His Lungs 2018

The past few days have felt like a turning point in my life. I’ve successfully managed to push through this mental brick wall and have dived into the deep end of my studies, my fingers have been practically smoking as they type away at this pool of knowledge that seems to have flooded inside my head. I’ve accepted that Christmas is going to be hard. I’m feeling it catch up with me and in essence I’ve balled myself up into the comfiest clothes I own, complete with top knot of messy knotted hair on head all the while drinking my way through an endless supply of Bucks Fizz and Prosecco. I’m braced. Or as braced as I’ll ever be.

This time of year you can’t help but be reflective, but I’ve found myself looking to the future. My hopelessness is dwindling as the medication kicks in (I assume) and I’m looking at 2018 with trepidation of what it could dole out to me. And then I thought. It can’t be as bad as this year surely? You can’t lose your Dad all over again. The only way from here, is up.

I’ve also been thinking about my precious Dad and the wonderful memories we shared and I’ve reached another fork in my metaphorical road. Do I continue on this pity party spiralling into a deep hole? Or do I learn from his kindness, from his spirit and his courage and do I quit the moping and get on with life? Well, I can’t guarantee there won’t at least be a smidgen of gloom, but I’ve realised that this intense period of grieving has to come to an end. This isn’t what my Dad would have wanted. If he were here and able, he would shove me in the car and take me to the seaside for fish and chips and remind me of all the wonderful things about life. He would be making me laugh, he would be listening and consoling and he would be holding my hand tightly, egging me on to go forth and conquer these great ambitions of mine. No longer can I find reason to hibernate, nothing in life comes for free or without hard work and now is the time for me to realise this and stride ahead.

Ever since my Dad fell ill and after all the time I spent helping him and caring for him, I realised just how much we take for granted in this world. It’s a harsh truth and one I don’t think anyone can learn until they’ve been on the brutal receiving end of it. The fact I can wake in the morning with clean fresh air in my lungs and the ability to jump out of bed and seize the day is something I’ve spent my whole life just simply ignoring. But I can’t anymore. And I definitely don’t want to turn away from all those who still have to deal with the impact of living with lung disease, especially when there is so much wrong with how they are being left isolated and abandoned in comparison to other progressive and terminal illnesses.

HisLungs is going to change. This is going to become a source of help, a haven of my knowledge through this journey and a celebration that life goes on. It won’t be easy, each step might be hard, but I have to remember the wonderfully brave people living with lung disease who are dealt the unluckiest outcomes in life. I want to per sue my dreams of helping widen research in the psychological aspect of lung disease, I want to raise awareness and I want to celebrate the legacy my Dad has left remembering all the while his kindness, and his irreplaceable smile.

2017 is a write off of preposterous ways. But 2018 is clean, it is blank and it is ready to be filled with all sorts of goodness, of positivity and of opportunity. This place will become my place, and one that will welcome all to help improve quality of life and bring happiness to anyone living with lung disease.

2018, I raise my glass to you. I’m ready and prepared to take you on.


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Writings. Wolfmother.

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