Growing up, Cystic Fibrosis was never a big part of my life. I was hospitalized a few times during my first year when I was really sick, once when I was seven, then not again until I was nineteen. I didn’t pay much attention to it other than daily treatments.

I grew up in a small town. When I say a small town, I mean an extraordinarily small town, as in, I graduated with nine people in my class – yes, it was a public school. So to say that word traveled quickly, gossip was prevalent, or everyone knew your business… was an understatement.

Imagine being 12 years of age and being told that you might not make your 18th birthday. This was the news given to my family and me when my parents, fed up with other doctors, finally took me to Iowa City. They knew something was wrong and despite insisting upon the possibility of Cystic Fibrosis with the local doctors, nobody had listened. 

Our worlds are ever-changing. Not just the chronically ill, but the human race as a whole. However, the chronically ill certainly have a few more pieces to play with than most. The constant battle is the balancing act.

Each year, my life seems to grow more and more hectic. 

May is one of my favorite months. It means that winter is mostly (and sometimes completely) over. A few days ago on a walk in the woods I noticed that the last patch of snow has finally melted and that the ferns are starting to uncurl their fuzzy heads. It’s also my mom’s birthday (today actually, happy birthday mom!), and mother’s day, and one of my best friend’s birthdays. These are the things I think of most when I think of May. It’s rare that in April I think, “Next month is CF Awareness month!” But maybe I should?