For almost two years, I haven't been feeling myself. I've been sick, underweight, and overall just not where I used to be. However, that's all about to change.

With the diagnosis of CF-Related-Diabetes (CFRD), which is an inevitable consequence of CF when it attacks the pancreas, as it does in me, I will have to adapt again. Luckily, the insulin will only be supplemental. I'll only take one small dose of it in the mornings and be covered for the rest of the day. CFRD isn't like type 1 or 2 Diabetes. The treatment is different because the disease is different.

I still don't know that much about it, other than CFRD makes me both insulin deficient and insulin resistant, but CFRD doesn't necessarily dictate what I can and cannot eat. I'll still stay on my current diet, though doctors lectured me about the importance of carbs in my diet as well. Carbs will get my health and weight back up to where it should be, especially when I start insulin. But, for the next two weeks, I'll be closely monitored without insulin, so doctors can see what spikes my blood sugar, when, and how high, so they can give me a detailed plan of action.

I never really accepted CFRD. I changed my lifestyle completely seven years ago when I first developed it, which reversed some of the effects. However, because CF is an incurable progressive disease, it still eventually catches up to a person. But, I'm still crazy enough to believe that once I get this new thing figured out, I will be healthy and fully recovered again very soon. 

CFRD causes extreme fatigue and weight loss. I must admit, I've been inexplicably tired this whole year, and it only got worse as the year progressed. I chalked it up to illness and life circumstances at first, but by the time this month rolled around, I realized that it wasn't that. The phage completely took out each and every illness-causing bacteria, yet I still felt terrible, and I wasn't getting better.

I noticed that no matter how much I ate, I was losing up to two pounds a month. That's when I started to panic. I've actually been eating extra food almost every hour of the day that I'm not asleep, yet my body weight continues to drop. I have to wear sweatpants under my jeans to stay warm and keep them on. I wear three hoodies at one time inside, and I sleep under 8 blankets with my dog at my feet, yet I still get cold at night. I told all of this to my doctors, and they just nodded their heads and casually told me not to panic, but they were referring me to the diabetes doctors to get some help. I'm not dying, but I need to figure this stuff out before I do start dying. 

I'm more motivated than ever to regain what I've lost these last two years. I told my parents this, and while I still see the stuff they're having me do as chores, I've been getting a lot more active. I still don't like yoga at all, but my physical therapist said I needed to do something to stretch out my muscles so I can breathe better. I guess since I sleep curled up in a ball for 16 hours a day, that compresses the muscles between my ribs as well as in my front shoulders, making it harder for me to breathe.

So, as much as I hate it, I've been doing yoga once a week before going to work. Work and yoga are in the same building, and it's not bad. Yoga is taught by one of my mom's best friends who I've gotten to know and like, and work just involves organizing and filing documents. I can still listen to my own music and podcasts during both of those things. Only difference is, instead of falling asleep, I'm actually doing something for myself and actually getting useful information about hunting from the podcasts. Those hunting podcasts really, really, really motivate me to get better, because I have to if I want to continue hunting, and expand on my hunting. 

My dad has decided extreme forced cardio is the best way to deal with my issues, and to get met fit so I can hunt again. I'm not sure if it's a good idea now, especially since I haven't eaten carbs for months probably, and the carbs I'm eating now don't even get converted into anything, but I didn't die. My dad took me on what he calls "the puke trail", somewhere near Red Rocks. It's basically the trail all of the super athletes of the Red Rocks area are attracted to. When my dad first moved to Denver and started mountain biking, that was the first trail he rode, and he regretted it a quarter of the way up. Hence the nickname "the puke trail". 

However, he didn't tell me this before we went up. He basically lied to me and said it was an easy trail. He did buy me new hiking shoes to do this trail, which made me a little suspicious, but I didn't question it. Not even five minutes in, the trail was really steep and rocky, and I was beginning to breathe heavy. Ten minutes in, and my legs were on fire, but I kept going. In fact, I kept going until I was forced into a coughing fit fifteen minutes in and had to stop momentarily, but then I kept going. 

We dodged extreme mountain bikers, freestyle rock climbers, and other extremely fit and muscly people as we ascended the trail. I was probably the skinniest, least fit person on that trail. It was a very beautiful trail, as it wound in and out of the red rocks as it slowly went up a couple of foothills, but it was exhausting. I'm no quitter. I kept going, and going, and going, because I didn't want to be the one quitter on the trail with all those super athletes around. 

Eventually, after a quarter mile of constant hell, we made it to the top of the first foothill, where the trail leveled off, and even descended a little bit for another quarter mile. There, I was able to catch my breath and increase my pace a little bit. To keep up with my dad who has longer legs than me, I had to do a very slow jog. I wasn't having a lot of fun, but it wasn't bad either. It was cold outside, my lungs seemed to be clearing up, and my body was warming up, so I was doing ok. As long as I didn't sweat, then I could run on for a long time. 

