There's a hesitation within my step. My body tenses as I suddenly become aware of every cell within my body: from my fingertips down to the soles of my feet. I take a deep breath and gasp as I feel the pungent crisp air pass between my lips and fill my lungs. For a moment I hold my breath and close my eyes, fearing not only to take the first step, but the journey across the uncertain ground.
Do I delicately place each step, aware of every movement I make hoping the fragile thin ice below my feet will support me? Or do I run, seeing how far I can possibly reach before I feel or hear the ground give way?
It's time to take that first step, to set out upon the frozen sheet of icy glass and see if it will hold me. The ground below me has been unsteady these past months, but each step I've taken has been coupled with an army of people and a barrage of potent antibiotics and medications hoping to stabilize and firm the ground beneath me. It has been an emotional, frustrating, and exhausting endeavor to come this far, but I am amazed and so very thankful to have weathered the journey: to be able to breathe.
Prepared to Swim
The last 161 days have consisted of two PICC lines, a sinus surgery and bronchoscopy, two visits inpatient to the hospital, a multitude of oral medications and IV antibiotics, Influenza A, endless hours of treatments, a few drug reactions, and countless visits to my doctors. But I have finally reached a point in which I have shown enough stability to stop IV antibiotics. It is time to see what my body will do on its own. I'd be lying if I said I am not nervous or terrified. It feels as if I am stepping out onto a sheet of thin ice: wondering how far I can get before the ice starts to abruptly crack beneath me, plunging me into the depths of the icy water. How little trust I have in this body and Cystic Fibrosis after it has betrayed me so vehemently these past months. It is not "if" my body will betray me again, but "when."
But I must do it. I must take a deep breath, step out onto the ice and have faith that it will hold me. And if not, I surely can swim.
Wherever my steps are leading and however uncertain my path ahead may be, the journey is still most amazing. Let the brisk air pass between my lips and touch the depths of my lungs, reminding me that I am alive. Let me not only walk without fear upon the uncertain ground, but skate across the glistening thin ice, always being a witness to the beautiful life I've been given. I only hope to share as much goodness as I have so graciously been shown and given.