Thursday, September 20, 2007

Radical ideas

I find myself between a rock and a hard place. On one side, I have the Western medical model that dictates a person must "fight" for life, at all costs. On the other side, I have people from various spiritual philosophies telling me that illness is something I can transform and be free from if I think or pray correctly.

How about the other option nobody ever mentions? How about accepting where you are no matter what? Yes, I will work to have the best quality of life possible, but when I'm ready to die, I will find peace in ending the "fight." No matter how hard I pray or think, nothing will alter my genes. Does it make me a failure because I have not been able to heal myself? How about the possibility that my genetic illness and subsequent suffering was part of the plan, a gift not a curse? Isn't it possible God knew what he was doing when he gave me this disease?

It has taken me over 30 years to figure out that my personal beliefs surrounding the beauty of my illness are quite a radical.

Here's the deal: I wrote this post and I was venting my frustrations while keeping the fuel for my fire to myself. I don't know why I would do that: the only person who my rants would hurt is too egotistical to care what I have to say anyway.

I have been trying to promote my workshop, "Ten Opportunities of Illness", and , in doing so, I have been calling lots of churches and other spiritual organizations in North Carolina. I called a church in Charlotte yesterday and found my self talking to the female Reverend. Before I could finish my sentence summarizing the workshop, she was on me. She objected to the use of the words "chronic illness" and said that there is no such thing as illness. She told me that when I use words like that I am telling God that I accept illness into my life. She went on and on (in a very judgemental and nasty tone) and basically told me that I wouldn't have illness if I understood the true nature of God and did not allow illness into my life. Oooooo. She made me so mad. I kept my thoughts to myself because it would be inappropriate in that context to argue with her.

Here's what I would have liked to have said...well, after the profanities...

If I am born with a genetic illness but there is no such thing as illness where God is concerned, who made me then?

How do you think the people in your church feel when they come to you hoping to find healing but their illness does not go away? I imagine you have stories you could tell me about the people who have defied the predictions of their doctors and walked away from horrible illness miraculously healed. For each one of those, how many do you think walk out the back door of your church ashamed, sick and more alone than ever before? You don't tell their stories because it would not support your bullshit sermons. You don't tell their stories because they needed compassion and you gave them judgement and they are still sick. You don't tell their stories because they failed in your eyes and they have left you long ago.

Ah. I feel better now. That's the real reason for my post. I'm tempted to say the name of the church but I'll have to think more about whether or not I want to do that.


Sunday, September 16, 2007

I just learned that one of my beloved transplant buddies died a few days ago.
She was an amazing woman--she was an inspiration to me in many ways. I met her before my first transplant and was in awe. At that time she was ten years post-transplant and studying to be a doctor. Her example was one that I clung to. Debbie proved that life after transplant could be full and worthwhile.

Over the years, Debbie and I would run into each other here and there. After awhile we became friends. We had lunches together and talked on the phone. We were a good compliment to each other--she had strengths where I had weaknesses and vice-versa.

Debbie became a shrink and had a very successful private practice. Man, do I envy her achievements.

I'm sad to say that I hadn't spoken to Debbie in a few months. Last we spoke, she was so excited because she just bought an amazing house. She had been battling cancer but it seemed under control. We lost touch but it didn't bother me much--I knew we would reconnect soon and it would be like we hadn't missed a beat.

I had no idea that Debbie's cancer had gotten worse. I had no idea that she wasn't returning my emails because she was very ill. I wish I had pursued it more. I wish I had been able to say goodbye.

It's strange how, even though death is so close to me and those like me, when it happens it still seems like a surprise. I guess when you have been so close to the end and come back over and over, you begin to think you will always rally. The idea of Debbie dying never seemed possible to me...it still feels untrue.

Debbie lived 16 years with her donor lungs--quite an amazing feat! She was an inspiration to me when I needed someone to show me how life post-transplant could be dynamic and valuable. She was a friend with much wisdom and kindness and an openness to take what was offered to her. I will miss her. I will never stop being inspired by her. Thank you, Debbie.

Tuesday, September 11, 2007

Something to Push Against

This started off as a blog entry but ended up something entirely different! I'm thinking I would like to use this as a talk at CF fund raisers and such...Wuddya think?


I don't know about you, but I'm a person who needs something to push against. At work, I need a deadline or I won't get it done. In a game, I need a competitor or I won't care enough to play. In conversation, I most enjoy when I can assume the role of devil's advocate.

Perhaps it's this mentality that makes it possible for cystic fibrosis to be such a perfect companion for me. At every turn, I have something to push against--even if it's just to live my life to the fullest before the clock runs out.

I have been lucky in so many ways. One of those is that I never really went through the "why me?"s for more than a few minutes. I guess, deep down, I always knew the answer to "why me." From my earliest childhood memories, I knew CF was a part of my life for a reason. I won't say I chose it, that's a bit too strong, but I understood that it had a purpose and I understood it was there to teach me.

(Perhaps, before we are born, we do get a chance to choose our teachers. Perhaps, I did choose CF. I don't know.)

I don't mean to say that all of my lessons were easy ones. As a child it was difficult to not be able to run like my peers...gym class was a nightmare. Being so sick so often was not something I faced with glee, certainly. Being young and facing mortality, I mean really facing mortality, was heartbreaking.

But out of all those difficult things emerged qualities of myself of which I am most proud.

In my younger years, I was set apart from my peers in many ways, all of them physical. In a society that is focused on sports and beauty, I didn't measure up. I tried to play sports in school, mostly those forced upon me as I mentioned above in dreaded gym class. I was clumsy and struggled for air. (I imagine I'm clumsy naturally, but I'm just going to chalk that up to CF, okay?) My classmates didn't understand what was wrong with me and they would ridicule my performance.

It didn't take very long for me to find a sport that I could do and really enjoyed--at six I began horseback riding and did that until graduation from high school. With that true love waiting for me after school, it was easier to handle my inabilities on the soccer, basketball and, oh god, dodge ball field. Who invented dodge ball anyway? They really should have kept that bright idea to themselves!

As for my appearance, in middle school I was often teased for being so skinny. Not to mention, I had a really strange hairdo, wore an unfortunate selection of clothes and
smeared bold lines of gray and fuchsia across my eyelids. Even still, the thing that the girls really seemed to hone in on was my weight. "Tiffany Toothpick" was my nickname and I was often the target for the popular crowd's emotional sport. I won't pretend that wasn't a difficult time for me. The end result, however, was that I didn't fall in line with what "all the kids were doing." Their cruelty was my fuel to figure out who I was as an individual. Had I been a part of that crowd, I shudder to think how I would have turned out.

As for being sick so often--that taught me many profound lessons. Live in the moment is one of those. Nothing is permanent is another. But, perhaps my favorite lesson is one that I stumbled upon when I was in college.

I was attending North Carolina School of the Arts in the actor training program. We had many unusual classes during the day. A favorite of mine, and many of the rest of my small class, was an acting course taught by a Turkish woman named Cheedem. Before every class, Cheedem turned off all of the lights in her room and left us alone for about ten minutes. During that time, we all sat on the floor in a circle and meditated. The purpose was to ground us and help connect us before we began working together. Usually, Cheedem would come in and watch us for a minute or two before quietly whispering that it was time to "come back" and get in our seats. The people in my class cherished this time of stillness and peace.

On day, we did our meditation, just like every other day, and Cheedem came in after about ten minutes and sat down, just like usual. On this day, however, she did not sweetly whisper that it was time to get up. Instead, she screamed and clapped and yelled "Get up, Get up, Now Now Now!" People flew up off of the floor, wild eyed and confused. When everyone was standing, she barked "Do what you feel! Do what you feel!" Now, keep in mind, these are drama students--the reactions were oh, so dramatic! A few people stormed out of the room. One woman screamed in Cheedem's face. One guy cried. A lot of people beat the wall. My reaction? I walked back to the place where I had been sitting and sat back down.

