Turtles

As far back as I can remember, I have always liked turtles. I'm not sure why, I can't explain it. And if the Buddhists' version of creation is correct, I was probably a turtle in a previous life.

But now I've realized just how perfect it is for me to love turtles.

In July, I had a nurse while I was in the hospital named Mihiri. She was originally from Sri Lanka. I had her as my day nurse for 5 days, so we got to know each other. I thought she was quite funny, and she was a good nurse. I think she enjoyed me as a patient too, because after the first couple days we would usually chat a little bit when she had to come in my room. She appreciated me being so involved in my care and asking questions. One day when my doctor was in the hall after just leaving my room, I remembered something. I called out there, she was still there, and told her a prescription we forgot to discuss. Mihiri commented, to my doctor, "Isn't she good? I love it, I love how she is not afraid to speak up and be involved." My doctor agreed, and said it was unfortunately rare.

So every time I go in the hospital, I take my stuffed animal turtle Bernie. He's the perfect size and shape that he feels like hugging a little pillow. I've had Bernie for... a long time. I can't remember what year it was, but it was the first time I had to be hospitalized at Cardinal Glennon. We had just switched doctors, because our insurance would no longer cover Children's Hospital, so I was a bit down about being in a new place with new doctors (new everyone, really) and on top of that I was sick enough to go in the hospital. The gift shop, at the time, was a tiny room on the way to the cafeteria. Mom, dad, and me went down there to get some food and I commented how cute that turtle was high on a shelf in the window.

Well, sometime later, my parents surprised me with a gift bag... they had bought me that turtle in the window. I named him Bernie and he's been my "hospital buddy" ever since.

Mihiri really liked my turtle, which I usually keep at the foot of my bed during the day; he fits perfectly down there and is out of the way. She was commenting about it and was saying "No, I'm serious. I really think I want to get one for my daughter." Her daughter, she had told me the day before, had graduated college and lived in Maryland. "It would be a nice little gift, just a little something different. A nice reminder 'Slow and steady.'" she said.

I can't get those words out of my head.

What a perfect motto for my life's journey with CF. When I get sick, it's a serious thing, and it's a long, slow battle back to health. Exercising... another great example. On Monday, I had a really hard time walking on the treadmill. It was discouraging. Tuesday was a little better, but I was really huffing and puffing trying to walk at a good 2.7 mph speed. Then yesterday: bam! I could walk 3.0 mph and I was NOT totally beat by the end of it. Slow and steady...

This is also kind of topical as the Olympics were this year. No athlete who went there magically became good at their sport overnight, or quickly. It took years and years of slow progress to get to where they are.

I'm dealt with setbacks all the time. It is SO hard to see the big picture sometimes and see that yes, I'm doing better than I was 3 years ago, and that that's a good thing to focus on. But I have to stick with my treatments, I have to exercise, there are no shortcuts for any of this. Because sure enough, slowly and steadily, I can continue to improve or at the very least maintain my health. I saw the best lung function numbers I've seen in years back in February. I could reach that again sometime.

Slow and steady...

Bernie.