After 20 days in the hospital, I returned home Friday night. But not in great shape. You’d think after that period of time in the hole and amount of IV antibiotics, I’d be walking in, refreshed, strong and ready to get back to life as normal. Instead, it felt like I’d run some kind of endurance race or Ironman and barely had the strength to cross the finish line or threshold of my front door. I fell over the line exhausted and disoriented.

Three weeks ago, cystic fibrosis picked me up in its monster hands like I was a rag doll and tossed me hard to the ground. I didn’t see it coming. And after 20 days of sitting in a room the size of some walk-in closets, my body and muscle mass have deteriorated and my mind feels twisted and tired. The physical bruises of blood draws, the PICC area and embolizations will heal over time, but the rebuilding of everything else will take longer. But still I feel lucky. I survived. And that has to be enough for now.

Thank you for all of the comments and well wishes. They made a difference each day. A big difference. My apologies for not replying yet. As the stay lengthened, it turned into both a physical and psychological battle that sapped my energy. Most of the time I escaped into episodes of Dexter and Californication, movies or reading, when I had the energy. Anything that took my mind off of cystic fibrosis and the situation helped and became my mental Band-aid. Now it’s one day at a time as I come back to life.

Despite everything that happened, I still stand by my claim: I am the luckiest guy in the world. CF hasn’t beaten that mantra out of me yet. It’s my F.U. to the disease. CF can choke on it.