For weeks, I thought about that exercise. I felt dull and uninspired because my reaction had been so much less "dynamic" than those of my classmates. One day, Cheedem bumped into me in the hallway and pulled me to the side. She told me that she was puzzled by the reactions of my class and that she was startled by the level of anger and confusion they displayed. She had thought most people would do as I did. After thinking about it more, Cheedem said she realized that it made perfect sense. After all I had been through in my life, I had become accustomed to handling unexpected disruptions and had the ability to recover from them in a way my peers did not. Cheedem touched on something that day that I carry with me always. I am resilient. I will fall, but I pop up like a spring! This resiliency is something I am so proud of. CF taught me that in a profound way.

Finally, I mentioned facing my own mortality. Not in a theoretical kind of way--in a real, no kidding kind of way. There are so many things I learned from that. I had to write a book just to list them all! (Don't forget to get yourself a copy of Sick Girl Speaks! by the way!) Perhaps the most important of all of those lessons was the discovery of who I truly am. When I used to hear people say that, I assumed they meant that they were nice, or smart, or loving or whatever. What I found was a bit deeper than that.

The first part of facing my mortality was going through what I call the Illness Identity Crisis. Essentially, I had to figure out who I was not. I was not an actress--I gave that up when I became very ill. I was not funny--my sense of humor dried up the sicker I got. I was not spiritual--God and I had a falling out for awhile. Who was I if I was not all of these things? I had no idea and I felt very lost. I had no identity, no purpose.

As I became sicker, it began to become clear. It was like the pealing of an onion. Finally, when all of the layers were gone, I was left with the core. I found my core. I can't tell you what that is, unfortunately. There are no adjectives to describe it. There are no duties to define it. All I know is that my core is the permanent part of me that is never sick, never tired and never scared. This depth of knowledge about myself is a gift I carry with me all the time. CF gave me that gift, and so many others.

Today, I am 34. I am healthy and happy. That doesn't change the fact that I need something to push against. I am working to make a living as a public speaker and educate patients and doctors about all that I have learned in my career as a patient. Every day, I push against CF by saying "I will live today so that, when it is time to say my final goodbye, I will be proud of the life I've lived."

I don't ask why me. I am simply humbled by the wisdom of having CF as my life's companion. I have something to push against. While I'm not always happy about it, I can not deny, CF is my greatest teacher.

Sunday, September 9, 2007

Website Bonanza

I've spent all weekend creating a website...whew! I'm tired.
I have no idea what I'm doing so go easy on me!

Any suggestions or comments would be welcome!

www.sickgirlspeaks.com

Friday, September 7, 2007

Out with a bang!

This has been a topsy-turvy week. I have been overwhelmed with the list of things I need to do to get my name out there and start booking some gigs.

I had a meeting with someone about doing a CF workshop and realized that I won't be able to do workshops for my fellow genetically challenged peeps at all! There are strict rules about allowing CFers in a room together as they may pass certain bacteria to each other. That sincerely makes me sad and, on a selfish note, ruins lots of plans I had to book workshops with the big CF organizations. I was feeling pretty discouraged yesterday.

Today, however, I booked a speaking engagement with the hospital--I'll be talking to hospital chaplains in residency. So cool. That made me feel good.

It's the end of week one and the calender is beginning to fill up. I have Psychiatry Grand Rounds and a Pain forum this month. Next month I have the Chaplain talk. Woven throughout, I have 3 really cool grant proposals I'm a part of that hopefully will get funded. I also have a community pet memorial service I'm planning for November.

I'm starting to see that the bulk of my "gigs" have been within the medical/caregiver community. I think I'll focus more energy in that direction next week.

All in all, this has been a scary week that ended on an exciting BANG!
Can't wait to see what's coming next week!

Wednesday, September 5, 2007

Potential vs. Reality

The last few days have been, in a way, monumental. I submitted my final manuscript for printing and now have the freedom of no job. I have been anxiously anticipating this day for months.

Why, then, have I been so blaaah? People have been asking how I feel about the book and my response has been less than enthusiastic. I can hear the confusion and disappointment in their voice. I'm confused too. Shouldn't I be over the moon?

It dawned on me that what's bothering me has to do with potential vs. reality. When I was writing the book I was excited by its potential. Now, off in cyberspace waiting to print, it is a reality. It's done. Over. Nothing else to tweak. The creative rush is gone and all I'm left with is the angst of "Is this thing any good?"

The same goes for quitting my job. I couldn't wait for my last day and now...well, I have a lot of work to do and it's all on me. I've gotta figure this thing out so I can make some money! The stakes are higher without any money coming in from the government and, quite frankly, it's scary! I'm not fantasizing about all the things I will do when I have the time--now I have to do them! Reality is setting in and its kinda heavy.

I don't mean to be a whiny baby. I know there are many many people out there who would like this kind of opportunity! I am grateful. I promise.

I'm also just a bit thrown by my own feelings. Like nearly every big event in my life, it isn't what I expected.

I think I'll feel better once I get in the groove. It's just all very new right now.

Tuesday, September 4, 2007

Wooosh!

And there it goes. With one click of a mouse off goes my manuscript to become a real book. (Not unlike Pinocchio going off to become a real boy.) It feels good.

Still having the major doubt mosquito problem, but, the good news is there isn't really much to be done about it now. All I can obsess over now is my marketing materials...which I will start doing soon.

Right now, I need rest. Preparing your future makes you sleepy.

Monday, September 3, 2007

Anybody have any DEET?

Well, while the rest of the country was out eating BBQ and wearing white for the last time, I was diligently laboring (get it? labor day) to finish my book. I have set the deadline for tomorrow and it looks like I'll make it.

I can barely see straight right now so I don't have much to say about being excited, etc.

The self publishing thing is turning out to be a little more complicated than I thought. It's also a bit scary because I am responsible for properly formating the text. If I made a mistake, there's no one who will fix it. If there's a significant mistake, like a page break missing or something, my hard work will turn out looking goofy and unprofessional.

I still think I've made the best choice in self-publishing but it is a little intimidating to have so much responsibility in how the final product turns out.

I've pretty much gotten over my freak out/inferiority complex about Crazy Sexy Cancer. I think there's room for the both of us. Plus, my mission is more public speaking and hers seems more closely tied to her movie. She's awesome and I'm awesome in a different way.

That said, I am in a major doubt cycle. I go through these all the time, this is nothing new. I have come to understand and accept that I go through periods in which I think my work is boring, trite, poorly written...well, really the list could go on and on.

Usually this happens before I give a big talk so I guess it makes sense that I would be going through it the night before I send out my first book to be printed. All I know to do is keep walking forward and get the job done, despite all those circling doubts above my head. They really are like loud mosquitoes in my ear! Anybody have any DEET?

Is this kind of doubt something most of us experience when we're being creative or do I just have serious self-esteem issues?

If you have any tips on how to deal with the doubt mosquitoes, please share!!

Friday, August 31, 2007

Jealous, Scared and Inspired

Holy Cow. Have you seen this girl?

crazy sexy cancer blog
crazy sexy cancer website

Unbelievable. Awesome. Inspiring. Daring. Clever. Brilliant.

Oh, and...boy, am I freaking out.

It's amazing how I can be simultaneously threatened and inspired by this person and her work.

Why am I threatened? Well, to read some of her stuff you'd think one of us stole it from the other. Some of our sentences are nearly identical. Oh yea, and she got it out there way bigger and way faster than me!
That taps into a huge underlying lifelong fear of mine--what if I show up to the party too late and all the good food is gone and all the guest have already gone home? I feel like she's already done what I wanted to do--and her dress is much prettier than mine--so part of me wants to just turn around and go home before I even get to the party.

