09/22/2025
I feel like a caged bird.
Not a neglected one, but one that’s been given everything it needs. I have food. I have clean water—well, technically I chew ice instead of drinking too much, because of dialysis. I have a roof over my head. I even have my “toys,” the things that bring me comfort and joy.
But like a bird in a cage, I can’t fly. I can flap my wings all I want—search for outlets, try to stay positive—but the truth is, I’m stuck.
That stuck-ness carries sadness, frustration, and an aching restlessness.
I’m 46 years old, turning 47 next June, and still living with my parents. There are jokes about people in their 30s or 40s who never left home, but for me, it isn’t about immaturity or laziness. It’s about survival. My life depends on power, water, and daily medical care. I can’t just pack up and hit the road, even though I dream of hiking, living in a van, or wandering the world with no plan.
That dream was taken from me. Dialysis clipped my wings.
And yet… I’m alive. How can I truly be angry at that?
So many people never had the chance to live as long as I have. I think about them all the time—the ones who didn’t make it. When bitterness creeps in, I try to replace it with gratitude.
And sometimes, I find a glimpse of freedom again. When I’m paddle boarding—gliding across the water, sun on my face, surrounded by trees and wind—I feel it. That peace. That connection to nature, to my body, to the strength still inside me. I may not be flying, but I’m floating. I’m moving. I’m free… even if only for a little while.
-TooterSue
Excerpt from my upcoming book: Definitely Different.
