A Tale of Two Years (and Four Lungs)

Dear 2011,

Well, hello there.

Okay, so I have to be honest: I am SUPER excited to "meet" you. Seriously. I think I can honestly say that I have never been more thrilled to ring in a new year -- even 2000, which was, of course, thrilling in actual celebration and important for me personally in that it was the year I graduated high school and spread my wings, so to speak. And please, don't get me wrong. I've had some fantastic years in my life -- many of which I look back on now with total awe that I could ever deserve to be so blessed or so lucky -- but 2011, I'm 100% sincere when I say that you have all the potential in the world to take home the big prize. You are, to put it mildly, potential personified. And for that reason alone, darling new year, I am extremely thrilled to welcome you into my life.

Of course, your predecessor was pretty darn impressive in its own right, obviously. I mean, how many years come complete with a brand new set of organs? (Important sidenote: please don't take that statement as a challenge, future years. I really think I'll hang onto what I've got for now if it's all the same to you.) It's undeniable that 2010 was about as "landmark" as they come, and that it was filled with joy, sorrow, hope, fear, laughter, tears, and miracles beyond my wildest dreams. For that, at least, I hope 2010 knows that I am forever and truly grateful.

In some ways, of course, it's always hard to separate the worst moments in your life from the best. By which I mean that true joy often stems from hard lessons, or from overcoming tragic circumstances -- at least that's quite often been my experience. And by that measurement, no doubt, 2010 was pretty much as awesome as they come, itself a fact made clear for me when I spend time rereading parts of this blog, or just revisiting memories. I laugh out loud pretty much every time I read those awesome comments you left me during my stay in the ICU, for example, and I smile to know that people from all across the country and even the world were lifting up their hearts in prayer, love, and celebration right along with my family. Wowza. No, seriously. Wowza, in every sense of the (very made-up) word.

Charles Dickens started out one of his most famous novels with the words now dreaded by high school English students the country over: "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way . . ."

I'm pretty sure Dickens might have been waiting for transplant when he wrote that passage.

Okay, fine, so maybe not. But the point still stands that difficult moments in life have a strange habit of bringing people together, showing us what's important, and teaching us lessons that might scare us in the moment, but at the very least have the potential for some pretty interesting stories (or blog posts) down the road.

Although I have to say that if 2010 was both the best of times and the worst of the times, then I think I'll settle for 2011 just being pretty darn good in its own right. I'll gladly accept a few less life-changing lessons and brilliant surges of pure delight if I can also, in turn, cut down on the sleepless night full of worry and the scared looks I saw on way too many faces in 2010. I know I have a lot more to learn, and I promise I'm excited to get there, but for right now I think I'd be okay making those discoveries under just slightly less difficult circumstances, 2011 -- that is, if that's okay with you, of course.

Of course, my New Year's wish for all my beautiful friends out there is similar, though not, it goes without saying, exactly the same. I wish the best of times (always), I wish you harder times (when necessary), and above all I wish you excitement, joy, wonder, and discovery through each and every second of this magical experience that we call life. And when it all seems just a tad bit overwhelming, then I wish you, as Dickens might say, a true "spring of hope." And maybe, if we all get really lucky, a few more seasons as well.

With love, gratitude, and some serious excitement for the year to come,

xoxo beautiful people,
Piper

My New Lung Resolutions

I guess I should start this out by saying I've never really been one for New Year's resolutions. I'm a long-term goals kind of girl: my "resolutions" tend to be less about what I plan to do this year than about ways I'd like to help myself grow as a person, which means they also tend to be kind of vague because I have to sort of figure them out as I go along. Instead of "I plan to exercise more," I have a tendency to veer more into the realm of "I want to live my life as healthily as possible" -- which can mean more exercise as well as more rest, eating healthier as well as getting more calories, doing more treatments as well as taking more time to nourish my spirit and remembering that nights out with friends are important too. It's not that I don't support more concrete resolutions ("2010 is going to be the year I finish War and Peace," for example, or better yet "the year I write my own novel"), it's just that my mind really likes to view the forest, and leave myself a little leeway to discover the trees as I go.

