Seventy-five milligrams of Benadryl a day.

I’m a goddamn zombie. I’m not even a zombie. I’m just sleepwalking my way through the next fourteen days. I’ll do my best to be articulate, but if this ends with a run-on sentence, I’m just asleep at the keyboard.

I sat in the hallway of the interventional radiology department waiting to get a picc placed, and since I had time to think, I did, and I thought about what a strange life this is.

Not in a negative sense, or even in a positive sense, it’s just an interesting life I’m leading. CF makes my life … different and strange and difficult, and yet, good.

I’ve had quasi-rebellious periods, where I rejected everything CF related, and I’ve wanted to zap the genetic defects away with a magic wand from a fairy godmother, and while she’s around, how about being a few inches taller? And maybe red hair? Red hair could be fun…

And I also realize that CF is an odd form of a blessing, and at times, it just is. It’s nothing more and nothing less, it just is. I’m twenty-four, still in college, have a dog, have long fingers and long hair, can sing every song from the Sound of Music, and have cystic fibrosis. It just is.

I’m unsure what the outcome of this admission is. I’m hopeful, er, hopefully realistic. I spend hours working on improving my lung function, and yet showering can deplete me of my energy. I’ve had to reevaluate my physical limitations, and mentally accept that yes, I have limits. Acceptance is a process.

But can I say that I am overwhelmed with gratitude and relief for this team? They give nothing less than every ounce of support I’ve asked for, and oftentimes more. I’m blessed.

I’m under the weather, I worry about the future, I lead an odd life, and yet it’s a beautiful life, and I’m grateful.

is a miracle drug.  I’ve gained back seven pounds since I was discharged from the hospital; nearly a pound a week since I started the medicine a month ago.  I came home at a whopping ninety-six pounds; I was skin and bones.

I know a lady isn’t supposed to tell her weight, but this is cause for celebration - I’m back at one-hundred and three, and continuing to gain.  The excitement isn’t just stemming from fitting back into my old jeans (though it is nice to have a quasi figure again…) but more from the fact that weight gain coincides with an increase in lung function, and that my friends, is priceless.

So, for any CF patients out there struggling with their weight: a burrito a day works wonders for weight gain.  And sometimes two burritos is even better… 

Today is one of those days where I realize my mortality and quickly shrink away from the idea. 

Being alive is so enticing, and my attachment to my body is quite strong. 

My lung function isn’t improving, and neither is my weight.  I’m at the point of needing a transplant, and I keep avoiding the conversation, because maybe if I ignore it, it won’t exist.  My lungs will heal and I’ll live forever. 

Healthy, and blissfully unaware.