Why am I inspired? That girl is brilliant. I love her message and the way she tells it. While we have a lot of
similarities, we also have a lot of differences. After my ego recovered from watching her amazing movie, I realized that there is room for my message. I also realized that I wanted to make it a stronger one. Her boldness and honesty has inspired me to go to the next level.

I know my reaction was petty. I don't mean to say that I wasn't happy for Kris Carr and all of her success. I really, truly am. She deserves all of the success she can hold onto.

As for me, I trudge on! My last day of work is today. I am chomping at the bit to get started at marketing
Sick Girl Speaks! full time. I have a few irons in the fire and hope to have many more very soon.

After seeing Kris Carr's work, I woke up this morning with some clarity. Part of what has bothered me about mt title and my book is that it doesn't have a clear, underlying message. Every book needs that one thing that is the
thru-line for every sub-message. It finally dawned on me what mine is: acceptance. My message is all about acceptance of what is. Working to transform it is great but for true peace, there must be acceptance that it make get better, worse or stay the same. Otherwise, you will be devastated over and over.

Based on this new revelation, I have changed my sub-title.

Sick Girl Speaks!
Lessons and Ponderings Along the Winding Road to Acceptance

What do you think?

Watch Kris Carr's movie, read her book and her blog. She rocks.

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

Training Wheels

I have said for so long that I longed to stand on my own two feet.

I had a goal of becoming financially independent down the road. It looks like SS has decided to make that a reality a little sooner than I had planned it out to be.

Nonetheless, I want to take the training wheels off at some point...why not now?

Monday, August 27, 2007

Freaking Out

So far, the vast majority people I have told about my disability status being "revoked" have simply freaked out. Panic on their faces. Fear in their voice.

Is there something I don't know?
Why am I the only one who seems to think I might be able to do this?

Their fear makes me doubt my tentative confidence.
Still trying to decide which plank to walk...

Sunday, August 26, 2007

Thinkin' and Bloggin'


Thank you to Laurie at A Chronic Dose! She named me one of the top thinking bloggers. I feel all proud and stuff...

Now, it's my turn. I have to name my top 5. Here goes:

A Chronic Dose: I don't know if it's against the rules to name the blog that named you but I don't care! Laurie has lived with all kinds of maladies. Despite that, she has gotten her MFA, written a book, is a wonderful caregiver to her dogs and is a compassionate support system for her ailing family members. That nutshell of a resume aside, her posts are funny, smart and make me a little jealous that I didn't think of those things first! :) This blog makes me think about how to be a better writer.

Donor Cycle: I always love to see life on the other side of the illness fence. This blog is close to my heart because it is the musings of a transplant coordinator. Seeing life from her world is a real eye opener. Besides, she's hip, insightful and every once in awhile her writings will bring a tear to my eye. This blog makes me think about the perspective of all those professionals I blog about.

Midlife Midwife: I strive to be a more compassionate person but fail more times than I succeed. This woman lives her life with unmatched intensity, consciousness and love. Her stories are fascinating and her heart shines through each one. This blog makes me think about how I can be a better person.

Rachel's Wide World of Lunacy: Rachel deals with the ups and downs of Bipolar Disorder. Her blog is honest and takes you on a roller coaster of experiences. This blog makes me look at the frustrations of non-physical illness--compare and contrast.

Chronic Babe: Okay, we all know that Chronic Babe is one of, if not the best, websites for chicks dealing with chronic illness. I like reading the many different posts and selecting from the many, many topics. That's not what makes me pick this blog, though. Chronic Babe makes me think about going bigger and better. I find that site an inspiration of marketing and vision. She's taken her lemons and made them into a fancy cocktail with a twist of sass. Chronic Babe makes me think about being a better entrepreneur.

Whew! That was harder than I thought! I had plenty more I could name, but a girl has to follow the rules...



Here are the rules for winners. If you choose to participate, please make sure to pass the rules on to the next Thinking Blogs you tag!:
1. If, and only if, you get tagged, write a post with links to five blogs that make you think.

2. Link to this post so people can easily find the exact origin of the meme.

3. Optional: Proudly display the "Thinking Blogger Award" with a link to the post that you wrote.

* This award was started by Ilker Yoldas at The Thinking Blog

Wednesday, August 22, 2007

Dilemma

Well, the day has come. I have lost my disability status.

When I started my job last September, my understanding was that I had a 9 month trial period before they would consider whether or not to take away my disability.

Well, I was sorely mistaken. My trial period actually started in 1998! They tracked every little job, even before my first transplant. Needless to say, I am way past my 9 months.

And guess what? They want me to pay them back all the money they gave me this year! That's got to be a joke, right? No. It's not. And, if it were a joke, it would be a very un-funny one.

On top of that, my last day at work is next Friday. Money was going to be tight around here while I tried to make a career out of my public speaking but now...tight sounds like a luxury.

So, I have a big dilemma. I can apply to be reinstated and hopefully avoid having to pay back the thousands and thousands of dollars.
I can also have the peace of mind knowing that I will be able to eat and drive my car from A to B.

What I won't be able to do is make one red penny. If I do, those benefits are gone immediately.

I stand on the edge of my future. I have no idea if I will be able to make this book and this voice into a successful livelihood. There is no way to know unless I do it.

Do I take the money and settle for nothingness? Do I give up the money and face possible failure and poverty?

What happens if I become a mediocre success? I may not need that monthly check but I will need my Medicare! Unless I become a millionaire and can buy my own insurance, I can not lose that coverage. God willing, when the time comes for them to take my Medicare away, I will either be rich, dead or sick enough to reapply for disability. What options!

My instincts are telling me to have faith and let go of the safety net. I haven't made up my mind yet but that's how I'm leaning.


It's all very scary.

Friday, August 17, 2007

10 pages

That's how many pages I can edit in one hour. Does that seem like a lot to you? That seems like not many to me.
50 down, 175 to go...

Wednesday, August 15, 2007

Closer and closer!!

My manuscript arrived here today! It's all marked up and ready for edits. I was expecting to be overwhelmed with rewrites but my editor mostly had a bunch of grammatical suggestions. The content needs tweaking here and there but really nothing major. I'm thrilled!!

Once I make my changes I will send the book back to my editor electronically. She will make a final sweep for errors and tada! Done!

Then my little book will go to the printer. At that time I will abbreviate my posts on this blog. I'm sorry but nobody will buy something they can get for free, ya know?

When the book is out I will announce it here and give you links to all the websites that carry it.

I will also be making announcements about speaking engagements on this blog. If you have any ideas for 2008, please let me know.

My plan is to make a web site asap that will have my workshop/speaking schedule, a message board and a way to buy the e-book.

I have many more plans and I can't wait to get going.

Thanks again to all of you who read this blog and helped me keep going. The end of one road is in sight and so is the beginning of the next!

Wednesday, August 8, 2007

For a fleeting moment...Woman

Everyone always tells me how lucky I am to look so much younger than I am. At 34, most people mistake me for being about 18. Despite those around me who insist that is a gift, it drives me crazy. Getting treated as though I am a teenager feels less like a gift and more like being stuck in a bad movie plot-line where I am trapped in the wrong body. I have to work double duty to help people see that I have things to say that are worth listening to. As a public speaker, this can be quite discouraging. Sometimes I wish I could wear a t-shirt that says "I am older than you think I am."

Despite my real age, my outward appearance and other's initial perceptions of me have proved to be a challenge to how I regard my self. With my slim body, my youthful face and with being so short, I have never seen a woman when I look in the mirror. My friends complain about their hips and I only wish I could have the curves that define a woman. Inside, I have times when I feel like a grown-up but those feelings can easily diminish if I catch a glimpse of myself in a window. The line between girl and woman is an elusive one for me.

