8 💜

I wish everyone reading this could feel what I’m feeling right now because even the most gripping & captivating words seem inadequate in comparison to how emotional I am today. With the exception of my very first lung transplant anniversary, today, year 8, seems to be the most surreal.

When I was placed on the organ transplant waiting list, I’d entered what would have been the last few weeks of my life. I was 23 years old when I finalized my living will and cemetery plot but after suffering for as long as I did, 23 had already felt like a lifetime. Against the odds I made it through the few weeks that I was given and was called by my transplant center with a perfect match. I underwent a double lung transplant on June 24th, 2014.

After the surgery, my family was told the first 72 hours were the most crucial. If my body didn’t accept these foreign objects as my own, I wouldn’t survive. But I did.

Weeks later, when I was discharged from the hospital, I started what would be the most difficult recovery of my life – I’d have to re-learn how to breathe – how to live. We were told the first year would be the most difficult. If an organ recipient makes it through their first year, the chances of the organs survival increases significantly. And guess what.. I made that too.

In the years that followed I didn’t just survive. I started thriving. I spent every single day creating memories and jumping at every opportunity to turn ordinary into extraordinary. Life became a beautifully vibrant adventure. Despite every setback, I fought just as relentlessly as I always had. Fighting for my life is all I’ve ever known. Except now, there was balance. For all the nearly unbearable bad, there was hopeful and exciting goodness. In the eight years since an organ donor left me the gift of life, my faith has been tested in ways I never imagined I’d be able to endure: severe diabetes, crippling pain, and the most significant diagnosis of post transplant cancer.

From the day I understood what Cystic Fibrosis was, I’ve lived my life with statistics & life-expectancies lurking around every corner. Birthdays were bittersweet and as I’d blow out my candles year after year, I hated that my first thought was never “where will I be this time next year? What will I have accomplished?” But instead, “Will I make it to this time next year?” Every year I’d sit before a pretty cake with dim kitchen lights surrounded by family and I’d worry about how many tries it would take my lungs to fully blow out the tiny lit candles. No matter how many breaths it took my wish was always the same: I want more than anything to make it to my next birthday.

The very last statistic I allowed myself to entertain was the average life expectancy for patients who have received a double lung transplant — any & every researched statistic you find will tell you the average expectancy of life for a person who has received a double lung is 5 years post-transplant. 5 years. And that’s why that was the very last time I’ll ever bother with worrying about a percentage on a piece of paper. Because today, as I’m surrounded by my family, so deeply anchored in my faith, sunshine warm on my face and waves crashing at my feet, I celebrate year 8. 🫁💜

-Sam