Friday morning I woke up with quite a surprise – a mouthful of blood, which was quite a shock considering the two recent embolizations I had. I am not able to articulate how I felt. I can only say that in that moment was everything I hate about this disease. It was the punch to the gut, hope ripped away, plans destroyed, a hospitalization with more tests, more risks, and a life interrupted. All at once.

I knew then I should have called the doctor to be admitted, but I asked for his permission to start cirpo. Granted. The blood came that day. Over 120 cc. There were times I worried that it wouldn’t clot. But I held out, as I’m not the brightest light in the pack.

Saturday morning was better with less blood. I was hopeful. Then it broke open again and again, coming out my nose at times from the force. Paged the doctor on call. Time to go in. I let my wife drive, which tells you how serious it was. When I arrived in the lobby and checked in with Admitting, it broke open again and I received a Fast Pass to my room. A towel full of blood is the price of a quick admit.

So, here I sit in the hospital on a Monday night, separated from my pack, thankful I am alive, but hating cystic fibrosis more than ever. I am in complete disbelief that the blood returned so quickly. This isn’t happening. When do I wake up from this nightmare?

There is good news – the blood is dissipating. But is that good news for the long term? How long after I get out before it happens again? Will my streak of never being in the hospital over the Christmas holiday be broken? We’ll see. First, I have to get out of here alive. I don’t assume anything anymore with this demon of a disease. I can only hope and be thankful for any days at home I have left with my wife and daughter.