The Doctor

It happened. I was in deep lust with a man who owned a Sports Chiropractic Clinic.  Not only did Dr. D have one of the most successful practices in my thriving metropolis, he was also a published author.

keep reading…

Mr. Computer Programmer

“Sh*t, d*mn, uggggh where are my effing keys?!”  I screamed aloud while fumbling in my purse and grabbing a black blazer from my bedroom closet.  I had to meet my coworkers downtown at a very luxe sushi restaurant in half hour.  Except, with traffic, it would take me at least an hour.

keep reading sis…

The Diagnosis

Here it is, my heart poured out behind the keys of a computer. I share the shameful and invigorating tales of what it is like to date with a terminal illness.  The fine line I dance between concealing my symptoms and sharing who I am.

So what is my diagnosis?

Continue reading “The Diagnosis”

check your sugars, a poem for diabetics

the lancet pokes my fingers.

the needle pokes my stomach.

one draws blood, the other injects insulin.

your sugars are too high

and now they are too low

a roller coaster of symptoms matches the roller coaster of thoughts.

will i live?

will i die?

did i do enough of living to justify dying?

poke. poke. poke.

when does the poking stop?

blood oozes from my fingers for the 4th time today.

and the sting of the needle leaving my callused skin

reminds me

i have more life to live.

more sugars to regulate.

there was a time in our lives our parents picked us up

and put us down…

to never pick us back up again…

to love the needles because its a sign i can pick them back up.

and to fear the day when I put them down forever.

Photo by Suzy Hazelwood on

Senior Loan Officer (part 1)

As much as I write about (and enjoy) one night stands, if I were to be completely honest with myself- what I really want and hope for one day, is to fall madly in love.  

In the far corners of my mind, I think about sitting on a porch and growing old with somebody.  My husband will tell me a joke and it probably wont be that funny, but I will laugh for him.  With him.  And my mind will retreat away from the present and into the past, every heart ache, every IV, every medicine.  

Every time I thought I wanted to give up on life and just fade slowly- some spark in my soul has caused me to dismiss that notion and fight.  That moment, on that porch, with that man, is the moment that keeps me fighting despite my body wanting to rest forever.

Although I am not able to pin down attributes I want in my Mr. Right, I am able to pin down attributes in myself I need to have before I know I will meet him.  One attribute I am consistently working on, is improving my physical fitness.  I work out multiple times a week and have competed in several 5ks & 10ks.  I’m not where I want to be physically but I am getting very close.

Imagine my delight when I met Mr. Tough Mudder, a very sexy yet calm man in his early 50’s who spent his career in the mortgage/loan business.  Recently laid off, he was focusing on opening several CrossFit Gyms & just competed in a Tough Mudder Competition.  He hiked in his spare time up several mountainsides, ran 15 miles a day, and judging from his biceps- was no stranger to push ups.

I met Mr. Tough Guy for margaritas in a classy Spanish restaurant.  He admired my ambition and we connected instantly over our love for eating the right foods and working out regularly.  I just failed to share that I had CF and that my workouts wouldn’t quite be in line with running up the mountains.

After a drink, he asked permission to invite his friends out as well.  They were in town for a charity event and the words “charity event” had me completely sold.  Mr. Tough Guy actively volunteers in the community and I could see myself volunteering with him for our next date.

His friends were just as polite and we all shared some tortilla chips and another round.  Wonderful laughs and all in all, a great first date.  The friends left and he asked permission to walk me to my car.

As we approached, he leaned in to kiss me.  His hand stayed in the appropriate place as his lips gently caressed mine.  Soft and sensual.  Just a moment in time without any preconceived notions about going back to his place or taking it any further than a lingering kiss.

Second date, he picked me up and took me to a very high end restaurant in the suburbs.  We shared a bottle of vintage Roth.  Great conversation and we found out that we had very similar childhoods despite our massive age difference. I don’t like to jump to conclusions, but I was already planning our 3rd date…

However, during the time it was taking for this to cultivate, I noticed my weight started to plunge.  I lost about 9 lbs in 2 weeks and although I felt fine, I started waking up in the middle of the night coughing.  I would sleep in later and needed a power nap in the afternoon.  General fatigue?  Something more?  I scheduled a doctor appointment to find out.

Psuedomonous aeruginosa is a particular type of lung infection that I cultivate.  It was back.  Time to be admitted into the hospital for what we don the “tune up”.  It’s a lot like getting your car serviced, regular intervals of servicing keep it going long -term, but the vehicle can’t be driven.  Just as I am coordinating when to check in to the hospital, Mr. Tough Guy calls.

I come clean and tell him about CF and that I am going to be admitted to the hospital when the unthinkable happens.

Ready to read round 2?

The Senior Loan Officer (part 2)

I sit there in the waiting room, looking down quietly at my phone as I read the text.  

It has only been 2 months since my last hospitalization, a sure sign that Cystic Fibrosis is progressing.  My lungs simply…are losing their stability.  One chronic infection after another and I am starting to build up resistance to the only medication that exists to save me. 

“Can I come up there right now to be with you?”  Sure, I’ve had boyfriends feel it was their obligation to visit when I am hospitalized, but to sit with me in the waiting room as I find out what day I will be admitted, as I hack up mucous into sputum cups to send to the lab, as a 3/4 inch needle is attached to my chest…this is new.  

I reply that his gesture is entirely unnecessary and I have checked myself into a hospital before, so no need for him to drive 20 minutes to sit with me for the next 30.  

The problem is, he’s adamant.  He wants to be there.  I quit replying to his messages.  This is MY life, MY failing health, MY struggle. I’m not ready to share it with a man I just met.  Two days later, I’m hooked up to my IV machine and going through chest physiotherapy.   

“Can I visit?  Can I bring you anything?”  He texts.  I thought I was ready for love.  

As Carrie Bradshaw once said, “I’m looking for love, real love.  Ridiculous. Inconvenient. Consuming. Can’t-Live-Without-Each-Other-Love. ”  And here, I am, completely vulnerable, with a man who wants to bring me dinner and sit with me in the hospital.  Yet…I can’t bring myself to reply.  

He never did anything wrong, he never said the wrong thing.  He was polite and genuinely cared to be there for me, despite only being on a few dates. So why couldn’t I let him?

I delete the message.  And the next.  

-I never reply to The Senior Loan Officer again-

Photo by Aleksandar Pasaric on