Something happened the other day. It happened so quickly that I almost forgot about it. I don't know what made me remember this morning, but I did.

A few days ago I looked in the mirror and I saw a woman. For a fleeting moment...I looked like a woman.

I don't know if it was because I was standing up straighter or the light was just right. Maybe it's because my hair has grown longer or because I have lost weight. I don't know why, but I saw the woman in me. I loved it. She was stunning.

I hope I will see her again very soon. Maybe, someday, she will be here to stay.

Saturday, August 4, 2007

Family Support Dynamics

When someone is very ill, family dynamics can be delicate. There are burdens placed on family members and resentment can brew if the weight is not evenly distributed. The problem is, not everyone is equipped to be the down-and-dirty caregiver. Not everyone lives in the same town or state as the patient. Reality dictates that an even distribution is just not going to happen.

Nonetheless, I have found that no matter what, every family member brings their unique skills and gifts to the table. If these skills and gifts are recognized, they can be an integral part of the support network, even if part of that network can’t stand needles.

Example 1:

Luckily for me, my mother can handle needles, blood and other unpleasant bodily byproducts. My father, on the other hand, tried to be in the room a few times when I was getting an IV and he fainted each time. He doesn’t have the constitution to be the person who will hold my hand when things are being pulled out or poked or cleaned up. There was a time when that might have made him feel bad, but it became clear at some point that there were other things he could do that made a big difference.

My father has always handled the headache of insurance and hospital paperwork. When I was sick, I never had to deal with the annoyance of getting things approved or sorting out the complicated payment issues. I am forever grateful for that.

In addition, Dad did a great job of pitching in when he could to make life easier on Mom and me. I often had to do IV therapy at home and a few of the drugs had to be mixed up less than 1 hour before the dose was given. This was very aggravating, especially in the middle of the night! Nonetheless, my father took this on as his job and I never had to worry about mixing up my meds again. They were always waiting for me when the time came. What a relief.

My father also did a good portion of the spoiling. My appetite was often very poor so when I had a craving for something it was an event to celebrate. Unfortunately, those cravings didn’t always happen at convenient times. My dad was always willing to run out, no matter what time, and track down the food I desired. I remember one time when he actually convinced my favorite Italian place to make me a pizza after they had closed! His willingness to do this made me feel very loved.

Dad avoids direct contact with all things medically painful or physically distressing. (Better that than to scrape him off the floor!) Mom holds my hand during all the procedures while Dad does many other valuable things to support me in my times of need.

Example 2:

Sometimes the contribution a person makes to a difficult situation is entirely unpredictable. My two sisters and their families live nearby and have seen me weekly through all my highs and lows. My brother, on the other hand, lives far away and we only gets to visit a few times a year. Despite the distance, he turned out to be extraordinarily helpful after both of my transplants.

Jay flew down and was by my side, with the rest of my wonderful family, the day after both surgeries. During that time I was intibated and could not speak. This was an especially distressing time for me as I had many questions and comments that had to remain silent. I attempted my version of sign language, more like a morphine-inhibited game of charades, but nobody could understand me. Except Jay.

I don’t know what it was or how he knew but he always comprehended my silly hand signals. Whenever I started trying to communicate, people learned to go get Jay. It was so soothing to know there was someone who could answer my questions and even get my hand signal jokes!

There was no way to predict that Jay was going to be so helpful in that capacity but it was very sweet that he was. It made me feel so much closer to my brother and I will never forget all of our mute conversations; no matter how hazy the drugs were making me feel!

The Lesson:

Support can come in many forms. Taking care of a sick loved one requires a team. It’s easy to place expectations on people that do not match with what they are good at. Families and patients should keep on the look out for what an individual naturally gravitates towards. Would you rather run errands than spend long hours sitting by the bedside? Would you rather have long heart-to-hearts about life and death in lieu of dealing with the insurance company? Everyone has a part to play. The trick is figuring out who does what and honoring each other’s roles as equally valuable.

Thursday, August 2, 2007

System Failure

To Whom It May Concern (And Who Does It Concern?):

For the most part, my political days are over. I marched on Washington a few times in the name of animal rights back in 1990-1991. Since then, most of my views have fallen more into the gray area. Even on those topics that I still get fired up over, I have lost faith that my lowly opinion would have any influence of our massive governmental machine. When I am in the crossfire of a political debate, for the most part I keep my mouth shut. I just don’t see the point in arguing.

I am writing a book that holds the potential to explore many of our country’s political healthcare issues. In fact, sometimes I feel guilty for not being more involved in that aspect of patient care. Nonetheless, my focus tends to be more on my immediate experience and those things I deem to be within my power as an individual. I don’t really want to deal with politics.

That said, I am feeling nervous about my future and I can not deny the impact our government could have on my life in the coming years. I began working a part time job about six months ago. Because I have been on disability and Medicare, it was my duty to report that I had gone back to work. I’m not nervous because I have done anything wrong. I am nervous because there are a lot of rules and I don’t want to make any mistakes. If I do, I can potentially lose my disability status.

When people learn I am on disability, they sometimes react with surprise. They think because I can walk, talk and stand upright that I should no longer be taking anything from the government. People may judge me because I am on disability but what they don’t understand is that I do not have the energy to work a full time job and I need Medicare. Medicare is directly linked to disability status.

I quit college because of my health and therefore my skill set is limited to lower paying jobs. I do not get benefits where I currently work and even if I did, it’s highly unlikely the office could handle some one like me on their group insurance. I have to approach my work schedule carefully so I can keep my disability status. If I lose my disability, I lose my insurance. Can you even imagine the “pre-existing conditions” list on my private insurance application?

The chance that I could find a company to work for that could provide me with insurance is slim. The prospect that I could pay for my own is simply impossible. What would someone like me do without insurance to pay for all of the transplant medications? The answer to that question is easy: they would die.

All of those ponderings are head spinning but that doesn’t even take into account what would happen if I became terminal or chronically ill for the third time. I would have to quit my job and apply for disability again. What would happen to me in the meantime? How would I survive while I was waiting for Medicare to kick back in? The thought scares me to the bone.

It seems to me a rock and a hard place. If I work, I run the risk of losing necessary, life sustaining government funded coverage. If I don’t work I am not fulfilling the entire goal of transplant: to live a more normal life. Like so many governmental programs, this is one more example of a good idea with no plan to help transition people from one end to the other.

I really have no right to complain. Compared to many other people, I have it good. I have been able to be on Medicare for ten years and have been able to have my father’s insurance as back-up. Medicare paid for two very expensive lung transplants. My insurance pays for a regimen of medication that, in one month, costs about as much as my rent for a year. I am very lucky to be alive and to have gotten the care my insurance provides. I really have no right to complain but I am going to anyway.

I did not get this transplant so that I could sit at home on the couch and collect government money. I also did not go through all of the pain and suffering so that I could live a more normal life, get a job and turn around and lose my insurance. How silly would it be, after all of this, to die because I can’t afford to buy my transplant medications!

Things just don’t add up. Medicare will pay for surgeries that cost a million dollars but won’t follow through and pay for the medications that keep you alive afterwards unless you promise to make less that a certain amount each month? I don’t understand. All I want to do is go from being sick to making a contribution to the world. The organizations that got me well are the same ones standing in my way.

We need a bridge for people like me. Where is the bridge?

Sincerely,

Tiffany

Saturday, July 28, 2007

Prayer

In my life, I have come to find that many of the things I once prayed for no longer make sense. I used to ask for miraculous healing, happiness, a certain thing to go my way.
Now, when I think of praying for health I am interrupted by the thought: "But how do I know that being sick isn't exactly what I need right now?"
When I think of praying for happiness I am reminded that happiness is a choice, not something done for me or to me.
When I think of praying for a certain thing to go my way, I stop in my tracks. How do I know that what I am currently desiring is the direction I should take?

