As a teen, my late daughter took charge of her CF treatment

When my late daughter, Jasmine, turned 15, I remember thinking how grown-up she’d become and how much of her world she managed on her own. As a single father, I always worried about getting things right, especially with something as complex as her cystic fibrosis (CF). But Jasmine had a way of making even the hardest days feel lighter.

Our mornings started early. The alarm would go off before sunrise, and I would hear Jasmine in the kitchen. She had taken control of her treatments by then, stacking her pancreatic enzymes next to her breakfast and checking her schedule for the day. She kept a logbook on the counter, marking off each medication. Sometimes she’d leave a reminder for me to pick up more meds or she’d share a joke to start the day.

The bronchial drainage machine was a constant presence in our home. Some days, its steady rhythm was the soundtrack to our morning. Jasmine would sit quietly with her headphones on, lost in music while the machine worked to loosen the mucus from her lungs. Afterward, she’d prepare her nebulizer, carefully measuring the medication. She wanted to do it herself, insisting she knew her own body best. I used to hover, but eventually I learned to trust her. She rarely needed reminders.

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Weekdays were busy. I’d drive her to school, and we’d talk about the day ahead or the latest book she was reading. She kept a small pill case in her backpack, making sure she never missed a dose of her enzymes at lunchtime. Some days, she’d text me from the nurse’s office with a quick update that she’d finished her nebulizer treatment or with a joke just to make me smile. In those moments, CF felt like just another part of our daily routine, not the thing that defined us. Jasmine was determined to fit in and do everything her friends were doing.

After school, she liked to relax before tackling homework. Sometimes she’d invite friends over, and I’d hear them laughing in the living room, the bronchial drainage machine humming in the background. Her friends all knew about her condition, and Jasmine never seemed embarrassed. She explained CF with a matter-of-fact honesty. She’d talk openly with her friends about her medications, and sometimes they’d sit with her while she did her treatments, chatting and sharing snacks as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

A legacy of love and laughter

There were hard days, too, of course. Sometimes a cold or an infection would require extra treatments, more time with the nebulizer, and a stricter medication schedule. Those were the days when the weight of CF pressed in, and I’d worry about the future. But Jasmine faced those times head-on, never letting fear take over. She’d remind me to breathe and to trust the routines we’d built together. On the hardest days, she’d still find something to laugh about, making light of the situation to put us both at ease.

At 15, Jasmine was fiercely independent. She scheduled her appointments, kept track of her medications, and even ordered her refills when we were running low. I’d sometimes catch her double-checking labels on her pancreatic enzymes or cleaning the nebulizer parts late at night, determined to ensure that everything would be just right. She took pride in that responsibility, and I tried my best to let her have that control. Watching her become her own advocate made me proud.

Evenings were our time to slow down. We’d sit together after her last treatment, sometimes watching a movie or just talking. She liked to tease me, saying I was the only dad who knew as much about bronchial drainage machines as the doctors did. I’d laugh and tell her she was the best teacher I could have asked for. Some nights we’d plan little weekend adventures or talk about her dreams for the future, and those conversations are what I hold closest now.

Jasmine passed away in 2019, and not a day goes by without me missing her presence in our home. Sometimes I still hear the faint hum of the bronchial drainage machine or see her handwriting in the old logbooks she left behind.

CF was always with us, shaping our days, but it never took away the love, laughter, or stubborn hope that Jasmine brought to every moment. She taught me that, even with the weight of treatments and routines, there was always space for joy and living life fully, one day at a time. That is the legacy she left, and the memory I will always carry with me.

Note: Cystic Fibrosis News Today is strictly a news and information website about the disease. It does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. This content is not intended to be a substitute for professional medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Always seek the advice of your physician or other qualified health provider with any questions you may have regarding a medical condition. Never disregard professional medical advice or delay in seeking it because of something you have read on this website. The opinions expressed in this column are not those of Cystic Fibrosis News Today or its parent company, Bionews, and are intended to spark discussion about issues pertaining to cystic fibrosis.