“I did it all

I did it all

I owned every second

this world can give

I saw so many places

The things that I did

Yeah, with every broken bone

I swear I lived…”

~ The CF theme song

AKA “I lived” by OneRepublic. 

The summer heat was really starting to get to me. While mild for Colorado this time of year (knock on wood), the roasting hot weather has kept me indoors and in my basement den, away from the summer sun’s oppressive rays. But, it wasn’t healthy to spend my days completely inside, only going outside after the sun had set behind the foothills. My anxiety, depression, and even physical health issues were becoming more of an issue the more I spent my days inside. Something had to change.  

I sent one more email to my doctors at the Cystic Fibrosis clinic to get one more dose of reassurance from them. Then, I looked up my results from past doctor’s appointments and scanned over my throat culture results over the past couple years or so. Aside from a few outliers, I’ve been Pseudomonas and MRSA free since starting Trikafta. And, even when I was infected with Pseudomonas and MRSA, they had absolutely no effects on my physical health. I was no longer at such high risk of getting even slightly sick from those godforsaken bacterial infections. 

Finally, I glanced over my shoulder at my mountain of morning medications, all stacked on top of a box of Trikafta: the drug that saved my health forever. 

“What are you waiting for?” I silently thought to myself, “You’re good to go swimming now. You survived your mom’s covid, the waterfall by Cripple Creek with your family, the creeks and puddles in the Valley. Get your ass into the pool. You still have plenty of time.”

It was only 7:15 in the morning. I’d been woken up early by my dog whining to go outside, and now that I was up, I couldn’t go back to sleep. The main swimming pool in Ken Caryl Valley had “Adult Only” swim lanes open in the mornings until 9:00 or so. I could spend almost two hours in the water if I got up, pulled on my swimsuit, and drove the three minutes or so from my house to the Valley pool. Logically, I knew everything would be okay. 

Emotionally, however, I was still torn. Water-borne bacteria kicked my ass before Trikafta, and I hadn’t even come close to getting over the trauma of those “episodes”. But, my emotions were just emotions. They weren’t facts. Sure, my emotions were valid, and fed my very real and valid fears. But, unlike what my “lizard brain” was telling me, neither Pseudomonas or MRSA, or any water-borne illness for that matter, could hurt me any longer. My anxiety, depression, and restlessness were far more destructive to my health than swimming, now that I was strong and healthy. I needed to get my ass in the water and return to my mermaid lifestyle.  

My doctor was very quick to get back to me, sending me a simple, short email in response to mine: “Yes. You will be just fine. You are healthy as can be. Other people sicker than you can handle the water just fine with Trikafta. Go swimming, it’ll be great for you!”

“Alright!” I said aloud, “I’m going!”

I got into my swimsuit (which still fit me perfectly six years later) as fast as I could, and when I looked at myself in the mirror wearing my navy blue one-piece, I was almost startled by my appearance. The thing fit as it was supposed to! Last time I wore it, I remember it feeling quite loose, and I wore a long sleeve swim shirt over it when I went snorkeling in Florida. But, I no longer needed something like that. I felt confident in my healthy-looking body for the first time in… well… for the first time ever! 

I pulled on jeans and a T-shirt over my swimsuit to wear on the way there and back. But, instead of stepping into my cowboy boots, I slipped into a pair of colorful slides I’d gotten from a Puma store awhile back. 

Driving to the valley, I blasted loud, fast, rock music to stave away my anxious thoughts. I knew I was going to be just fine in the water. I knew I was healthy enough to swim. I still knew how to swim and keep my head above water. I knew there weren’t going to be many people at the pool for “Adult Swim” time. I knew I could spend as little or as much time in the water as I wanted to. I knew everything was going to be okay. Perhaps, I would even enjoy myself!

At the Valley pool, I was greeted with the faint scent of Chlorine on the breeze. I also noticed that there were some people in the pool, but not too many. Half of the lanes were open, and those who were swimming looked to be much older than myself; I didn’t feel intimidated by the swimmers at all. The lifeguards had some Pop music quietly emanating from speakers in the lawn around the pool, and there were birds of all kinds singing from their perches in the surrounding trees. All was amazingly quiet and peaceful. It was a perfect environment for me to swim in. 

I scanned my pool card, plodded over wet pavement to an isolated lounge chair in the sun, and pulled off my T-shirt and jeans. I then grabbed my red foam kickboard, claimed a lane starting on the shallow end of the pool. Without really thinking, I plunged into the warmish water, head first, with my kickboard ahead of me. 

The instant I hit the water, it was like I’d never quit swimming. My anxiety was completely washed away from me, the warm water relaxed my tense muscles, my veins were flooded with excited adrenaline, flushing away my depression. I couldn't help but smile ear-to-ear as I lifted my head out of the water and shook my hair away from my face. Fond childhood memories of swimming came rushing back to me. I was always a fish. Apparently, I still was. 

I planted my feet against the wall of the pool and pushed myself forward, and began to propel myself through the water with doggy-paddle kicks as I held my kickboard ahead of me. At the other end of my lane, where the water was six feet deep, I let go of my kickboard and practiced treading water. Despite not swimming in deep water for six long years, I had absolutely no trouble keeping my head and neck well above the water’s surface. Again, it was all completely natural to me. I loved the feeling of the water around my entire body, holding me afloat as I gently moved my arms and legs in a circular pattern under the water. I loved the scent of the Chlorine mixed in with the sweet scents of prairie grass and wildflowers on the breeze. I haven't felt pure joy like that in... well... I honestly don't know how long. 

I spent five minutes or so reveling in my ability to stay afloat, before grabbing a hold of my kickboard and finishing my first lap in the pool. From there, without even thinking or keeping track of time, I just kicked back and fourth up and down my lane, in a state of pure bliss. I’d successfully taken back something I thought my health had stolen from me forever. I’d successfully (and instantly) conquered a deeply, deeply, deeply rooted fear of mine that had imbedded itself into my very soul for the better part of six long years. 

In a way, being in that water was my final “fuck you” to CF. It no longer had any control over me. With Trikafta in my system, I was going to swim wherever I wanted, whenever I wanted, however I wanted, and nothing, especially Cystic Fibrosis, was going to stop me. 

Well… that might not be entirely true. 

I did eventually wear myself out, and my stomach was starting to growl. So, I finished my tenth lap, lifted myself out of the water (again, with ease), and headed over to my lounge-chair to relax in the warm sun and dry off. While I rested in the warm sun, I chowed down on a bag of pretzels and watched the other swimmers go back-and-fourth in their lanes. 

When I was dried off enough, I pulled my clothes back on over my swimsuit and left to shower at home.