That said, it's hard not to begin this new year -- ahem, new decade, excuse me -- without some serious personal reflection. There is no doubt whatsoever in my mind that this year is going to bring with it amazing changes for my life, though at this point I can only begin to imagine the extent to which these changes will impact my person, my body, and my spirit. Peering into any new year is like staring down into the water and wondering what's below; for me, this year, I look down and wonder if even my reflection will have changed by the start of 2011. I am excited and impatient, scared and hesitant, and above all, I am curious.

So given the overwhelming number of "big" changes that I think (believe, hope, pray, understand) will come for me this year, I've decided to mix things up a bit and focus on some smaller goals for myself. (And to be totally, completely, 100% honest, I actually started this list a while back, when I was given the wise advice my a beautiful post-tx cyster to start planning and visualizing all the amazing things I wanted to do with new lungs.) Without further ado, here are just a few of my 2010 "New Lungs' Resolutions":

• Go running in Central Park
• Buy a beautiful dress, go dancing, and stay out on the floor as long as I want (partner optional -- haha)
• Spend a day volunteering for a cause that is not at all CF related
• Play with my puppy more (I mean really, really play)
• Sketch in a museum
  
• Continue to journal/write/paint/express myself
• Take a tai chi class
• Continue to meditate
• Dance in the rain -- literally
• Watch a sunset and a sunrise (need not be the same day)
  
• Find a way to do something to say thank you to my family for everything they've done for me this year
• Be grateful. Be patient. Be humble.
• Practice compassion for myself and others at every chance possible (okay, so maybe I'm aiming a little big with this one, but I promise myself I'll try)

There are other things -- many, many other things -- that I plan to do with my new lungs, of course. Some of them I know I won't be able to complete in a year, if for no other reason than there are just too many things I want to do, and also because some involve traveling that just won't be possible right off the bat with transplant. But thankfully I have plans to be around for more than just the next 365 days, and if each day just brings me closer to any one of my goals then I'll know it's a success. And you know, if some (or even all) of these things don't work out, well, then I at least resolve to try and keep learning, keep growing, and keep trying to push myself to be as strong and as loving and as much of a light as I can possibly be . . . I might not ever be worthy of the Peace Prize, but hopefully I can at least make a few people smile.

And that's not too much to hope for, right?

Happy 2010, beautiful people. I hope your year, and your decade, is filled with health, love, and blessings beyond even your wildest dreams.

Wrap it Up

Alright 2009, it's go time. As in, you're about to go join your brothers in the land of year's past, and I'm about to pack up all the experiences, memories, and yes, scars and go on to 2010 -- which will no doubt bring more experiences, memories, and yep, you guessed it, more scars. So let's say goodbye properly, shall we? In other words, let's wrap up yet another year of a life that defies all attempts at summary, with a disease that defies all predictability, filled with blessings that defy all expectation. Raise your glasses, here's to 2009:

• January brings my first hospitalization/IVs of the year, which ends the day before I hop a train down to D.C. to celebrate the historic inauguration of our nation's first African-American President. Black tie, dancing, parades, speeches, open houses, amazing Ethiopian food, and an extra day to enjoy the Smithsonian Museums make for a pretty amazing start to one of the biggest years of my life.
• February/March mark my second round of IVs, lasting 6 weeks and including my first experience with the dreaded gravity drip. I learn creative ways to hook up in the office without an IV pole, thanks to a coat hanger and some suggestions from friends that would have made Macgyver proud. During this time my amazing sister also celebrates her 30th birthday, a spectacular evening that involves cruising the tiny cobblestone streets of the West Village in a white, stretch Hummerzine. Oh yeah, we went there.
  
• April: Hospitalization #2 and IV round #3. Things start to get tricky and my doctor suggests active listing for transplant. In a last-ditch effort, I take short-term disability from work and focus on seriously upping my exercise routine. In the meantime I also manage to host an Easter dinner for 8, despite a nothing-short-of-ridiculous fire/flood in my apartment building. Good times abound, despite the fact that I spend the week living in a nearby hotel with my mother (who flies in to help), my puppy, and my good friend the gravity drip.
  
