About 4 years ago on a Monday I ran a mile in record time, did over a 300 push-ups, and biked 10 miles. I was boxing and in peak physical condition, not missing a med, eating right, and sleeping. So you can imagine my frustration when 4 days later I found myself laid up in the ICU with a septic viral infection. 

As I lay there going into septic shock with a 106 degree fever, I examined the events leading up to that point, trying to make sense of how I got there. 

As those of us with CF know all too well, CF is a series of conflicts that often make us feel like we are fighting a losing battle. 1 step forward, 2 steps back. Sometimes these battles can bring us to rock bottom, and we have to start completely over, rebuilding our lives each time. It’s like trying to climb a mountain but every time you get close to the summit, you fall all the way back down. I laid there trying to figure out how I had fallen; had I pushed too hard, not hard enough, or was it just bad luck? How was I going to climb back up that mountain again? The mountain seemed impossible to climb. Was it worth trying? Could I actually get to the top?

This past weekend, I visited Yosemite National Park with some friends. It was the first time I’ve been camping in years, let alone living at 8,000 feet altitude. It wasn’t long before I was feeling the effects of it. I ended up going to bed the first night early to try and recover. Meanwhile my friends stayed up and partied. 

The next day the group decided to go hike up a mountain to find a lake at the top. This is where I will say: hiking is one of my least favorite things. Between the osteoporosis caused by high doses of prednisone, the sugar crashes from diabetes, the risk of hyponatremia as a post transplant patient, and the oxygen deprivation of CF, it’s a huge gamble and burden on my body. It can easily make for a perfect storm of problems. Not to mention medical help is hours away. But I decided I would do it.

We began hiking and immediately I began to question why I was doing it. My friends were bounding up the mountain side, and I was choking for air. I tried keeping up but just couldn’t get the oxygen, so frequent breaks were needed. I told my friends to go on ahead. At some point halfway up, my sugar crashed and I had to stop for a solid 30 minutes to get it back up. Another mile up and I felt like I was dehydrating. Then my joints started hurting. 

A good hour after they had reached the lake, I hobbled up. To my friends, it was just another day, but to me I was euphoric. The view had never looked better. To them, climbing was a piece of cake. To me it was a struggle. But it made the top that much more spectacular. I had conquered the mountain at 10,000 ft. and it was beautiful on top.

Going back 4 years to the ICU, I was asking myself why keep going? I’m never going to get up the mountain. Then there was a quiet calm voice in my head that said, “You aren’t climbing the mountain, YOU are the mountain. CF is trying to climb you, because you’re the mountain that’s never been conquered.” Weirdly that put me at peace and has served me ever since. Now that I actually conquered a real mountain, I can see how much that perspective helped me through the tough moments since. You just have to keep trying. 

 

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Kyle O’Tain is a 30-year-old screenwriter living in Los Angeles, California. He enjoys surfing, boxing, and riding motorcycles. He strives for a zen but active lifestyle and meditates daily. He has Cystic Fibrosis, Diabetes, and is 5 years post Lung Transplant. He is also a three-time Recreation Grant recipient from the CFLF. You can email him directly at kyleotain@gmail.com or follow him on Instagram @ ___KO___
 

 

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