Can I just say, that college and CF are not always a compatible pair.

I was just sent your standard issue rejection letter from a college I was very hopeful to attend. The reason? Not enough credits. Or at least, I assume it was that, as my GPA is a 4.0 and you really can't beat that.

When I graduated high school, I started an IV regimen that, at the time, was said to last anywhere from one month to twelve, and dorm room living with an IV pole is not ideal, so I enrolled in the local community college. Six months into it, the IVs stopped, and I planned to transfer. But, alas, CF struck, and I found myself in the hospital frequently that year, again putting off my dreams of a real college experience.

Roll forward to 2008, and, transfer applications sent, I was accepted to two universities that I was equally enthralled with, and ... well, I started lung transplant evaluations that year. College became lost in the paperwork, the barium swallows, the aterial blood gas studies, the xrays, catheters, blood work - the craziness that is a double lung transplant.

That fall was one of my harder times. I had a plan, and if nothing else, I like to think I have control over my life, so this plan had. to. happen. It didn't, naturally, and I was hit, full on, with the realization that I had no control over any aspect of my life, least of all the aspect I would most like to control; my health.

Having it happen again, though, in reverse, if you will, is equally devastating. Not because I begrudge the school for their decision, but because I realize that had I the proper number of credits, or any degree under my belt at all, the response would undoubtedly be quite the opposite.

I get this anxious feeling in the pit of my stomach, like I'm drowning in this town. The last time I was in the hospital, I felt as though I were going to suffocate in the bed, in those generic, hospital issued sweaty sheets, and now, this town, these walls, they're closing in on every side and it takes every effort I can muster just to breathe. To be barred the ability to finish college because of this disgusting disease that I so heartily loathe, well, it makes me hate myself.

I just want to claw it out of myself. Dig and dig and scratch through to my bones and suck out the illness.

I want to be rid of it.

Because maybe, maybe then the anxiety and panic and reality that my life is this disease, that it's all consuming, wouldn't be real.
Maybe my life would be mine, and I could breathe easy again.

May I just say, I love genuine enthusiasm.

I really love and appreciate people who are enthusiastic. It's such a great experience to hear someone talk about something that is so fascinating to them that their eyes light up and they just cannotsaywhattheyhavetosayfastenough. Phew.

This trend of 'apathy is cool' is depressing. There's nothing cool or interesting about being apathetic; it's the worst. But, wait, being depressed is like, in. Right?

WRONG!
[Disclaimer - I was never 'hip' in high school, or college, so what I consider to be 'in' may very well be 'out'. But that's just fine with me.]

Let me say this - it's AWESOME to be optimistic and excited and embarrassingly enthusiastic. The more embarrassing, the better, I always say.. [Which explains so much of my life....]

I won't go so far as to say I don't have moments, days, weeks even where I'm unbearably down about everything, times when life and lungs and boy troubles submerge me in a gigantic grumpy mood that I really struggle with. But the point is, I like being optimistic. And when I get back to that, to a point of enjoying life, is when I'm most content. And that's what I most enjoy surrounding myself with. Because there is SO MUCH GOOD in this world, and how can we only focus on the negative when the positive is beating us over our heads with every ray of sunshine and donut shop within driving distance?

With that said, I'll share a few photos in which I am unabashedly happy, which, in the grand scheme of things, is kind of what it's all about, right?