My dad occasionally slowed down when there were bumps and drops along the trail, but that was only to jump from one boulder to the next. While he didn't have to jump farther than he could step, I had to actually jump, which increased my heart rate and got me chuffing like a tiger. The last time I chuffed like a tiger like that, I was running on all fours and trying not to fall off a mountainside, while my Turkey hunting guide ran ahead of me. From then on, my hunting nickname was "Wildcat". 

Eventually, we got to the beginning of the next massive hill on the trail, and we turned around there. Dad could see and hear my pain. People don't usually sound exactly like a tiger when they're breathing heavily, and I've obviously been unwell and not in the best shape for awhile now. So, while I thought if we just rested for awhile, then I could make it, my dad was smarter than that. 

Going back the way we came was harder than I expected. Descending a trail is much easier and faster than ascending it, so it took forever for us to reach the part where the trail goes down the mountain and back to the truck. My dad walked slow so I didn't feel pressured, and when we reached the part of the trail where it descends for a half-mile, I took off. It's easier to just go with gravity rather than resist it, and since my new hiking shoes had excellent traction, I could just run down without worrying about slipping. My dad wasn't that far behind me, but I had made some distance between us twenty minutes later, when I waited for a minute at the crosswalk for him. I wasn't breathing so hard, and I actually felt pretty good down at the crosswalk, but soon after we got in the truck, I felt extremely weak and tired. That's where we called it a day... Well, almost. 

My dad admitted that the trail we had just hiked was actually the hardest trail he knew of, and even super athletes were having a hard time with that trail. However, that also meant that I'm not exactly out of shape. I mean, to me I am, but compared to the average American today, I'm actually very fit. However, just because I'm fit doesn't mean there isn't room for improvement, and my dad's encouragement set a fire in my soul.

I realized it was still the morning. So, an hour later, my dad drove us to another hiking trail that was much easier, but also much higher in elevation. I was sore, but determined to continue until I collapsed. I'm not sure what got into me. I think I've just been sick and idle for so long, that I'm subconsciously craving extreme cardio like that. Endurocross and hunting are the extreme cardio with the adrenaline, but I think in order to feel truly satisfied sometimes, we have to endure that extreme cardio without the numbing and strengthening effects of adrenaline. 

The higher elevation meant colder temperatures, higher winds, and less oxygen, so I was struggling. Just because it was an easier trail, doesn't mean it felt that way after I had endured 2 hours of hell just an hour or so before. My dad was feeling it too, and we'd have to stop at the crests of the hills to sit down and catch our breaths, me especially. However, even though my legs were shaking by the time we were halfway back to the truck, and I was producing so much mucus from the cold that every breath sounded like a roar, I continued on almost without slowing down. People tend to underestimate themselves. I know I certainly have, yet something inside me just lit up this time, and I just decided that I had to figure out where my limit was, if I could push myself to it. In my mind, my limit is the moment all of my energy just leaves my body, such as what happened when I was playing paintball in 94 degree weather. 

I thought about the hunting films I've come to love. I thought about how fit one must be to carry a quarter of an elk on their back, and hike for 30 miles over mountains in three days to make it to a small airplane, which would be the plane that would get them to the actual airport, so they could go home with their game. I thought about the importance of extreme fitness, especially for someone like me. I thought about how good I'd feel if I just kept going. I thought about CF athletes I've found out about and have connected with, who push themselves even when they've puked multiple times and make the same chuffing and growling noises as me. I was close to puking. I used four bottles of water to keep my mouth clean and clear because I was salivating so badly. But I was determined to prove to myself and to my dad that I'm still very healthy and alive, because I am. CF doesn't determine my health and fitness. I do. 

As a hunter, I want to be able to pack out smaller big game on my own. I've seen a couple of pictures of people my size walking back to the truck with an entire pronghorn tied to their back. I also want to be able to lift my dirtbike off the ground again. The weight I've been losing hasn't been much fat, since I don't really have any fat to lose in the first place. Instead, it's been muscle, and losing ten pounds or more of muscle obviously weakens a person. I want to regain that muscle at all costs and then some. I want to be as fit as I can possibly be. 

There are a lot of people with Cystic Fibrosis who are exactly like me, and I've made an effort to surround myself with those people. It may sound heartless, but I recently went ahead and stopped following and/or blocked other CFers who were a negative influence. I'm talking about the ones who compete with each other to top one another's illness, or who aren't respectful towards me and my lifestyle, or who have convinced themselves that they will die soon.