What I have learned is that there are only two things I can really pray for: strength and clarity. Strength to endure my physical difficulties and find my way back to inner happiness. Clarity to help me point my feet in the right direction.

I quit my job this week. I am going to try and make a living as a public speaker. I am excited and scared. I found myself praying a lot!

Today I pray that doors to my greatest destiny will be unlocked and fly open so that I will simply have to walk though.
I pray that God guide me to the places I did not even know I needed to go.
I am grateful for all I have and ask that God will help me become all that I am capable of being.
Amen

Friday, July 20, 2007

Dream as Metaphor

Everyone knows that few things in life turn out the way you'd expect. That is especially jarring when those expectations revolve around a dream that you've held on to for years and years.

It was 1999 when I left San Francisco to head back east for my transplant. For various reasons, I never went back with new lungs. In 2002, when I was diagnosed with Chronic Rejection (or "Chronic" as the cool kids say) I was surprised to find that not returning to SF was my biggest regret. When I lived there, I was struggling for air and could barely get around, except by car. I had dreams of walking up those steep hills, full of life and breath. I loved that city like it was a person and missed it dearly. When I was blessed with another transplant I vowed to make that one dream come true.

Since my 34th birthday was approaching, I decided this would be the perfect time. I booked my ticket and packed my walking shoes. When people would ask me what I was going to do when I got there, my response was "walk up a hill". Admittedly, I did not have lofty goals.

The first morning in SF, I woke up early and set out to meet the day with my best friend at my side. We headed for a neighborhood that I had spent a lot of time in and wanted to rediscover. We walked up the first big hill and I was met with a surprise. It was not fun at all. Yes, I could do it, but I still huffed, puffed and felt my calves cramp up. (Yes, I am very out of shape!) I had no feeling of accomplishment. No feeling of pride. I just wanted to avoid those stupid hills at all costs.

When we finally got to the neighborhood, known as "The Haight", I couldn't believe my eyes. It was dingy and lifeless. What I had remembered was a world of brightness and vibrancy. It was none of those. On top of that, I felt like I had never been there before. It was foreign to me. While I could remember the street that was going to cross at the next block (confirmation that I had, in fact been there) the fact remained that I felt like I was in a completely unfamiliar place. It did not feel like home, as I thought it would. It felt only like a distant, foggy dream.

I began to feel a twang of panic in my chest. Nothing could have been farther from my expectations of what this trip would be like.

It occurred to me that, as I walked through this strange and not-very-wonderful place, that my dream of walking up a hill was merely a metaphor. What I was seeking was not a brisk jog to feel my lungs expand, but a palpable knowledge of how far I had come. Tiffany in 1999 and Tiffany in 2007. How much had I changed, grown? I thought I could find that in the compare and contrast of a walk up a San Francisco hill.

While I did not find the proof of my transformation in exercise, I did find it other places. I found it in nooks and crannies of the New San Francisco. The place I discovered in 2007, not the one I exaggerated in my mind for 8 years. That place, the one in my mind, does not exist. I know that now and it is a relief. I can let go of the idea that if I lived in California everything would be perfect. I see now that where I do live is just fine. I also see that I can walk up those hills anywhere. I look forward to carrying that understanding with me, even in the flat world I currently reside in.

All in all, it was a wonderful trip and nothing that I thought it would be.


PS. Nothing to report about the book. The editor is still working on it. I do plan to keep you all in the loop, however, as things progress!

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

All boxed up and ready to go!

Well, for better or worse, the manuscript is in a box awaiting its journey to the editor. I will be mailing it out tomorrow morning. I have mixed emotions. Mostly, I am thrilled to be moving forward and going to the next step. I am pretty sick of writing and am looking forward to my vacation from Sick Girl Speaks.
On the other hand, I feel obsessive, like the book is incomplete and I should hold onto it and rewrite most of the chapters! I don't think I will ever feel like it is good enough. I suppose I should just get used to that feeling....

On another note...I will be flying to San Francisco on Friday. This is a major big deal for me. San Fran is my favorite place on earth. I lived there while I was waiting for my lung transplant and have not been back since I left 8 years ago. I have never had the joy of walking the hills of the Bay Area without struggling for breath. This trip will be a testimony for just how far I've come and just how far I can go...I will also be turning 34 while I am there!

Here's to the next chapter!

Sunday, July 8, 2007

Market Place Monk

There was a time when I placed my worth out outward achievements. I had a burning desire to do more and leave behind an impressive resume. Many of my efforts through the years have been thwarted by illness. I never graduated college. I have never been completely financially independent. There are countless projects that I have started and never finished. By many standards, my life has not been a success. This reality has made me feel ashamed at times and has greatly affected my self-esteem.

Example 1:

After my second transplant, I was working to find my place in the world. I was interested in veterinary medicine and took a job assisting a mobile veterinarian. Things started out well but quickly deteriorated. It is my belief that once he discovered I was not interested in being his lover, he began to lash out and try different tactics to get rid of me. One of his tactics proved to be unbelievably effective.

For reasons unknown, he had been angry with me all day. Out of the blue, he started interrogating me about my life. I relayed some of my history: both work and health related. He drilled down harder and harder, pressing me to lay out my “accomplishments”. The difficult truth was that there were few that were in any way measurable. He concluded our talk with a sentence I will never forget: “So what you’re telling me is that the only thing you’ve been able to achieve in your life is to survive.” A cold way of putting it but, at the time, I could only agree.

I left his van that day very broken. Out of his spite and unkindness he had spoken the words I never dare speak to myself. He had said the thing that I always imagined people secretly thought about me. My life had been a waste. I was devastated.

He had successfully gotten me to quit working for him. It is rumored that he now has a young assistant willing to oblige him in the ways I had refused.

Example 2:

When I was dying, there was not much left of my life. I had no job and not much of a social life. At first, I was very concerned that I was not contributing to the world. I had no purpose.

In time, my perspective changed. I saw the world around me with new eyes. Watching those I love run around chasing balls for a job they hated seemed so futile. Seeing those before me hate themselves for reasons unclear to anyone else seemed tragic. Witnessing people value their money more than their souls seemed ludicrous. I was living in a different dimension in which inner peace trumped all other earthly goals.

I had reached a level of living similar to monks in a monastery. I saw only the preciousness of life and wished that others would do the same. I was no longer concerned with who I wanted to be or what I wanted to do. My purpose became to be the best human I could be and I enjoyed exploring my internal playground. My contribution to the world, it seemed, was to be and what I did meant little to nothing.

The Verdict:

The dying process has proved to be an extraordinary teacher on the value of being rather than doing. What I have found, however, is that there is value in living both ways.

While there was great peace in being a monastery monk, striving only to be, that existence is hardly sustainable once one leaves the confines of the monastery walls. Once I was well again, I was back in the marketplace, working for money to live, shopping for that which I required and living an altogether more complex daily life.

I have been tempted to find more value in the world of the monastery monk. It seems more admirable and closer to God. However, as I walk through the marketplace I have things that I want to do to improve the world. I have things I desire to do to make an impact. There is value in this as well.

Success is not easily definable. It can be found inside and out. While I am able bodied, I will try to carry with me the lessons I learned in the monastery and use them to the greatest benefit of my marketplace.

The Opportunity of Illness

Journal from June 25th, 2007

I got a horrible phone call at the vet clinic today. A woman was requesting information about cremation and burial services for her two pets because they had both died in a house fire while she was at work. It was a slow burn so they died from smoke inhalation. One was a puppy and one was a 12 year old cat.

