Ten years ago today, I was admitted to the hospital. I was 15 years old and prior to that day, I had only been admitted to the hospital three times in my life. For someone with cystic fibrosis, this was actually pretty impressive. Growing up, I knew that I had CF but admittedly, I didn't know what it meant to be "sick."
I did my breathing treatments, took enzymes and vitamins and the occasional round of oral antibiotics. I had doctors appointments every few months. But between the fact that I was still very much a child and naive about my illness, my "doctor Mom" doing everything she could to keep me healthy and what I can only choke up to being "lucky," I hadn't yet experienced the harsh reality that many with cystic fibrosis face. Honestly, as a child, I barely remember even having CF. When I walked into the Pediatric Ward that Monday, I had no idea I was about to hit a breaking point. That Monday was a catalyst in my healthcare journey because for the first time in my life, I began to understand what cystic fibrosis really was. In some ways, I actually consider it to be my "first" admission because the illness I knew before was nothing compared to what I've known since.
I spent 23 days in the hospital that April. During which, I was diagnosed with CF related diabetes and a mycobacterium abscesses lung infection. I was started on insulin therapy and learned to give myself a shot with every meal. I also had a central line permanently placed in my chest, which I used for IV antibiotics, 3-4 times a day, every day, for the next 3.5 years. In a matter of days, everything I knew about my life changed.
