With that being said, I deal with death and suffering by living. Most of the time, death doesn't cross my mind in a way that makes me reflect back on my life. Even though the life expectancy for CF is currently only 41 years, it has risen drastically in the last decade.

When my great uncle was born, he had CF and died as a two-year-old in the 1950s. My therapist was best friends with four sisters who all had CF. She doesn't know where they're at now, but back in the 1970s and 1980s, the sisters weren't expected to live much longer than 10 years and they were almost always in the hospital. When I was born, medical research was starting to really understand what CF really is, and how to treat it.

I was born at just the right time I think; late enough to die, but early enough to live. To most people, that makes no sense, but it makes sense to me because I was technically dead several times in my life as a newborn. Pulmonary Atresia stopped my heart, and Cystic Fibrosis tried to stop my breathing. I also had a slew of other issues that should've been the end of me, but no one gave up. When they did, God came in and gave everyone hope. 

I've come to the conclusion that if I didn't have CF, I wouldn't believe in God. I wouldn't be a Christian if God didn't have multiple chances to show Himself in impossible ways. I'm the only known person in the world to have been cured of Pulmonary Atresia. My heart surgery scar should've been kept fresh, and my heart should've been handled by human hands tens of times in my lifetime, but my heart hasn't seen the light since I was a toddler.