Why I Made The Cage

The Cage exists for the same reason Ruby Vanguard exists.

During a severe episode of vasculitis, I was in constant pain—exhausted, confused, frightened, and desperate for clear answers. I kept working at first because it gave me something to focus on besides the pain. But eventually, the illness overtook my ability to function at work. Distraction was no longer enough.

Then a coworker told me about a music app called Suno. I began experimenting with it and writing lyrics for my first songs. What started as curiosity quickly became a way to document what I was living through.

I wrote about pain, fear, medical uncertainty, isolation, anger, and the slow work of healing. Before long, I had enough songs to make an album.

But The Cage was never only about me. As I wrote, I thought about anyone facing something painful, frightening, or life-changing—especially someone who feels unheard or alone. I wanted the music to say: you should not have to carry this kind of ordeal by yourself. Maybe you will hear part of your own story in these songs. Maybe you will feel less alone.

When the album was finished, I stepped back and listened as if I were hearing it for the first time—as a stranger, not its creator. For a beginner, I thought it sounded good. More importantly, I felt it was honest. Honest enough to share. Honest enough to distribute.

That was the beginning of Ruby Vanguard.

The Songs

Something’s Wrong

Looking back, I think I knew something was wrong before I was ready to admit it.

It began with a freckle-like rash that itched. At first, I thought it might be ant bites. But as the hours passed, it spread. My family thought it might be a rash or shingles, and I wanted to believe it would go away on its own.

I was in denial. I knew something was wrong—I just did not want it to be true.

Static / No Answers

By this point, I ended up in the emergency room with severely swollen feet and legs and a rash full of pustules running up and down my legs.

The doctors did not know what it was. They treated the immediate symptoms and told me to see a general doctor. But it got worse, and I returned to the emergency room. My blood pressure and blood sugar were dangerously high.

One doctor said it might be vasculitis, but he was not sure because he had never seen a case that severe. Eventually, another doctor diagnosed vasculitis and referred me to a rheumatologist.

Then came the lab work, a high dose of steroids, a dermatologist, a skin biopsy, more rheumatology appointments, and eventually a kidney biopsy. I was moving from doctor to doctor while trying to understand what was happening to my body. It felt like no one had the complete picture, and the doctors were not always communicating with one another.

It was static. Noise. Questions without answers.

Raging in My Veins

This is my favorite song on the album because it captures the most intense part of what I lived through.

The pustules became larger, clustering around my ankles. I had to pop them just to walk. I could not sleep because the pain was so severe. Everything hurt, but nighttime was the worst—when I needed rest and there was nowhere to hide from it.

There were nights when the pain felt unbearable. Still, I held on and made it to the next day.

I was not only dealing with the illness itself. I was also dealing with the side effects of the medication, especially the steroids. People sometimes told me I did not look sick. They could not see what I was hiding beneath knee-high compression socks—the circulation problems, the sores, and the pain.

I used to believe nothing could surpass the pain of labor. I was wrong.

Carry This Weight

At this point, I was taking several medications, including insulin, prednisone, and other steroids. I began gaining weight while trying to manage the illness, the treatments, and the demands of still working.

The title fit on more than one level. I was carrying physical weight, emotional weight, medical uncertainty, and the pressure of trying to keep going.

I was also losing my sight. Cataracts developed quickly because of the medication. I was sick and becoming almost blind at the same time.

The pain had begun to ease by then, which is why this song is not as heavy as “Raging in My Veins.” But the burden was still there.

Still Rising

The music begins to move toward hope here.

I was starting to improve, although I was still uncomfortable, still going to doctor appointments, and still waiting for my body to heal. Recovery was not quick or simple—but I was moving forward.

I was still rising.

Caged, Not Gone

The illness was beginning to subside, and things were looking more positive. I was still recovering and still dealing with pain, but not with the same intensity as before.

I was no longer trapped in the worst part of it.

The cage had not disappeared completely—but neither had I.

Don’t Waste This

“Don’t Waste This” is a reminder not to put off the things you want to do because you never know what life may take from you—or what may become harder later.

During my illness, I thought about simple things I wanted to do, especially going to the beach. I stopped driving because I could not see well, and I was stuck at home. My husband was stuck at home with me too, and I felt guilty about that.

But this song is also upbeat and hopeful. I was grateful that the vasculitis had begun to subside. I was still healing, but I was here.

It is a reminder to live now. Go to the beach. Make the call. Create the thing. Love the people in front of you.

Don’t wait until life gives you permission.