Originally posted on Cystic Fibrosis News Today.
Does my disease define me?
I’ve been battling this complex question since I was diagnosed with cystic fibrosis at age 5. Most of my CF friends would say no. The disease is a part of them, but it doesn’t make up their entire identity.
While I’d never want to be defined by my oxygen saturation or the number of times I’ve been hospitalized, when asked whether my disease defines me, my answer is … a little.
Performing
I want to be defined by the things that happen in between treatments, like my performing arts career. My love of performing began due to my family dynamic. My family included an overworked and nurturing mother, two sassy grandparents who were born and raised in New York, and an uncle who worked in information technology and recorded everything I did. The only child who coughed a lot, I was the center of attention.
My family would endure hours of my Shirley Temple impression as early as age 2. Being diagnosed with a disease that would statistically kill me by age 10 just meant that I got more applause for these performances. Therefore, performing was meant to be, right?
On the flip side, hallway sponge baths and conversations that took place on a commode forced me to become comfortable with my body. Without this, I wouldn’t have been as courageous or as animated onstage.
Performing was also my escape from the medical world. Long stays in isolated hospital rooms made grueling rehearsals a place that I wanted to be. Hiding my disease from the theater community and knowing I was there against my doctors’ wishes gave me the drive to push myself and make sacrifices. Would I have been as passionate if theater was easily accessible?
My body
Short people tend to be known for their sass, but I was supposed to be tall. However, disease-related issues such as malnutrition stunted my growth. Did this add to my level of sass, or was I destined to be sassy, regardless of my height?
The same goes for my weight. Cystic fibrosis blessed me with two helpful symptoms in my childhood. I was thin, and I could eat whatever I wanted due to my need for calories. I didn’t have to worry about eating a healthy diet or being bullied for my weight. I could down an entire bucket of KFC and be Instagram-ready immediately after. Would this have been the case if I didn’t have cystic fibrosis? Or, would my membership to the skinny-girl club have been challenged by food and hormones?
Humor
My dark humor is a coping mechanism. It helps me battle the everyday trauma of new diagnoses, gross symptoms, pain, tough calls, and death. Without all of the trauma, I’m not sure I would have been as mature or knowledgeable. I also wouldn’t be as strong or tolerant — skills I developed to survive.
My naiveté would likely be my guiding light, and I’d relate more to people my own age. But would that normalcy have resulted in a lack of humor?
Writing
I’ve always been a writer. I wrote the school plays in elementary school and I journaled every day. After a career of performing onstage, I like to think that I would have ended up behind the scenes eventually. Still, the only thing that prevented me from pursuing a degree in musical theater was my declining health. Did I only resume my writing career because I couldn’t pursue a career onstage?
All of this made me think of “How Far I’ll Go” from Disney’s “Moana.” Her emotional battle between fulfilling her duty as chief and longing for the sea is similar to the way I’m pulled between the chronically ill and theatrical worlds.
“Every turn I take, every trail I track,
Every path I make, every road leads back
To the place I know where I cannot go,
Where I long to be.”
I am who I am regardless of my cystic fibrosis. My goofy personality, my love for performing arts, and my admiration of Broadway all existed before my diagnosis. That’s how I want to be defined.
However, part of my personality and life choices were shaped by my journey with cystic fibrosis. Living with a rare disease doesn’t define me, but it does impact which turn I take.