Untitled.

I struggled with a fitting title for this post. None came to mind so I left it blank.

On Friday I found a few support groups via Facebook that I joined. They all are for people with chronic illnesses such as Pulmonary Fibrosis and Pulmonary Hypertension, the main two diseases that ail me. Since then, two people have passed away. Upon arriving at Pulmonary Rehab today, I was informed that one of the people that was to start exercising with us had also passed.

In the span of three days, I was informed of at least three people that didn't survive the same illness I have.

Three.

That's too many for me.

I hate that death feels all around me. I hate that it feels so close to me. I hate the fact that when I go to sleep at night, I often worry about if I will somehow stop breathing in my sleep.

I hate the fact, that at 33 years old, I have an advance directive, a medical proxy, and a living will. I hate that these are things that I even have to have. I hate having to have these conversations with people I love. I hate to see the fear that momentarily comes across their face.

I hate that for so long I have thought "Well what if I don't make it out of the surgery?" and just yesterday, after learning of the deaths of those three people, a new thought of "What if I don't even make it TO surgery?" has now plagued my thoughts for the past 24 hours.

I know a lot of people will read this and say "Oh you can die from anything at anytime" and that very well may be true. I could walk outside and get hit by a bus. I could drop dead on the toilet for unknown reasons. Or I could very well live to 106, like Ms. Virginia McLaurin. All I know is, folks you have to stay ready so you won't have to get ready when the time comes.

Have your house in order.

As for me...
When God calls me,

I'll have no choice but to go.

Early Morning Rambling

It's about 6am.

I've been awake since 4am. Unable to sleep. Last night was rough for me. I felt the weight of everything I've ever gone through on my shoulders and it all seemed to crash down on me in one swift motion. Kind of like life just decided to deliver a swift kick to my chin.

The two large, filled to the brim glasses of wine I consumed probably didn't help either. I'm just saying.

I may have forgotten to eat last night. My stomach is currently asking me all the questions and I have none of the answers. Food and I have been on the outs lately. Listening to a doctor lecture you for minutes on how you need to lose weight or you'll never be eligible to have the surgery you need to get your life (semi) back to normal kinda puts you on the outs with the culprit that made you fat in the first place. I'm very much aware that food isn't the enemy. I'm just having a really having a hard time finding a balance of eating healthy, trying to lose weight, and literally not giving a rats ass anymore.

It's a cold world.

I cried myself to sleep. It's something that has become the norm for me. It's almost ritual. I've been having the most difficult time trying to process how I feel about me. Myself. My life. Who I am now. What I have become. My capabilities. My disabilities. The hardest part of my illness, of the idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis is the idiopathic.

Unknown. There is no known reason or cause why I have the illness I have. There is no reason why I'm sick. Could it be genetics? Could it be because I was around a lot of second hand smoke growing up? Could it be because I went to public schools in NYC around the time the asbestos epidemic arose? Could it be because I thought I was cool and smoked clove and regular cigarettes for a spell? Could it be all of these? Or none of the above... WHO THE HELL KNOWS.

No one knows. No doctor. No shaman. No specialist. Not one soul.

I think if I had answers, answers to the "how?" it would make things a bit easier to swallow. But I don't. All I have is what I have been given. Which is nothing but a disease that has dramatically changed the way I have to live my everyday... for the rest of my life.

Sigh.

Who has breakfast?

Day One....

I honestly cannot believe I've started another blog.

I'd given up on writing.

So I said.

Truthfully, I felt like I have run out of things to write about. I felt like there wasn't anything new or exciting to write about. Especially in my life. Even now, I've rewritten this very paragraph at LEAST four times. There's always so much to say until you're faced with that blinking cursor. Then it gets real.

Mad real.

So now here I am.

Day one. With a new blog. And hopefully a life worth writing, and reading about.