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RANCHO RESORT
MAINTANANCE POSITION

On a clear morning in May, Imelda Easton feels energized and strong. She's driving to Ash Canyon in the Huachuca Mountains, just south of Sierra Vista.

She and her sister, Aida Aguilar, are on their way to Our Lady of the Sierras, a shrine where images of Jesus Christ and the Blessed Mother tower from a hillside dotted with oaks, shrubs and grasses.

The sisters do not let a day pass without calling or seeing each other. Always close, they are inseparable since Imelda's kidneys shut down three years ago because of a rare autoimmune disorder.

Some days the 46-year-old is sapped of strength, finding it difficult to get dressed. Some days she has trouble catching her breath, leading to wheezing spells and trips to urgent care. Some days she is nauseated, unable to hold down food.

And some nights her body cramps, the pain making her yell and waking her husband, Andrew Evans, who massages her 140-pound frame to relieve the spasms.

But on extraordinary days, like today, Imelda feels she can do anything.

At the canyon, the sisters make their way up a steep path marked by the Stations of the Cross. They pray along the way.

Aida jokingly refers to her sister as a billy goat. Imelda appears to bounce up the rock-and-brick path. Images of angels and saints mark the hill, including Santo Niño de Atocha, a pilgrim baby Jesus believed to be a miracle worker for the sick.

Imelda, a Roman Catholic, believes in miracles, but she realizes she is living on borrowed time. Eventually she will need a new kidney to stay alive.

"I get to see the miracles every day, starting with me just getting out of bed and going to work," says the information technology operations supervisor for Pima County. "Every day that I can function and be with my family is another miracle."

Imelda believes in Western medicine. She reads up on her illness and follows the instructions of her medical team.

So she surprised even herself by trying lunar therapy sessions at a giant moonlight collector in the desert west of Tucson.

Skeptics, including medical doctors, say there is no proven benefit to doses of intensified moonlight, and that any benefit patients perceive is strictly in their heads. Imelda doesn't understand it, but she believes it has helped her.

"I feel like there is light at the end of the tunnel," she says. "It is spiritually and emotionally uplifting."

Racing heart was clue

In April 2005, Imelda's heart raced for two days. She suspected something was terribly wrong and braced Andrew for bad news as they left their home in the Midvale subdivision and headed to an urgent-care clinic.

She was ordered to go to Tucson Medical Center's emergency room because her blood pressure was critically high, 180/120.

She was in kidney failure. The diagnosis was Wegener's granulomatosis, a rare autoimmune disorder that shut down her kidneys.

Imelda began hemodialysis after a shunt — a passageway for the treatment — was painfully placed into the side of her neck. She was hooked up to an artificial kidney machine for six hours a day.

"I was worried as hell for her," says Andrew, a truck driver. "It was a shock. It took my breath away."

Imelda felt she was drifting into the twilight zone, wondering how this could be happening to her. It was days before her youngest son's first Holy Communion, and she wanted everything perfect for her boy, Eric DaWalt, who is now 11.

But Eric's world was wrapped around his mother's. All he could think about was her, wondering if she would survive.

Imelda's oldest son — Brandon Gonzales, a soldier serving in Iraq — was on his way home on leave. When he arrived at TMC, Brandon found someone far different than the vigorous woman he remembered.

He offered his kidney, but Imelda declined. He was a soldier who faced combat; she knew he needed to be extremely fit to stay safe and do his job.

Started blood dialysis

Once out of the hospital, Imelda received hemodialysis at DaVita Tucson West, 1780 W. Anklam Road. The center is the largest in Tucson with 40 stations, double the size of most.

She was depressed and found it difficult not to cry during treatments. She drove herself every Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday, and was tethered to a mechanical kidney for four hours while it removed toxins and waste from her blood. A machine can only do 25 to 35 percent of what a healthy kidney does.