Later in the evening, she came in clutching the two animals to her. They were wrapped in a fireman’s sheet and reeked of smoke. She was covered in ash and barely coherent. We went in a room and tried to talk about how she would like the remains cared for. Her level of shock and grief was so extreme it became obvious to me that we would not be making any decisions that night. I asked her several times if I could take the animals from her and she refused. She could not let them go. When she finally handed them to me she had explicit instructions about how to carry them and to never, ever separate them from each other. I agreed and she kissed them goodbye one final time. Through her tears she confessed that she took all the responsibility for their death and she wished she had never adopted the puppy in the first place; if she hadn’t he would still be alive. Of course I told her it was no one’s fault but I could see the fortress of guilt and self-loathing in her eyes. Nothing I could say would ever change the fact that she would blame herself for the loss of these two innocent lives.

After she left, I broke down. It was certainly the saddest case I had handled and I felt so overwhelmed by her pain. I couldn’t help but compare this exchange with the many other clients who had lost their beloved pet to illness and often euthanasia. This was so much more acute and traumatic. I found myself, once again, appreciating illness and all it has to offer.

We all have to die in this world. If I had a choice, I would much rather have a terminal disease than an unexpected departure. Illness is hard, but there is much to value in the opportunity to say goodbye.

My heart goes out to the woman, her family and those two precious animals. I only hope that she will someday forgive herself and find peace.

Friday, July 6, 2007

The Things We Do to Sick People

Journal from May, 2006

Well, just when I thought I had done it all…I got sick this week with something I had never experienced. I had a really high fever, my joints ached so bad I could barely walk and I felt generally crappy. I went to the ER and, of course, they admitted me. The usual “we don’t know what you have but we’ll treat it with IV antibiotics" began. I was hoping they would figure it out quickly because I have my big fundraiser coming up and I have no time to spare. No such luck.

When the resident came in and told me that I was scheduled for a PIC line placement, I had my normal reaction: tears and trembling. I fought the decision but with no success. Soon, I was being wheeled down to my least favorite place in the entire hospital: Vascular Radiology. They put my gurney up against the wall and I sat there like a bag of discarded garbage for what seemed like hours. No one spoke to me, no one even seemed to know I was there. Despite my efforts to tune it out, I couldn’t help but hear the conversation of the many people lollygagging in the hall. Most of what they had to say revolved around annoying patients and how cool they were for being doctors. It was a level of stereotypical doctor machismo that became almost comical. If it hadn’t been for the fact that these were the people about to thread a mile long catheter through my arm and up to my heart, I might have laughed.

At one point, my IV machine started beeping but it was ignored by everyone who passed by. I looked down to see that there was a baseball size lump under my skin: my IV had infiltrated. It really started to hurt. I began to call out for someone to turn it off but, still, I was invisible. I literally had to reach out and grab someone to get their attention. They shut off my IV and eons later wheeled me into the room that makes me cry.

It freaked everybody out that I was crying before I even got on the table. They didn’t understand what the big deal was and I had learned it was pointless to try and explain. I got on the table and they began to prep me for the procedure. I had a plastic sheet covering most of my upper body, including my face. It was quite claustrophobic. They strapped my arm down to a board at a strange and uncomfortable angle. The began to wipe me down with very cold betadine. It was everywhere. The cold combined with my fever sent me into a shiver-frenzy. I was miserable.

It was at that moment that it dawned on me: this would be terribly uncomfortable if I wasn’t sick and scared to death. Add to it all of my maladies and it was downright awful. At that point, a phrase began to repeat in my head; “The things we do to sick people”. It really is astounding what we make a person go through at their time of greatest dis-ease.

In the end, I was diagnosed with Rocky Mountain Spotted Fever. The treatment? Oral antibiotics. The PIC line stayed in a total of about one day and then we pulled it out. I doubt anyone besides me thought much of the needless pain and torture. The things we do to sick people!

Thursday, July 5, 2007

I need your help!

You know how books have quotes on the back cover telling why people liked the work and why you should read it? I need some of those!

If you would be willing to write one to three sentences on why you think this book is worth while, that would be so awesome!

I'll need to use your name, your title and your city and state. I'm looking for doctors, nurses, family/friend caregivers and patients.

Oh yea, if I use your quote, I'll send you one of the first copies, hot off the presses, for free. Thank you!!!

Wednesday, July 4, 2007

A Prayer for Mom and Dad

Christmas 2003

One of the hardest parts of illness is the helplessness that comes with being taken care of by loved ones. In a dark time, this helplessness can manifest itself as resentment. In an enlightened time, this helplessness manifests as an overwhelming gratitude for a debt so huge it could never be repaid. This gratitude easily transforms into guilt.
The only way I have been able to let go of my guilt is to stop believing that it is within my power to repay and reward those I love for all they have done for me. I wrote this poem/prayer in a moment of hopeless guilt as a way to free myself of the weight of my gratitude.


To my beautiful parents
Who have nursed me when I was sick,
Let me run when I was well,
And sat by my side as we cried both
tears of laughter and of sadness.
There is nothing I could ever do on this
earth to repay all the sacrifices you've
made or the love you have given me
throughout the years, so all I can offer
is this prayer:
I pray that, whether in this world or the
next, all the generosity you have shown
me will bring a smile to God's eyes and
he will reward you in ways you never
imagined.
Amen

Update

I haven't been writing much lately! I only have about 5 more chapters to go and I will be done, for now. I have made some big decisions about where to go from here.

I have decided to hire an editor and self-publish. While I enjoy writing this book and it has been a great experience, it has never been my goal. This book has always been a vehicle to get me more talks and higher billing. Giving speeches is my true passion and you need one of two things to make a career of it: a big degree or a book. I don't have a big degree so...a book it is!

I don't want to spend precious time waiting for agents and publishers to pick me and then wait for them to get the book out. I want it asap! That is why I am going to self-publish first and look for a book deal later.

I have hired my editor and she will start the overhaul in a few weeks. In the meantime, I have to finish up my last few chapters, fix up a few and organize the format. If all goes well, I will have a book out by the end of the year!

I'll keep you posted! :)

Like Most Girls: A Love Story (revamped)

Like most young girls, I spent hours dreaming of the day I would meet a man and fall in love. Romantic dates, wedding dresses, and images of happily ever after danced through my head. All the while, the nagging question underneath; “But can a girl with who is so sick have all those things?”

Dating isn’t easy for anyone. Proof of that can be found simply by visiting the “self-help” section of any bookstore! Whether we are trying to figure out the “rules” of dating or understand the differences between “Mars” and “Venus”, there clearly are a lot of people in need of guidance on the topic. Most of us reach a point in our lives when we deeply desire a partner and rarely have a smooth journey in finding, or for that matter, keeping one.

Acknowledging the already challenging nature of love relationships, it is no wonder that adding the difficulties of illness into the equation can create another level of complexity. As a young girl seeking love, I made many mistakes. As a young CF girl seeking love, I made many excuses. Using trial and error as my guide, I continued to make mistakes and excuses well into adulthood. There aren’t many role models out there for such a situation and I fumbled desperately in the dark.

A confident person in most of life’s arenas, my “relationship self” never seemed to match with the rest of me. When talking to boys, my focus was on saying what I thought he wanted to hear. All I cared about was getting him to that like me and become my boyfriend. It never occurred to me to question whether or not I liked him! In relationships, I was submissive and often was talked down to and told what to do. Inside, I knew that wasn’t right but I couldn’t bring myself to “rock the boat”. Deep down, somewhere along the way, I developed an unconscious belief that I had to trade his bad behavior for him having to “put up” with my illness. I was often in a state of vulnerability and weakness. That state of mind led me to do things I wouldn’t have done had I been true to myself. It allowed me to be in verbally abusive, long-term relationships and to hang on to those relationships out of fear of never finding better. Many women have walked a similar path that I am describing, but Cystic Fibrosis was a large driving force behind why it was so difficult to change these detrimental patterns. There was unaddressed anger and sadness there and I often looked to men to make me feel alright about my disease. That never worked! With some counseling and a determination to be loved the right way, I eventually found my way out of that confusing maze.