Instead, I've started connecting with a lot of CFer athletes who are just as healthy and fit as me, if not, more so. They are body builders, motocross racers, MMA fighters, crossfitters, and more. A few months ago, my great uncle Courtney texted me a link (that unfortunately wasn't working anymore), where a woman with CF went out and hunted a Dall sheep, which is probably one of the hardest hunts one can pursue. I haven't found any other CFers on social media who hunt, but they are out there. There are at least two people in the world with CF who hunt; me and that other woman who was on a hunting TV show. 

Truth is, CF doesn't have to be a disease that takes away a person's ability to live life. Sure, it's unpredictable and it's dangerous, but it's not really a death sentence anymore unless it's allowed. I'm not saying it's not hard or dangerous, but it is very treatable. If people with CF don't take care of themselves, obviously the disease will progress very fast. No one with CF is absolutely perfect with their treatments. I still miss a pill or two sometimes. Sometimes I just don't feel good, and skip a treatment. However, if one doesn't at least do their best to keep up with everything, then their health will quickly deteriorate. I still do my absolute best, and as long as I do my best, then I won't lose very much.

It's no accident that people like me are healthier than the people on social media, who either exaggerate their illness or skip their treatments to be super sick to garner sympathy and likes. It's no accident that I'm healthier than some normal teens my age. I take care of myself the best way I know how and always have. Sure, not every treatment, diet, and medication has been perfect, and it doesn't have to be, and it never is, but that doesn't mean you should just give up when things go wrong. A lot of people with CF hear that the life expectancy is only 41 years old currently, and they're my age and think, "Welp, I've already lived half of my life. What's the point?", or they go through hell and cry themselves to sleep every night asking, "Why do I have this disease?"

Truth is, I've been there many times, but there's a way out. It's healthy to feel upset and to get emotional sometimes, especially when we are given an extremely unfair and unlucky hand in life, just not everyday. You have to pull yourself out of that pit while praying for miracles. No one but yourself can get you out of that pit, and God often lets us struggle because adversity produces endurance, endurance produces character, and character produces hope. Think of it this way: I've hatched a few broods of chickens before. Baby chicks have to struggle to get out of their shell. If you crack the egg open for them, they will die, but if you let them struggle and work on their own, they will live. That's the same with life. In order to be healthy, you have to suffer. Not everyone makes it, but those who do come out of suffering a better person. 

Death and dying, in a lot of ways, is a choice. I've figured that out through trail and error throughout my life. Just because the doctors say something doesn't make it true. When I was a newborn, doctors said I had 16 years to live. Well, I'm 17 years old now, halfway to 18, and I'm extremely healthy for what I have. That's because I made a choice. I decided to get up and fight. I wasn't going to surrender like so many people in my situation often do. I was determined to be one of those survivors. God supported it. He cured my heart defect so that would be one less thing I had to worry about. 

However, He hasn't cured my CF. Unlike a lot of people, I don't curse God for that. God isn't a magical sky fairy who gives us everything we ask for. In fact, God is often the opposite, but He does things because He loves us and wants us to grow. I've read and studied my bible over and over again. Job is my favorite book in the bible, just ahead of Romans, and Romans is just ahead of Matthew. As far as my understanding goes, God allows suffering to better us. He will put us through things we cannot withstand without Him. He will test our faith to our breaking point and beyond. But God never leaves or forsakes us, unless we leave and forsake Him, like many people often do. 

 I know I can do it. I've done it before and I will do it again. Unfortunately, when people hear about a lifelong, progressive, and incurable disease, they immediately think of death and suffering. Sure, those certainly have roles, but I don't dwell on the death and suffering parts of having a disease like Cystic Fibrosis. I can take the suffering, and I'm not afraid of death, but I have an invincible will to live. 

I want to live just as badly, if not more so, than a lot of other people, and that's because of the adversity I've been put through. Not only do I want to live, but I want to live a fulfilling, purposeful, faithful life, and to do that, I have to push myself well beyond my physical abilities. Stressing out my body to the point of collapse is the healthiest way to live. Hell, even when I do collapse, I still force myself to get up and keep going, like I did on the hiking trail. 

I think there are still lessons to be taught through my CF. I don't know what they are. As of now, I know I'm going through some heavy trials with my CFRD issues, but I'm finally on the upswing, because once I start insulin, then everything else should get better. Insulin isn't going to cure my problems, but it will help me fix them myself.

I've fallen out of shape. I have a lot of lost weight I need to gain back as quickly as possible. I'm not as physically strong as I used to be, and definitely not as strong as I want to be. My diet is heavily restricted since I can't digest things most people don't think twice about eating. My lung function has dropped about 5% below where it was two years ago. I still have a lot of mucus to clear up. I think everyone can agree that because of my health, my social life has been in the toilet for awhile. But I'm determined to get back what CF has taken and tried to keep from me for life.