I’m dead-beat. Bone-tired. Wasted. But I ain’t dead-dead and I ain’t lung-tired. And with my lung transplant, I guess you could say I’m recycled, rather than wasted. Maybe these jokes don’t make sense. I am exhausted, after all. My glasses are battered, and so are my shoes. I…
Victorious — Brad Dell
Brad Dell is Deaf and was diagnosed with cystic fibrosis at 2 months old in 1993. He received a double-lung transplant from UC San Francisco in January 2017, then cochlear implants nine months later. He lives in Hawaii, where he was raised. Usually he’s traveling the world, chugging coffee, or devouring books. He also pastors Restoration Community Church and serves as the director of community content at Bionews, this site’s publisher.
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As a child I was a kicker, the type no nurse wants to be near when wielding needles and throat swabs. Eventually I’d relax my shrieking when Mom or Dad held my hand and called me brave. The nurses were then more warmly received. To be safe, they came bearing…
Mom never had to force me to eat my veggies. Matter of fact, she tried to force me to eat less of them. There was nothing quite as refreshing as coming home from a stressful day of middle school and popping open a can of black-eyed peas or a…
Moonlight twinkled off Eagle Scouts’ accomplishment pins (earned for demonstrations of helpfulness, generosity, and loyalty) as they wound rope around my friend and me — tying it off with a knot perfect enough to merit yet another accomplishment pin. Sweaty pits and unbrushed teeth polluted lake air that…
Spring 2017 It was a historic rainfall in Silicon Valley, the likes not seen since the days of Noah and his big boat. Los Gatos Creek spilled over and the neighborhood electricity blew out — a true tragedy in Tech Titan Valley. Mom sparked candles perfumed with…
I breathed 23 years of invisible illness before retching tan-green Silly Putty into city trash bins while leashed to a bulky, wheeled, metallic canister of oxygen. Twenty-three years of rotting beneath my skin before the disease turned inside-out. All eyes were on me as I puked, a…
What is victory for us? I know we crave a cure above all, but what is attainable in the meantime? When I began this column, titled “Victorious,” I viewed victory as a single objective: positivity. Living joyfully despite this horrific illness. And yes, I still think that is…
“A childhood disease.” That’s what they called cystic fibrosis back in my day. (Man, that makes me sound old. But that’s kinda the point of this column.) A childhood disease yet we grow old so fast. Scarred souls, battered bodies. Maybe death before our…
When I first met my lung transplant surgeon, she remarked that cystic fibrosis patients have a great post-transplant life expectancy because we tend to be best prepared for it. We know how to shovel pills by the handful into our mouths two to three times a day.
Military hospitals handled most of my cystic fibrosis (CF) care. Many members of the military worship pain (“Get some! Rub some dirt in it, hooah!”), and assume you do, too. CFers inevitably encounter intense pain throughout the treatment of their disease.
Kathleen belaying Brad as he climbs. Not quite near the top yet. (Courtesy of Kathleen Sheffer) There are times I feel especially mortal. Such as when I’m feet from the top of a rock climbing wall, and I realize I’m relying on a single rope…
Second in a two-part series about the role of anger in a CFer’s life. Last week, I wrote about a lifetime of anger because of cystic fibrosis. The fury boiled over during an episode of ICU psychosis and septic shock. I finally…
First in a two-part series about the role of anger in a CFer’s life. Life as a child with cystic fibrosis was grueling. I had frightening surgeries, hours of treatments each day, a cluster of never-ending infections ravaging my lungs and digestive system, and…
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