Example 1:

In 1998, I was living in beautiful San Francisco waiting for the call that I was high enough on the list to move back home and get new lungs. There, I met the type of man most women feel compelled to try and tame: the classic bad boy. His name was Joe and he was not like any other man I had dated. He was tattooed and pierced. He rode a motorcycle. He was in “the scene” and knew all the cool places to go in the city. He had a shady past filled with drugs and other disconcerting choices. Somehow, that was all made right by his devotion and unexpected sweetness. I fell hard.

We dated for about a year, all the while my health was deteriorating. When I got the news that it was time to move back east to wait for my transplant he was very supportive. He owned his own business and arranged to take long leave of absences every few months. He was going to stay with me and be there when I was healthy and back on my feet.

He came to visit me once. After that, the strange phone calls began. We argued and I cried. He wasn’t making much sense and I couldn’t quite figure out what was happening. In the end, I learned he had found someone new and he finally broke up with me. It was a messy brake with lost of calls and wavering. My heart was broken.

All the signs were there, had I chose to read them. When I stopped being able to go out dancing he wondered how he could be with a girl who couldn’t “give him what he needed”. He was an ex-drug addict who had replaced cocaine with a girlfriend. That girlfriend happened to be me but I was easily exchangeable. When he traded me in for a newer model, it made sense but it hurt like hell.

I felt abandoned. I was in perhaps the most scary and vulnerable position of my lifetime and I had been left behind. Worse than that, I felt ashamed. I blamed his decision to flee on my weakness. Worst still, I felt his behavior was justified. I had been dumped by someone I loved and I felt like I deserved it.

When I look back, I feel sad for that devastated girl who cried herself to sleep when she should have been saving her energies for the awesome journey that lay ahead. I feel sad for the girl that let a man make her feel invalid because of an illness beyond her control.

After the transplant, Joe came back. He wanted to move to the east coast and “make it work”. Apparently, things were not going well with his current female obsession and he was back on drugs. I laughed and said “too little, too late”. There was surprisingly little satisfaction in knowing that he still had feelings for me. His actions and words had caused me so much pain, there was nothing that could right that wrong. I never spoke to him again.

Example 2:

After Joe, I faced my illness alone. I had friends and family, of course, but lacking that one special person with whom I could curl up to and tell my inner most thoughts. I never lost the desire to have this person and went on some pretty desperate and pathetic dates hoping for “the one”.

I dreamt of the man that would hold my hand as I cried and said I didn’t know how I could do this anymore. I longed for the one that would help me when I was sick and love me for who I was. I daydreamed about looking into his eyes as I drifted off to sleep before the transplant and awoke to find him by my bed afterwards.

What I learned was, an oxygen tank can put a damper on dating. I never met anyone who could handle where I was in my life. I doubt that I was really in any place to start a relationship anyway. All I knew was that I was lonely and wanted the comfort of a lover’s arms.

I went into surgery without staring into anyone’s eyes and awoke to find only my wonderful family and friends. Along the way, I found out that I could give myself most of the things I was craving from a man. I learned to comfort myself. I began to understand what it meant to love yourself and “be whole” without a partner. I never stopped wanting to find true love, but I did discover a self-love that allowed me to feel much less alone. I began thinking of myself as “my own best friend”. I know now that my loneliness served a great purpose and has made me capable of being a full person in a relationship.

Example 3:

When I was diagnosed with chronic rejection, I had been dating David for a few months. Neither of us really knew what that meant so we blindly continued on. We had been together about a year when we reached that place many couples do: move forward or brake up. Perhaps with my bulldozer-like charm at the core, we chose to move forward and move in. I packed my things and we found a cute apartment in his town. To complicate things, the day we moved in, an oxygen tank was delivered and I became dependant on tanks and tubes 24 hours a day.

Over the next year, my health continued to fail and our relationship crumbled from this inside out. Had circumstances been different, it’s doubtful we would have stayed together. We so rarely saw eye to eye and had a hard time talking through our differences. To his credit, David never left. He never ran from his terminally ill girlfriend, no matter how poorly we were getting along. As for me, I felt trapped in my unhappy relationship, tied down by my own illness. Where could I go in that state? It was either stay with David or move in with my parents. At 30, moving back to my parent’s home would have been equally difficult.

To deal with the situation, we resorted to staunch pragmatism. We made deals about everything. He had a schedule of when he could do the things that drove me crazy and I had my schedule for things that drove him crazy. We had a list of topics that were off limits. We designed ways to fight that would honor my physical limitations. Our coping mechanisms were quite intricate.

I don’t mean to say that there was no love there. I respected David for his ability to stand steady in the storm. He admired my courage in the face of death. We loved each other but we weren’t meant to be together. Had I been healthy, our relationship would never had lasted so long.

In the end, he was with me through the transplant and the following six months. Because of his willingness to stick around, I felt I owed it to him to see if we could make it work. I imagine he felt that he had invested so much he wanted to see if things could turn around now that I was well.

Eventually, I moved back to my original town and he stayed behind. I will always be grateful for all that David did for me. I will also always remember what it felt like to be sick in an unhappy relationship. Just because they stay with you doesn’t mean that it’s “the one”. With my health, I don’t have the luxury of dating people who aren’t a perfect match. Someday, I’ll get sick again and I want the one by my side to lift me up, not tie me down.

Example 4:

In my early twenties, I had followed some self-help advice and written a list of the qualities I wanted in a mate. Over the years, I revised and rewrote this list. After David, I threw my list away. I decided my dream man was merely that, a dream. I broke down my childish fantasies and let go of my secret fairytale wishes. It was time to face reality: nobody would ever meet my specifications.

When I met Jason, it was just another date. We had met online and he had interesting things to say but, then again, so did the last few guys I met. The crazy guy, the married guy and the weird guy all sounded good in cyberspace. I was becoming numb to the whole process and when I entered the wine bar where we would meet, I expected nothing.

The conversation flowed easily and we quickly bypassed the small talk. It seemed as though our perspectives meshed on every topic and I was amazed at his ability to articulate his ideas. By the end of the night, I felt as though I had known him for years. I was giddy with wine and good conversation but patiently waited for the skeletons to come climbing out of his closet.

On our next date, a few days later, he told me about all the research he had done on CF and transplant. He knew more than I did about some things! While normally I would wait to talk about all the unhappy truths of my health and early death, he asked me questions that proved he really wanted to know the deal. It wasn’t long before we had gone into deep and uncomfortable waters, exploring how we would handle saying goodbye. I was very impressed with his bravery and openness.

Jason restored my faith in fairytales. Every cliché that has been written about true love applies to us. We knew right away that we had found something special. We wasted no time entwining our lives. He is in no way in denial about my situation, but it inspires us to love harder every day. We know we don’t have a lifetime, but what we have is worth it. He is “the one”.

The Verdict:

As a person living with illness, the road to love was often confusing and discouraging. I have the battle scars from years and years of bad choices and faulty perspectives. Now, after consciously working to change my patterns, I have found what I always hoped, but never truly believed, was possible. I have the happiest and healthiest relationship that any human being could hope for, with or without CF. All I can do now is talk honestly about all the things I wish someone had told me when I was searching for answers to the tough questions. I hope that some of my big mistakes will serve as a warning to others as well as an inspiration to require more from themselves and those they choose as partners.

Below I have jotted down a few things I Wish I Knew A Long Time Ago. They seem simple, but they really are key.

