Note: Oh look! A memoir piece! 

Earlier this week, I headed into Home Depot to grab a few things. My grandparents have gotten into gardening now that they’re both retired, and a global pandemic wrecked all their travel plans for the summer. My grandpa wanted to grab some lumber to build some boxes for flowers he wanted to plant, and I wanted to grab a few succulents for my bedroom, as well as some lumber to build another bookshelf. I’ve always wanted to have a few houseplants, but only very recently has my physical health allowed it. 

One year ago, going to Home Depot to pick up a bunch of living succulents for my house in the midst of a global pandemic would’ve been unthinkable. Growing up, I avoided house plants like the plague and was told by my doctors to never have them, because the stagnant soil and water harbored all sorts of bacteria that often gave me horrible lung infections, most notably Pseudomonas. But, in late 2019, after thirty long years of research, doctors invented a “miracle” drug called Trikafta, which made me the healthiest I’ve ever been, despite living with CF for over eighteen years. 

Before Trikafta, I knew my CF would get worse with age. I saw and felt it progress as time went on. But, when I got on Trikafta, it was like everything was reversed. Sure, I still have CF and have certain pills and treatments I still have to do to keep CF from rearing its ugly head. 

However, Trikafta made it possible for me to get off all but one of my physical treatments, halved the number of pills I had to down everyday, made it possible for me to digest nearly everything I ate, which meant I no longer had to shove copious amounts of food down my throat until I was sure I’d see my lunch again. I could eat things packed full of ingredients and calories, so you bet your ass I went to the nearest Mexican restaurant to stuff my face full of tacos as soon as I could eat them without getting super sick for three days. Also, I was no longer in so much pain. My joint pain went away nearly immediately. I no longer wheezed and coughed when I exercised. My sinuses, which had always been sore and tender due to being clogged up with mucus, were cleared out, and the pain went away as my sense of smell returned. I didn’t realize I was missing out on so much until I got on Trikafta. 

I'll never forget what it was like to smell for the first time. I've always had a sense of smell, but it was faint. I couldn't smell things, like fires or food, unless I was right next to them. I'd have to bury my face into flowers and shampoo bottles to smell them. But, Trikafta made it possible to smell things like everyone else could. I broke down in tears during one of my first walks in the early spring when things were just beginning to thaw. I could smell the trees, the budding grass, the wildflowers, and even the stagnant pond all at once with ease. I cried tears of mixed emotion. I was so happy I could smell again. At the same time, the veil of CF was lifted, and I was confronted with one of the many things I'd missed out on for the bulk of my childhood. It was incredibly overwhelming, to put it into overly simplistic terms.  

I spent my first couple of months severely anxious and depressed. I was so upset over the fact that CF stole my childhood from me. In a way, I was always aware of that. It just wasn’t in my face. But, Trikafta really forced me to ponder that fact. I was full of grief, and went through all five stages of that everyday for two months. 

I wasn’t sure if Trikafta would last. I was worried it would wear off as time went on, and I’d be back to square one within six months or a year. So, I tried to live life like I always did, but if I took my usual four enzymes with meals, I’d get really, really sick due to constipation. Now, I only take two enzymes with meals. Sometimes, I even take none at all. Nebulized medications, like Pulmonzyme and Saline, used to really help me. On Trikafta, if I didn’t take Albuterol and Advair before I started those medications, they’d harm my lungs, causing them to constrict a little bit. Pulmonzyme’s main purpose was to thin out mucus so I could cough it out easier, and Saline helped to irritate my lungs a little bit and moisten the mucus, so I’d cough it up easier. But, on Trikafta, there was hardly any mucus for me to cough up, so there was no point in doing Pulmozyme and Saline. My doctors told me only to use those medications if I needed them, such as if I got really sick. Otherwise, it was best to get off them completely. 

I had so much energy. I didn’t know what to do with my sudden excess energy. I went from needing several cans of caffeinated soda and a nap everyday, to bouncing off the walls without any of that. My grandpa Lyle likened me to a frolicking spring calf because of the way I was acting. Turns out, my doctors theorized that I was both super energetic due to Trikafta, and I was experiencing Spring Fever for the first time.

