Columns

It’s 10:25 a.m. and all I’ve had is coffee. Last week, I wrote about my struggles with cystic fibrosis-related digestive damage and my increasingly fragile colon (which is not a colon anymore, but a small intestine and an inch of rectum pretending to be a colon), and I keep…

I’ve been in love. It was magnificent. It also hurt. Love belongs among the most powerful building blocks of our cosmos. Passion drives creation, compassion nurtures it. Blend the two for love. Tragically, I’ve found that adding a sick body to the mix can threaten the balance. Passion wanes as…

It’s been three and a half years since I “chose” life through a double-lung transplant. Life-and-death decisions rarely are black and white. The path to making my decision wasn’t linear; it was a journey to wrestle through, devoid of clear-cut answers. I hope this column will help those on…

I went to bed hungry last night, and I woke up scared of food. This is my new reality. Although this is an old-new one I’ve lived (and lived to forget) time and again, I still don’t have it mastered. Years ago, I couldn’t eat more than mashed potatoes and…

I recently saw a meme in which a person is smiling or laughing in the first panel, then looks utterly dismayed in the second. The second panel’s overlay reads: “Tfw [that feeling when] I realize I’m being perceived by everybody else who ever interacts with me.” This meme is one…

I am going to write something no one wants to hear: Honesty is best when it’s pretty. Sometimes I am that person. I can smile through the suffering. I can point my toes while pieces are ignored. I can pretend that the realities of fighting for this life aren’t less…

Two of the most powerful words in our vocabulary are “me, too.” Many of us tend to isolate ourselves when our circumstances are challenging. We turn inward rather than outward because we feel shame about what we’re going through. When we find that person or group of people that gets…

I am in a bathroom feeling sick, writing about being sick, not wanting to be sick. I don’t want this to be my life or what I’m writing about. I get sick of saying it. You must get sick of reading it, or associating me with it, or scrolling…

I’ve often written that “the disease itself isn’t the worst part, rather it’s the …” The medication side effects, the childhood trauma, the dread, the blah, blah, blah. Today, it’s the social exclusion. Post-transplant, I’m not very excluded. Sure, I can’t eat sushi with my friends, and most…

I used to be ashamed about my insecurities. I believed that as a man, I was supposed to be strong. I was supposed to silently hate myself, my appearance, and my body, while projecting an immutable air of confidence. That was the “manly” way. My masculinity, my…