A Blessing In Disguise

Cystic Fibrosis is negative. As most of you probably know by now, the effects of the disease are devastating. Yes, CF is negative. But in many ways, it is also a blessing.

As a CF patient I have experienced the very best of days and the very worst of days. I know how it feels to accomplish something despite having CF. I also know how it feels to be unable to accomplish something because of CF. I have experienced life on both sides of the spectrum. There are days when my health has absolutely no bearing on my life; however, there are also days when simply breathing represents the most arduous of tasks.

I have often said, you cannot begin to understand how lucky you are until you are forced to experience how quickly that luck can fade.

CF is a blessing because of how it compels us to act. Those who live with the disease have a greater appreciation of life then those who do not. CF induces forced reflection; it provokes us to appreciate the good days and to always remember that no matter how badly things may appear – they can always be worse.

Last summer, during one of my hospitalizations, I befriend a group of fellow CF patients who were also being forced to spend their summer vacations on the 8th floor of St. Michael’s Hospital. In between our treatments, the four of us would play cards, watch television and chat casually about life. During one of our conversations I explained that my lung function had fallen from nearly 100 per cent to below 50 per cent – hence my hospitalization. Shawn, a fellow Cfer let out a reluctant giggle. “50 per cent,” he said, “my lung function hasn’t been that high in nearly five years!”

Later I learned that Shawn was on the donor list. At 28-years old his lungs had deteriorated to the point where his only chance of survival was to undergo a double lung transplant. Suddenly, I felt a whole lot better about my own personal situation.

I left the hospital that summer knowing that Shawn and my other friends might not. As I said my goodbyes, I could tell that they were happy to see me go. They would take solace in my victory. My recovery meant something to them; it inspired them and gave them hope. I know, because during my stay I too watched other patient’s come and go.

When you are hospitalized you want to go home. You yearn for your own bed, the scent of your pillow, the familiar creek of your bedroom floor.

Each time that I watched a fellow Cfer walk out of the clinic I felt both saddened and overjoyed. The post-recovery goodbyes were always bittersweet. The healthy patient, eager to get back to some sense of normalcy, would wish the unhealthy patient’s the best of luck. A word or two of advice or inspiration; often followed by a handshake, hug, or the occasional tear. It is the reality of life in a hospital. Recovery comes to some, while at the same time evading others.

Those of us who are lucky enough to go home share a serious responsibility: we must live not only for ourselves, but also for those whose lives are on hold. We live vicariously through each other. It is a method of coping, but it is also a way of defeating a disease that often seems undefeatable.

These experiences are what bond CF patients together. We constitute a unique community of like-minded individuals who choose to fight this devastating disease together. We share our pain, our anger, our frustration and our sadness. But we also share our victories and our accomplishments.

Although we are sick, we understand that we are lucky. We see the world in a more holistic manner. We acknowledge and appreciate the small successes. We remain positive and optimistic in the face of sheer negativity. We LIVE each day to its fullest potential. We avoid getting bent out of shape over the minor frustrations of day-to-day life. We share fear, pain, agony and defeat; but we also share in the happiness that comes along with overcoming CF.

Yes, CF is negative. But in the grand scheme of things, CF makes us better people.