Unfortunately, this excess energy led to a lot of anxiety attacks. My body simply didn’t know what to do with all of it. It was a rough couple of months, especially since my anxiety attacks would simply pounce at me at random. It didn’t matter where I was or what I was doing. When my body decided it was time to freak out, it did. 

The worst ones tended to happen to me in public. I tried to go for daily walks around the lake at Clement park, or for hikes in Ken Caryl Valley. Unfortunately, my anxiety never failed to hit me during those adventures. They'd begin with a racing heart and the feeling that I couldn't breathe. I'd panic more when I felt like I couldn't get enough air. Then, my legs would get weak and wobbly, to the point I had to lean up against a tree or sit down on a bench to keep myself from collapsing. Then, my mind would race, and my vision would get tunneled. And, everything just went further downhill from there. It was awful. I wanted to hide my anxiety from the world, but at the same time, I wished someone could see me struggling and come to my rescue. Unfortunately, nobody ever did. 

One particular attack was worse than the others. I'd jogged a little bit to get around a slow group of  seniors which sped up my heart rate. When I slowed to a walk, my heart rate only increased. At first, I tried to ignore it, but pretty soon I could see my heart fluttering in my chest through my clothes. It was pounding so hard against my ribs and sternum that I was in pain. I began to hyperventilate and my vision began to get a little dark in my peripheral. I grabbed onto a metal railing leading up a flight of concrete stairs on the north side of the lake at Clement park, and held myself up there, trying to calm myself down and regain control. 

"What if my Pulmonary Atresia finally caught up to me?"

That thought just sent me off the deep end, and I seriously thought I was dying. I reached into my pocket and found my phone to call an ambulance. It was a cold, windy day, so there weren't a lot of people around. Only one person jogged past me, and they were completely oblivious to my suffering. I only got more anxious when my phone refused to turn on. The cold had frozen it to death. So, I was utterly alone, fully expecting to meet my Creator any minute.

But I survived, after about twenty minutes of absolute terror. Slowly, I regained control over my breathing, and my heart rate and vision returned to normal. But, I was extremely tired and weak. My body was wrecked. Carefully, I let go of the railing and stood to my full height. I was shaken up, but okay. I promptly headed back to my truck, started the engine, and waited for my phone to heat up and charge.

As soon as it revived, I called my mom in tears and told her what happened. She told me that she was proud of me for going through such a hellish experience alone, and that she was very sorry I had to go through that. She offered to pick me up, but it would be an hour before she could because she was stuck in downtown traffic. She didn't want me to drive if I wasn't safe to do so. I told her if I was still unable to drive by the time she could get me, that I'd be waiting for her in the parking lot that overlooked the library. Otherwise, I'd send her a text to let her know I was fit to drive again and on my way home. 

I sat in my Xterra with the heat turned all the way up, radio softly playing a Tyler Childers album, and my hands on my head as I took in deep breaths and warmed up. I didn't realize how cold I was until the adrenaline wore off. My hands and feet were so cold they were in pain, and my tear-stained cheeks were numb. I don't know how long I sat there in my truck, but I was able to calm down completely and drive safely home. Once there, my mom had a big mug of hot chamomile tea with honey for me in the kitchen, and she talked with me for several hours to make sure I was okay, and to remind me that I was not alone.

When my mom was my age, she went through the exact same shit. She dealt with crippling anxiety attacks in her teens and twenties, which were first triggered by her parents' divorce and my mom's interest in the occult. Her parents' divorce financially and emotionally wrecked her. She barely made enough money to keep the lights on, let alone attend college. Somehow, she found a way to attend college and pay the bills, but it wasn't easy, especially since her parents were barely any help due to issues of their own. Later on, genetic testing concluded that my mom's anxiety and depression were also genetic. Her hardships only exacerbated her anxiety and depression. 

Anxiety was something I would just have to deal with, as awful as it was, since both of my parents passed down anxiety-riddled genes to me, and I was going through a lot. But, my mom promised I'd get better eventually, and she would be cheering me on every step of the way. Since it was partially a genetic issue, medication would almost certainly help. Also, I just had to give myself grace. I needed to slow down for now, and just get used to my brand new body. I didn't need to do anything urgently. College could wait. Work could wait. My social life could wait. Everything could be put on pause as I got used to my body and processed all that I needed to process.