January 8, 2024
7 years now…It’s hard to believe that more than half a decade ago I was waking from a coma while my kidneys worked tirelessly (and Uruguayan medical team more so) to keep me alive. It is as surreal today as it was then, and on any other anniversary I’ve been gifted since.
The memories are paradoxically vivid and vague. I recall the period in CTI when the hospital hadn’t yet located my “coke bottle” glasses. During this time, the tubs of medical supplies appeared to be strangely placed Halloween décor and the legitimately gorgeous staff, cast members from Devious Maids. They really did end up being beautiful, but I didn’t actually see their facial features until my glasses were returned. I remember pulling at the tube that was helping me breathe because it was scratching the back of my throat. My inability to communicate the issue resulted in repeated scoldings as if my delinquency was tied to a clumsy escape effort. Unable to speak, I remember being given a clipboard with a Ouija style alphabet to which I would point and spell out what I wanted to say. Though my eyes could easily connect with the letters, my hands were seldom able to reach them. A couple of failed attempts exhausted and frustrated me, usually to the point of being nearly mute, a feat not easily achieved!
I also remember spending hours on dialysis, with my blood receiving a deep clean, and excess water being removed from my body. Despite sleeping through much of it, the resultant exhaustion was overwhelming (and I don’t think I’ve felt it so severely since). I eventually returned to a physical frame more familiar than the one with which I was admitted (which had been laden with 50 additional pounds of oedema). The journey to my ‘normal size’ wasn’t without its obstacles, however, and for fear that I was shrinking due to my failure to eat, dietary staff gave meals so massive I could barely stomach them. Even though I seldom looked forward to food, I loved seeing Celia, the angel who would usually deliver it. She, along with a special complement of doctors, nurses, orderlies, dietary, and cleaning staff will always hold a special piece of my heart.
As I approached this anniversary, a memory that felt particularly salient was the experience of (re)learning to walk in my early 30s. As a dancer, I had always enjoyed more strength and mobility than many (with some limitations, yes). In Uruguay, after “mastering” the task of rolling from one side to the other, I was given the go-ahead to “swing” my legs over the side of the bed and attempt to stand. I remember thinking to myself “how silly a command – of course I can stand”. But, having been bedridden for so long, stilled weighed down by the oedema, my first attempt was pitiful at best. My physiotherapist Sebastian helped “hoist” me to my feet, and steadied me as I emulated Tim Conway’s Oldest Man, shuffling a 90o turn to sit right back down in an adjacent chair. Once that first task was complete, we repeated the process in reverse to get me back to my hospital bed. That was day one of physio – and it was brutal. But on day two, only the railing of my bed aided my shuffling. Eventually I was up and about, using a walker to get myself to the end of my room, and eventually down the hall. Having gained the weight overnight (heavy fluid vs fat), my joints never had the chance to acclimate to the additional stress I was putting on them – they ached in ways I hope I never feel again. Today, I feel deeply indebted to Seb and Natalia (physiotherapists) and the rest of the beautiful souls responsible for helping me get back on my feet.
I often wonder why I made it out the other side of this experience, when so many I love faced a fate I hope not to fathom for a long time. The train of thought runs on loose tracks, so that’s all I’ll say about it. Today, I have only 50-60% kidney function and I often fight with my blood sugars, but otherwise I am suffering only the obligatory aches and pains of an aging [dancer’s] body. I’m grateful to be here experiencing them.
I’ve failed to learn any lessons about slowing down – I suppose that while in many ways I feel stuck, less free to roam the earth, I am speeding up on my little hamster wheel. I must constantly remind myself that happiness lies in the journey, though perhaps my wanderlust is evidence that, in my heart, I already know this. Ventures with work and study are rewarding though I’m not sure where they are headed. Ever a work in progress, I hope to be nothing else but an eternal student. Speaking of, I deeply love the connections I get to make with my students, young and not so… I’m humbled to be entrusted with developing minds and hearts and am filled with gratitude to be able to learn from every interaction. I cherish these experiences that continue to shape who I am and how I see the world. The kindness I was shown as a patient in Uruguay, the support I received from my family (I mean, 4 people who will always be very dear to me dropped everything to be by my side), and love I was so generously offered from around the globe is woven into the very fabric of my being. I don’t want to say I’m lucky to have half kidney function, but if the experience made my heart grow 2 or 3 sizes, I just might be. Strife is a peculiar gift. Along the lines of “you can’t appreciate the light without the darkness,” I continue to gather strength from experiences of weakness, positivity from disappointment, and bravery from fear. Each perfectly placed/timed obstacle in my life has gifted me wisdom and a will to keep pushing forward, so onward I go.
I don’t believe I’ve made any great waves on the earth, before or after illness struck, but I lead with love and hope that the gratitude I feel in my heart may positively impact those with whom I cross paths – whether for the little or long haul. I’m on an enduring mission to make sure that the people I love know that I love them. There are many. I suppose this near loss gave my aimless heart purpose.
I skipped out on last year’s update – because – I just did. This is entirely imperfect – self-indulgent and long winded. I say with a sincere love and a little bit of jest, that it is the Jazz music of blogging. If you made it this far, thanks for taking another journey with me. I guess I’ll see you in a year…if the mood strikes.
With love and light,
K
Homebody Movement Lab 