Throughout my life with cystic fibrosis, I never thought about the prospect that I would outlive my loved ones. Now that I have attended some of their funerals, the thought of my own mortality has caught up with me.
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I felt so alone as a kid being gay and having CF — there weren’t any role models in the 80s and 90s that I could look up to. Eventually, I found people who understood what I was going through and that helped me feel good about who I was, and who I am today.
After opening up a time capsule that I put together when I was 7 years old, I decided to write my childhood self a letter, explaining how great her life is when she is 30.
I have answered questions from many about what cystic fibrosis is, but the question that I really wanted to address was: why do I believe I have CF?
Understanding that I suffered trauma from medical encounters during my childhood helped make me a more effective self-advocate as an adult.
Having cystic fibrosis means that hospitalizations are nothing new to me. But as I get older, I am much more aware of all the events I'm missing out on — birthdays, concerts, and school field trips. So this fall, I decided to take my life back from cystic fibrosis.
Growing up with CF was hard, but my parents helped me learn how to cope by both encouraging me to fight and allowing me space to complain.
I struggled with my health for years until I was diagnosed with CF at the age of 19. After starting treatments, my physical health improved greatly, yet the scars on my mental health remain.
For so long, my identify was defined by beating the odds and achieving a successful career despite having CF. But recently, health complications have forced me to create a new identity focused on self-care. With the help of my support system, I am slowly adapting to this new chapter.
The physical and emotional toll of CF can sometimes make me feel isolated from my peers. But I’ve learned being vulnerable about my struggles can create stronger relationships that make me feel supported and loved.