“Take on step off a hundred foot pole.” It means, can’t rest at your success. Or your failure. “I have written something wonderful.” Good, but it is a new moment. Write something else. – Natalie Goldberg, Writing Down the Bones

I have written anything yet this New Year. I needed a rest. I needed to switch over and let go. I have done a lot of sorting, rearranging and tossing in two closets nonetheless. I reexamined my finances, upped some of the principles, and looked at everything as a whole.

I believe every year will be and is better than the last. Why I believe this, I have no idea. I try and take everything that I learned and hold it in my hand with the best intentions. I try and take each step and each thought, move forward and am just blessed to be here.

I want to take note of the passing of a 27 year old CF girl, Lea, a few days before Christmas. Her best friend Tiffany, is a huge organ donor advocate, as she received a double lung transplant 2 years ago, and is still doing well. She broke the news a couple weeks ago, as they were like sisters. They wore those special masks around each other to protect themselves. Lea seemed to be a very special person and a huge loss to many. Hugs.

It’s a bitch and a half. I still firmly believe that no one should have CF children if at all preventable.

I, myself, feel really good. That neti pot is awesome. I have been coughing so much less – I actually have more energy. I am almost tempting to say that I feel as if I did 3-5 years ago. Meaning, when I do something, like jump or push-us or back bends, or strike a pose – I don’t cough each time. Yesterday, I coughed 50% percent less if not more, or less? Today, I didn’t do my treadmill in the morning, so I coughed more than normal but less than I did prior to starting the neti pot.

I almost had a dream of running. I mean, I started to visualize myself running and I thought “Hmmm . . .” But, my knees are horrible. I can dash instead.

Everyone I know is writing. All my writer friends are writing. They are conjuring up stories and writing, redrafting – I haven’t done shit since school. I am debating which class to take in a couple weeks. I am signed up for both. One is composition related and could accelerate my learning in that direction. The other is in poetry and my friend is taking it, and we laugh all the time. I am actually frighten to take the poetry class, because the prof is something serious. I am contemplating all my writing abilities to be honest. Oh well. Sometimes you just write crap. My right and left brain are playing tug-of-war, will see.

I had a patient today where he went on that antibiotic I told you about, the one I didn’t want to go on and decided not to take. He had a course of it for 8 days only and the drug damaged his Achilles. He didn’t have to have surgery but has been in a brace for a year. I could not believe what I was hearing, just shaking my head.

After hearing that Achilles story, I am going to tell my Dr. in MN. She will probably just shake her head in agreement and smile at me. But, when I originally thought about it, Mary Jo popped into my head, not my current doctor, Dr. Billings.

Mary Jo was my nurse practitioner for many years. Actually my mom did not like her and at one point lied that I could not see her anymore because of insurance purposes. As an adult, I know now that insurances don’t give two shits about which NP you see. I believe my mom was jealous because I looked up to Mary Jo. Also, Mary Jo was an educated, well-spoken woman. I wonder even perhaps my mom didn’t like her so much because she didn’t play into my mom’s disparities and meanderings, to say it nicely.

Two or three years later, during that first year on my own, I went to clinic and Mary Jo walked in. I stood there in shock and gave her a huge hug. I remember saying, “I thought I couldn’t see you because of insurances.” She looked at me, and shook her head and narrowed her eyes in confusion. “No . . .” Then, I spilled the beans of my trip of north and back.

Mary Jo was her own star of wonder – a woman I admired. Laughter that gave into nothing and a soul that just knew. She had crohn’s and went into organ failure more than once, eventually passing from complications. Whenever someone brings up her name, she is always spoken of fondly and she has a dedication about her at the University.

One such memory of Mary Jo, of many, was at CF camp when I was 14. During the two-weeks, we had a sex education segment one such evening.

I remember she and the other nurses tossed condoms on this large rectangular table that the eight of us all sat at. We bashfully reached for the condoms, and looked down at our own bananas. They must had been very green. We each ripped open our condoms, and slowly unrolled the condom over our bananas. I seem to remember it was not all that easy, and a few condoms may have flung. Not just mine. The nurses helped us steady our bananas as we pulled them down, and when we were done, we held them up smiling with a mix of humility and silliness.

That was all Mary Jo.