I’ll be home for Christmas

‘Twas the night before Christmas when I finally broke free
To finish healing at home with the help of IVs;
I plopped on the couch, dogs wrapped in my legs,
And waited for Santa to deliver my meds.

Well.

That was the least Christmassy Christmas ever, but I’m okay with it. My virus-like symptoms began in mid November, and I was out of commission by Thanksgiving weekend. A part of me can’t believe I’ve been sick for five weeks, but the more dramatic part of me can’t remember a time when I wasn’t sick. Tomorrow marks fourteen days on IV antibiotics. And I see the doctor to discuss next steps.

Here’s a photo series of what I’ve been up to since getting home.

I got a pitaya bowl and savored each bite as John and I sat outside in 75-degree weather. I soaked up the sun on that late December day, my PICC line dangling out of my short-sleeved shirt. It reminded me of eating acai bowls with my aunts in Portugal—and enjoying “shave ice” in Kauai. Explore more.

Unsurprisingly, I’ve been in a happy dogpile. Benny and Magpie give me permission to melt into the couch. Though I’ve been working on it for years, I still battle the American “Must Be Productive” mindset, even when I’m sick. The dogs discourage movement by getting so comfy that I can’t bear to get up. Rest is good.

OHMYGOODNESS. We devoured a pizza from a nearby restaurant called Crusher’s. I’ve been working to rewrite some of the food narratives in my head—like the idea that it must be earned through exercise. Because CF affects nutrition, I’ve been in a weird relationship with food my entire life, and I’m exhausted by it. Food is food. Food is fuel. Feed your soul.

This weekend, I saw a little frog in a shop and fell in love. My gut told me the frog had to come home with me. But me being me, after I saw it, I continued to browse the store, contemplating whether I truly needed the frog. Then, when we were checking out, John turned to me: “Do you want anything else?” I hesitated, then blurted, “The frog!” My eyes lit up as I ran to grab it—and now he’s happily at home. Follow your joy.

I’m not sure what tomorrow’s doctor visit will bring, but I plan to approach it with gratitude—and possibly a frog in my pocket.