Prior to Trikafta, I already had most things figured out (or, at least I felt I did). My main goal was to just make it through each day the best I could, not giving much thought towards the days ahead. I had no future plans, because I didn’t think I had a future to plan for. My health was all over the place, especially in high school. It was impossible to plan ahead when I could be fine one day, and be completely bedridden and/or in the ER the next. Plus, I was gonna die early anyway. So, what was the point of setting long-term goals and dreams when I was too sick and short of time to pursue them?
I already had an idea of what I wanted my funeral to be like for when my health inevitably failed (I still have the notes written down somewhere, though they’re not official and I don’t want them to be). I studied religion, theology, and philosophy to prepare myself for what may or may not be waiting for me after death. Around my family and friends, I put on a facade of hope; hope that I’d live to die of old age. But, deep down inside, I knew my time was short, and I prepared myself accordingly.
Then… Trikafta came along. And everything changed dramatically. My plans to march into God’s Throne Room with a million, “What the fuck?” questions were postponed by at least fifty years. The threat of an early death no longer loomed over me like a great plains thunderstorm. I was free from the shackles of Cystic Fibrosis, so long as I kept taking Trikafta.
In basically every way, I was made “normal”. CF had been successfully defanged by Trikafta. My battle for survival was no longer a battle. Three little pills basically guaranteed that I’d live to die of old age.
I’ve said this before, and I’ll say it a million times more: I was not prepared for this, in any way, shape, or form. I spent my childhood preparing for an early death. Never once did I think I’d live to die of old age. Never once did I think I’d get better as time went on, considering the fact that Cystic Fibrosis is considered a progressive condition; a condition that only gets worse with time. And before Trikafta, that was very true for me.
Yet… thanks to medical science and the grace of God, here I am. Healthier than ever. Getting healthier still. More than likely to live to die of old age.
What in the hell happened?!
I don’t know how to put into words what I’ve been experiencing these last three years. I mean… how can I explain the impacts Trikafta’s had on me to those who never have (and never will) experience such a drastic change in their lives? I guess it’s like describing the color red to someone who’s red-green color blind, only it’s much, much greater than that. One can live a long, healthy life even if they’re red-green color blind. But, nobody can live very long without the ability to properly breathe or eat.
See what I’m trying (and failing) to say?