Her body reacted harshly to the invasive procedure. She turned cold and suffered from cramps. The withdrawal of minerals left her unbalanced and so exhausted she gave herself pep talks just to reach the door after treatment.

At the door, she pushed herself to the parking lot and into her truck, where she sat for minutes, gathering strength to drive home.

She hid the suffering from Andrew and Aida, who both offered to drive her to treatments. "I'm old school," says Imelda. "You need to learn to do for yourself and deal with what comes. You have to depend on yourself."

Three months passed and the shunt in Imelda's neck became infected. She underwent surgery at TMC and had another shunt placed in her chest.

Her insurance coverage did not cover all her medical expenses, so she and Andrew tightened their budget to come up with $800 each month for medication. It put a strain on their lifestyle and their nerves, but Aida came to their rescue. She was their sounding board and helped with mounting bills in grim times.

Imelda tried to make sense of it all. She no longer saw herself as a strong, positive, sexy woman. She tried not to give up, but some days she woke up beaten.

She learned treatment

In 2006, Imelda decided to take control of her care.

The thought of no more dialysis centers, of having the freedom to do treatments at home, at work or even on vacation, made her smile.

She went to classes to learn about continuous peritoneal dialysis, which includes strict sanitary steps and record-keeping of daily weight and blood pressure. She underwent surgery to install a catheter in her abdominal cavity for the treatment.

Rather than using a machine to filter and clean the blood outside the body as in hemodialysis, peritoneal all takes place within the body.

Imelda began the dialysis by doing five 30-minute treatments a day. Her first began at 6 a.m., her last at 10 p.m.

After a year, she switched to automated peritoneal dialysis, which means she hooks up to a machine before she goes to sleep and undergoes dialysis during the night. She does one other treatment when she gets home from work.

In addition to her treatments, Imelda takes six pills daily and Andrew injects her thigh three times a week with Epogen, a medicine that helps produce red blood cells in kidney-failure patients who are anemic.

She wants transplant

Imelda has been waiting for a cadaver donor for three years. The average wait in the state is four to five years, while the wait from a living donor is months.

Two years ago, Andrew was the first to step up and get tested to be a live donor for his wife, but he was not a blood and tissue match. "It was very hard for me because I could not help her," he says.

Andrew's father tested and was a match, but he suffered a heart attack in 2003 and would not be considered for the surgery.

Imelda's cousin, Freddy Castillo, 47, a local contractor, also tested and was a blood match but his antibodies were not compatible with hers. He and his wife, Penny, 43, a teacher for the visually impaired, have been touched by Imelda's struggle and both have committed to donate their organs upon their deaths.

Friends still ask Imelda to allow them to get tested, but she decided to receive a kidney from someone who dies because she does not want to put anyone in harm's way.

"I'm excited for her to get a transplant. She can be healthy again," says son Eric, who is in middle school. He prays each night before he goes to bed: "Please God, keep my brother safe in Iraq. I want him to come home. Please help my mom get a transplant soon. Thank you God for helping us."

Husband's support

Some days Imelda wonders when Andrew will get tired of all this.

"I tell her I am not going anywhere. I love her," he says. "She is the only woman who made my knees go weak."

In turn, Imelda says Andrew is genuine and as strong as oak. "He makes me laugh to the point where I forget all my problems," she says. "He is a good person and a very handsome cowboy."

Renal failure is teaching Imelda about grace, humility and compassion, she says. She realizes, more so now, that what truly matters are the people she loves and those who love her.

She can't help but worry for Brandon, 23, a sergeant with the 4th Infantry Division who is serving a second tour in Iraq.

She cherishes every moment with Eric, and relishes his joy at playing the violin and mariachi music. She wants to be there for his concerts and soccer games.

She wants to host barbecues and card games. She wants to go country-Western dancing, like she was doing when she met Andrew six years ago.

And when the day comes that she can no longer move, she wants it to be not because her body is broken from disease, but because she's all danced out.