Pre-Dating “Homework”: It is essential before you begin dating that you clearly establish a strong foundation of self-love and appreciation. Sadly, it is easy for some girls (and boys) to see themselves as “damaged goods” and therefore be willing to do things in relationships or overlook major character flaws that they wouldn’t if they didn’t have an illness. The first step in doing this is to uncover the difference between your mind, your body and your soul. We so often find our self-esteem in the clothes we wear or how pretty we feel, but it’s important to go deeper to discover what is valuable about you beyond the physical. Once you are able to make that differentiation, you can then explore who you are and what you believe about life on a much greater level. When you can truly see yourself as the amazing person you are, you will then be able to begin the search for a healthy relationship.

Dating: There are so many questions that come up when you first start dating a new person. Things like, “When should I tell him about my illness?” and “What kind of reaction will he have?” can distract you from getting to know someone. The answers to these questions need to be explored in your “homework” so you can enter into dating with a plan. You have to figure out where you stand on these important issues before you go on the date. Trying to sort out when you should tell someone about your physical problems in the back of your mind won’t work; you won’t be engaged in the moment and will miss getting to know the person in front of you. If you think of these things ahead of time, you will have a game plan and can feel more confident.

In general, when you are on a date, it is essential that you find techniques that help you maintain your level head and not get caught up in the “need to impress”. Pretend like it’s a job interview and you are the employer! There’s only one position available as your partner, so be discriminating and choose wisely!

Getting Serious: When you have an illness, falling in love can feel bitter sweet. Amidst the excitement and joy come the questions: “How will we handle it when I get sick?”, “Will he stay with me when I am in need?” and “Can I or should I have children?”. Facing the sad parts of your reality head on is key to having a strong relationship. If you can’t talk about the hard things, there will be trouble down the road. As the person with the illness, it is your responsibility to educate and initiate dialogue about your disease process. It is your partner’s responsibility to take it seriously and look within themselves to see if they are up for the challenges ahead. If your relationship is going to work, you will both need to feel safe and comfortable in talking about your true feelings at every turn. While facing illness is difficult, it can enhance a relationship with the right partner because you both will be keenly aware of how precious your time together is.

The burning question for many people is; “Can I have the relationship of my dreams despite my illness?” and my answer is “yes”. There is someone out there who will love you enough that a short time together is better than no time at all. Is your life more complicated because of your illness? Yes, but you have the opportunity to embrace your challenges and enrich your life and your love.

Thursday, June 28, 2007

Saying Goodbye to Those You Love

Journal from August, 2003

I have heard stories about people who died of an illness and their family never even knew they were sick to begin with. They hid their medical prognosis and died alone. How could someone not let their family know they were dying? Why would they be so secretive? Were they cowards or martyrs? I never understood this.

I never understood…until now. Doctor Newland told me weeks ago that I only had six months to live and I still haven’t told my family. I just got back from a week at the beach in which everyone was there. All I could think about was telling them. I didn’t have any fun and I was being a real bitch because all I could think about was whether or not to take this opportunity to reveal my news and ruin their vacation. Ultimately, I left without saying anything. A few miles from the beach house, I pulled over to the side of the road and contemplated going back to make my announcement. I just couldn’t do it. I left the beach and cried most of the way home.

When is the right time to tell all of the people you love that this is the end of the line? What day is a good day for learning this information? A weekend, perhaps, so you can process before you go back to work? But I’ve just ruined their weekend. Should I tell them individually or as a group? Can I just keep this information to myself? Would that be wrong?

This is, by far, the hardest thing I have ever had to do. I wish I could just run away and die alone. I get it now, I really do.

Sunday, June 24, 2007

The Vulnerability of Illness

In so many ways, illness challenges us to question who we are. Often, it takes away parts of our identity and leaves us wondering what is left to take. If that isn’t enough, we then find ourselves being handled by strangers and stripped of our independence. Despite our age, we all must struggle with the feelings of helplessness that usually accompany childhood. Like a passenger on a runaway train, we have no access to the brakes and can only pray that the ones in charge will take good care of us. It is quite a disturbing place to be.

Example 1:

The day after my first transplant, a team of physical therapists descended upon me and took me for a walk around the halls of ICU. I was still on the ventilator so they had to disconnect me from the machine. As a replacement, they attached the tube in my lungs to a bag. One of the techs had to squeeze it to breathe for me. I was miserable and very freaked out. With each squeeze of the bag came another surge of anxiety. The techs were happily chatting about their weekend or some other non-medical topic. What if the one breathing for me lost focus and missed a squeeze? What if he got off rhythm? I couldn’t talk and it was all I could do to take the next step. My most basic bodily instinct, breathing, was being controlled by someone whom I had just met and who didn’t seem to take this responsibility very seriously. I was at his mercy in a way that I had never been before and couldn't have imagined. Of course, he did his job and I was returned to my bed unharmed. Nonetheless, I was thrilled to be reconnected to the machine. It seemed much more reliable and made me feel far less vulnerable.

Example 2:

I was filled with tubes. I had IV’s in my neck, a tube draining my urine and what felt like a fire-hose coming out of my nose. My mother and my husband were by my side as I underwent my first big contrast study after the Nissen Fundoplication. When the test was done, they offered to wheel me to my room in order to avoid the long wait for transport.

The test had been done in the basement of the hospital, many floors and a few wings away from the safety of my private room. Getting back proved to be a challenge.

My husband was pushing the wheelchair and my mother manned the IV pole. Sometimes, the long IV tubes would get caught in the wheelchair. It was a much more difficult endeavor than either one had anticipated. With caution they made their way through the hospital and we ended up in the familiar territory of the main hospital lobby. This lobby stretches along the entire front of the hospital and leads to the elevators that would take us back to my room.

I had never noticed it until that day, but not many in-patients are in that lobby. I was the only one I saw in a gown. I was certainly the only one with a fire hose taped to my nose. I became acutely aware that my urine was on display. I felt terribly embarrassed. I put my head down and braced myself until we had cleared all of the many fixated eyeballs. On that journey, I understood the value of the professional transport system: they would have gone the back way.

Later, I told my husband how the trip through the lobby made me feel. He had no idea that I was feeling that way and he felt horrible about it. I knew he hadn’t intended to embarrass me but he apologized anyway. I think this experience was a tremendous learning opportunity for him. I know he will look at things a little differently given a similar situation in the future.

The Verdict:

There is a big difference between emotional vulnerability and physical vulnerability. I can choose to let someone see my deepest feelings, share my most painful experiences and I can choose to stop the sharing at any time. In a similar way, I can choose to be physically vulnerable but would only do that with someone I love, trust and want to have that kind of intimacy with. However, when I am laying in a hospital bed and I am being touched and moved and wiped (I'm sorry, but that is reality) I can not imagine being able to let myself feel ok about that physical vulnerability. It is more like an assault than it is like the voluntary giving that you share with someone you love. Yes, it helps if the caregiver is the same sex. Yes, it helps if they are very sensitive to what is happening. Honestly, though, I have a very hard time imagining a situation in which it could ever feel empowering.

As a sick person, you can feel like you spend your life at the mercy of others…waiting for them to bring you food, medicine, oxygen. Being pushed in a wheelchair at a speed and route not determined by you. Being sick feels like being out of control.

Caregivers can make a big difference in how vulnerable someone in that position feels. Simply by being gentle and respectful with their body can make a huge difference. You can never underestimate the value of your kind words (or lack thereof). In small moments that are simply routine parts of life with illness, you have so much power to change the way a patient feels.

As a patient, you will have to find the balance between organizing your care in such a way that allows you to retain some control and accepting that there will be times in which you will have to hand the reins over to someone else. There is no easy solution for this problem. Vulnerability is one of the most emotionally painful parts of illness.

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