space, but how many times I’d been sitting up from final rest, stretching my arms over my head, breathing easier than I had been an hour or so before.

The numbers started coming together in my head.

I’ve been practicing at Laughing Lotus for seven and a half years. That in it self made me stop and ponder for a moment. Back then I’d been taking classes at my gym but knew it was time to take the next step. Or, as it felt to me at the time, jump off the yoga cliff. I’d decided to try all the studios in my neighborhood—there are many—and started at Laughing Lotus.

I never went anywhere else.

I’d found my home.

My first class had been in that same studio. Gods and goddesses radiating from murals on brightly painted walls. Sunlight streaming through enormous windows. Soundtracks that inspired and made me laugh. The thing, one thing, about Laughing Lotus is that I laugh. Often. Not something I thought came with a yoga practice but to me flowing and laughing go together.

They get it.

Anyway, back to numbers. I practice a minimum of twice a week. Which is 100 classes or so a year. Of course there are vacations, and injuries (shoulder, wrist), a surgery, sick kids. But, I generally practice more. 3 or 4 classes a week much if not most of the time.

Which, at the very minimum, brings me to over 1000 classes.

One. Thousand. Classes.

That’s a lot of yoga.

That’s a lot of chanting, breathing, moving, stretching, learning, growing, flowing.

I thought about how much more comfortable I am in my skin. About how I now move with grace in my practice when I used to be self conscious and stuck. About how easily I can do a headstand in the middle of the room when that wasn’t even a remote possibility when I started.

About how I sing loud and true instead of feeling uncomfortable and unsure.

About how much this practice has saved me when I didn’t even realize it.

About where I’d be if I didn’t take care of myself this way.

About how yoga is more than time on the mat.

About how far I’ve come.

About how far I still have to go.

About how grateful I am for the here and now.

Namaste to all my teachers—every class has been a blessing.

change is in the air

2012 has been about change.

Moving on.

Letting go.

It's not easy. But, it's often inevitable.

In the next few weeks I'll be leaving two communities I've had such strong ties to for so long. Jack is graduating from 5th grade—we've been part of PS41 for 9 years. And Iz is graduating middle school. I've been PTA president there for almost 3.

People I've seen every morning will no longer be part of daily routine. In fact, my daily routines which have been set in stone for almost as long as I can remember will be over in 2 plus weeks.

Change.

I'm not embracing it. But I'm working hard not to be frozen by it.

For me that's a huge step.

going positive - day one

It's been a long time since I've written on a regular basis. There are many reasons for this.

Otherwise known as explanations.

Or excuses.

I'm thinking/feeling it's time to leave them in the past.

The challenge is that much of my blogging/writing has been angst-ridden. Venting. Emotional vomiting (a friend shared that term—pretty brilliant).

I don't want to do that anymore. While what I'm feeling may not be all that different than before, it's not what I want to put out in the world.

I'm going positive. And am hoping that writing it will help me be it.

Could be these posts will be exceedingly short. Incredibly challenging. Different than anything I've done.

But it's time to flow. To let my creative self back into circulation.

To go positive. One day at a time.

I'm committing to 40 days of this and then?

We shall see.

writing

This is the 4th post I've started tonight. I'm not as comfortable as I used to be spilling my guts and angst and emotional anorexia into cyberspace.

I've grown.

Or perhaps I've shut down.

I'm in a different place though and while I know I want to get back to writing I'm not sure what my door in will be.

Perhaps it's not blogging. Perhaps this go round it's actually working on a project. 

I haven't done that in so long. 

Flow came out almost 3 years ago and that experience changed me. For the better in some ways but not all. I was so burnt so abused so shut up so stifled I lost my voice and my drive to start something new. 

Maybe I lost it forever. 

Or maybe I'm just scared. Scared that there's nothing there. 

I know that's not true. I have plenty of good ideas to work on. But nothing that's driving me. 

Maybe that's the difference this time. I have to make it happen from a different place. A saner place a calmer, more rational place. Flow was a nightmare in so many ways and I'm thinking perhaps the fear of repeating that experience has kept the door locked.

It doesn't have to be that way again. 

Right?

Right. 

I'm making a commitment to myself to write every day for 40 days. Doesn't have to be blogging. Could be writing, working, conceptualizing, researching. 

Creating. 

Maybe all this angst will disappear when I let myself flow again.

Baby steps.

One day at a time.

Here I go.

life with one kidney

Life with one kidney has been remarkably like life with 2 kidneys. After recovering from the surgery I haven't noticed any difference. I feel the same. Except for scars I look the same. I ride my bike just as far, practice yoga just as much, no difference in my appetite or sleep. I don't crave anything new, feel anything new—all's generally been status quo.

Until last week. When I got sick.

A week ago today a fever started that lasted for days. All I could do was crash in bed for hours at a time, too exhausted to move unless I absolutely had to. The first day my head felt like it was crushing in on itself, pounding, roaring. I drank water until my insides were swimming along with endless cups of ginger tea. By Wednesday night, I started taking antibiotics, something I'm loathe to do (my dread of medicine is a post for another day). It seemed as if a sinus infection, something I'm prone to, had snuck in and taken hold. By Thursday the fever basically broke. But something else set in. Profound, earth-shaking, soul-destroying, life-challenging anxiety.

The meds messed with my digestive system, something that normally doesn't happen. I lost my appetite. Couldn't keep food in. Spent hours in the bathroom with monstrous cramps.

Add to that, my period was late. Not that late but things seem to be shifting and my normally clock like schedule isn't so automatic anymore.

This has been me for days. Barely holding on. Desperately trying not to fall apart. Afraid I won't be ok.

I'm having a really hard time.

I realized, during a few moments today of not being on this very thin edge, that on some level I've been scared about getting sick. Would my body handle things with just one kidney? Not only that, I'm sure it's been deep inside my insides too. Surgery wasn't that long ago. My body is still learning and growing and adjusting. For a couple of hours today the anxiety stopped and I was me again. Nervous but ok.

That's gone.

I know it'll be back.

But I'm terrified it won't happen soon.