Today I found out my Dr. will not be available to see me next Monday for my appointment.  A smile comes to my face.  One less thing.  Get my tests done and hit the pavement as fast as I can.

As Sheila said today, “I can pretty much hear what he will say anyway.” Things like, “Keep up the good work.  You have lost some lung function, but as long as you feel good that is the most important.”

Even though I have been less overall apprehensive about this appointment, mainly because as of today I haven’t had any explosions and I believe I am overall on a rising slope; I was still feeling a little anxiety for the results of my hour-long pulmonary function test. Apparently, it is able to test if my CF is getting worse or not. Easy stuff, right?

Whenever I go into these appointments I try to center myself and believe that nothing with hurt me, nothing will truly take away anything from me.  I am still standing. Breathing.

Then as I see the sun today and feel the warmer temperature, the new medication is coming, taking a turn around the bend, soon.

Suddenly, I thought of my friend, Mark, who passed in 2008 and what he would have done with this possible new life.  He loved life.  He loved to eat his big bowl of spaghetti, just smile, laugh, and just take life in – as is.

He drove a huge monster green truck.  He would always laugh at it and shrug his shoulders, assured his neighbors weren’t thrilled when he turned the key and the engine noise blew up any silence that once was.

He would say, “Tess – sit down, relax.”

Only thing, I think he sat down and relaxed a little too much and didn’t do his treatments as regularly as he should have.  It was like, when he got around to it, philosophy. Everyone can learn and take in that philosophy ever so often though, especially me.

I cannot believe it has been almost 7 years since his passing –

If he was here today I think – he would have loved to have lived for many years to come.  To smile, cruise on his motorcycle to the naysayers of the world and just go. He would pop in the new med and say, “All better now.” Inject his insulin in his belly without a flinch, and dig into his big bowl of spaghetti, happy as one could be.

We can all learn from someone who invariably coasts through life seemingly without many worries, although I knew he had plenty.

To my friend, Mark. May I learn something from him, yet –

Pictures from a cruise he and his wife went on about 6 months before he passed.  She sent these to me after I tried to find him again, going through the phone listings after breaking my phone.  Only to find out he passed three months prior, although still living in whomever he touched – always smiling.