• May: IV free month! After I finish celebrating, I spend the rest of the time finishing my transplant evaluation (hello, heart cath!) and fundraising for Great Strides. My team raises over $4,000 and I am honored to also get the chance to join Amy down in Philly for her town's walk. Amy returns the favor and spends a fabulous weekend in NYC, complete with thin crust pizza and gelato. My friends adore her, obviously.
• June/July: Two months, two more rounds of IVs, and the third hospitalization of the year. In between all this, I manage to sneak off to to Turkey for a couple of weeks, where I experience awesomeness in the form of my first hot air balloon ride, the caves of Cappadocia, the Turquoise Coast (complete with sea kayaking), the wonders of Istanbul, and some amazing quality time with family and friends. I also receive a crash course in foreign healthcare when my compressor fails to work overseas and I get the privilege of purchasing another in a Turkish medical supply store. Sometime during this trip I also begin to run fevers and experience other symptoms now recognizable as the beginning of the "Great Port Debacle of 2009." Remarkably, this doesn't put much of a damper on the trip, although my mother does move to NYC upon our return in order to help out before/during/after transplant. Sammy and I are beyond grateful for the help, the company, and the walks. Sampson celebrates by having his, um, "man operation." As this is only his first hospitalization of the year, however, I have little sympathy.
  
• August: Sixth round of IVs, fourth hospitalization, and (most importantly) the month I am officially listed for transplant. I write this post to memorialize the occasion.
  
• September: Leave the hospital, only to return less than 24 hours later to the same room, this time with severe signs of an impending crash. Luckily, cultures finally come back positive for a blood infection in my port, isolating the problem and giving us a simple solution: removal followed by antibiotics. Two tries later, I am minus the actual port-a-cath but still retain the catheter, which is literally sealed to my vein by scar tissue. Lovely. I am sent home on antibiotics with thoughts that the catheter can remain in until transplant, but readmitted a week later when the catheter is finally removed via vascular surgery through my shoulder. Everyone breathes a sigh of relief and I am given my first PICC in 9 years. This brings our hospitalization tally up to 7, but who's counting.
• October: I stop IVs on the 1st and stay off for the entire month, giving me my second technically IV-free month of the year. Drama of the month comes in the form of an unplanned ER visit after a routine tx appointment reveals a clot around my PICC line (thus starting the "Not-So-Great PICC Clot Fiasco of 2009"). Sent home on blood thinners and learn WAY too much about transplant and blood-thinner use. Thrilling lesson, really.
• November: Seventh round of IVs and 8th hospitalization for a suspected case of H1N1 that thankfully turns out to be nothing more than high drug fevers. Host Thanksgiving dinner at my apartment for my entire family, grandmother, godmother, best friend from college, family friends, and two of my sister's close friends. Turn 28 the next day -- amazing month and amazing year.
• December: Eighth round of IVs brings the placement of my second port, this time in my chest like a normal cystic. Two dry runs for transplant (so far), and one gorgeous Christmas tree. Dad comes to NYC to stay until the transplant, reuniting the entire family and ensuring that my apartment is never empty or quiet. Sampson is even more spoiled by the presence of additional humans to pet and play with him. Life is good.

In 2009 Sampson turned 1, Gloria and Issac climbed stairs and Ben ran over 26 miles to help cure CF, and my parents celebrated their 39th wedding anniversary (congrats, guys!). Michelle Obama wore a shirt that my sister designed, my mother moved ~2,000 miles across the country in an obvious attempt to win the "best CF mom ever" award, and my gorgeous cousin Rachel got engaged to the love of her life while her brother welcomed yet another beautiful Beatty child into the world. Some friends gained new lungs and others gained angel wings. I lost a port and gained a port, fought through infections and laughed through recoveries, and somehow managed to eat my way to my highest weight since high school (although I think a lot of the credit there goes to gyrotonics). Jobs were left, new hobbies were discovered, and a whole lot of books were read to fill some of the new free time. My family learned (and is still learning) the true meaning of the word "patience," and also maybe the true meaning of the word "patient" in the medical sense. In short, it definitely wasn't a simple year, but at least it wasn't boring!

So thank you, 2009, for all you gave and all the lessons learned (even the hard ones); for the inspiration and the emotional roller coasters; for the craziness and the moments of sheer and total beauty; and, of course, for knowing when to say goodbye.

Hope everyone has a happy and healthy new year!