:: Finding My Room

A wise and beautiful cyster sent this to me not long ago and it has never left me:

"Most things will be OK eventually, but not everything will be. Sometimes you'll put up a good fight and lose; Sometimes you'll hold on really hard and realize there is no choice but to let go. Acceptance is a small, quiet room." - Cheryl Strayed, Tiny Beautiful Things 

Sometimes acceptance means understanding that while there may be two sides to every story, yours will not be heard by everyone. Sometimes acceptance means forcing yourself to not care what others are being told, what they think or how they may be falsely judging you. Sometimes acceptance means realizing that the person who you would take a bullet for is the one holding the gun. And sometimes acceptance means letting go of the whys, hows and what ifs and simply finding peace with the what is...And that if it's meant to change, some day, it will.

:: Professor Biscuit

A Dog's Purpose: As Explained by a 6-Year-Old 

by Scott Fornaciari 

Being a veterinarian, I had been called to examine a 10-year-old Irish Wolfhound named Belker. The dog's owners - Ron, his wife Lisa and their little boy Shane - Were all very attached to Belker and were hoping for a miracle. 

I examined Belker and found he was dying of Cancer. I told the family we couldn't do anything for him and offered to perform the euthanasia procedure for the old dog in their home.

As we made arrangements, Ron and Lisa told me they thought it would be good for 6-year-old Shane to observe the procedure. They felt as though Shane might learn something from the experience.

The next day, I felt the familiar catch in my throat as Belker's family surrounded him. Shane seemed so calm, petting the old dog for the last time, that I wondered if he understood what was going on. Within a few minutes, Belker slipped peacefully away. The little boy seemed to accept Belker's transition without any difficulty or confusion. We sat together for a while after Belker's death, wondering aloud about the sad fact that animal lives are shorter than human lives.

Shane, who had been listening quietly, piped up, "I know why."

Startled, we turned to him. What came out of his mouth next stunned me. I'd never heard a more comforting explanation and it has changed the way I try to live.

He said, "People are born so that they can learn how to live a good life - Like loving everybody all the time and being nice. Dogs already know how to do that, so they don't have to stay as long."

Live simply. Love generously. Care deeply. Speak kindly.

If dogs were teachers, we might learn things like:

When loved ones come home, always run to greet them. Never pass up the opportunity to go for a joyride. Allow the experience of fresh air and the wind in your face to be pure ecstasy. Take naps. Stretch before rising. Run, romp and play daily. Thrive on attention and let people touch you. Avoid biting when a simple growl will do. On warm days, stop to lie on your back in the grass. On hot days, drink lots of water and lie under a shady tree. When you're happy, dance around and wag your entire body. Delight in the simple joy of a long walk. Be loyal. Never pretend to be something you're not. If what you want lies buried, dig until you find it. And when someone is having a bad day, be silent, sit close by and nuzzle them gently.

It's difficult to be kind to others when you don't feel well or you're having a bad day. It's difficult to practice empathy and compassion despite what your emotionally-fueled personal feelings may be at the time. It's difficult to realize the good that lies in front of you when you feel overwhelmed with misfortune. And it's difficult to remember to try and always "Do Unto Others". But sometimes, all it takes is a simple reminder to put things into perspective and provide you with a new goal of how to try to live each day...

And this is mine ♥

:: The Land of Oz

Clearly, I'm the world's worst at keeping my blog up to date. But I'm fairly certain that I found a way to come back with a bang in 2013 :D

This year, I become a living, breathing fossil. That's right, kids...Though I may only look 14, in ten days, I turn The Big 3-0. And in honor of this CF milestone, I was given the opportunity to visit Australia, aka my #1 Bucket List destination, in January with my cyster, Lyndsey. We covered three "states" and packed as much into two weeks as our little lungs and legs could handle, resulting in hours of stories, hundreds of photos and a video blog from this shameless nerd, which I'll let speak for itself A) Because it'll do the trip far more justice than my rambling ever could and B) Because it's time to soak my dentures.

BONUS: Little did I know while recording these video snippets that once pieced together, this vlog would have the ability to double as a drinking game. Should you choose to accept this mission, drink up every time I describe something as "absolutely gorgeous" or get all scrunchy-faced squinting against the brutal, yet fabulous, Aussie sun. You'll get toasty.

F Rex, over and out ♥

:: Blind Faith

I am in the midst of learning one of my most arduous life lessons yet: That the hardest thing in the world for a control freak to do is to "Let go and let God."

It sounds fairly simple. What could make life easier than turning all of your problems, questions and worries over to someone else and letting them fix things? What could possibly be more liberating? But for a girl who seemed to set up permanent camp in "the weeds" as a server and who drove herself into the hospital on more than one occasion while working for Dr G, trust me when I say that it is not.

It is difficult, frustrating and disheartening to feel like every time you take two steps forward, you take twelve back; To make decisions and fear that they may be the biggest mistakes of your life; To walk with no knowledge of when or if you'll reach the destination you're aiming for; And to hang onto something that you believe with all of your heart, even when it seems hopeless. Not because you have tangible proof that your fight isn't in vain, but because of a quiet voice that encourages, "Walk this way. Even if you don't want to. Even if you don't understand why. Even if it hurts to the depth of your soul. It will be worth it." 

For there is no feeling more extraordinary when the pain seems unbearable and nothing makes sense and you're on the verge of giving up than stumbling upon unmistakable reassurance, no matter how small, that through all of the unknowns, you are exactly where you should be according to what God has planned for your life. That promise alone makes even the hardest days manageable.

Don't get me wrong...I am aware that we as human beings have free will and that we are all responsible for our own choices. Wherein lies the challenge is that it is very much a choice to pay attention to or to ignore the voice guiding you. It is very much a choice to walk a different route because it's easier. And it is very much a choice to venture off the beaten path with nothing except blind faith and trust to guide you.

And trust Him I will. Although it would be nice to see clearly every once in a while.

:: Inconceivable

Show of hands...How many of you just read that title Princess Bride style?

Blame it on my inherently emotional Pisces nature, but I'm with my future husband Mr Depp in believing that a life without love is meaningless and empty. Don't be mistaken...I am NOT solely referring to romantic relationships. Giving and receiving love between friends, family, romantic partners and fellow mankind in general is, in my opinion, what makes life worth living. Whether it be camaraderie with friends during a night out, randomly helping a stranger, reconnecting with family over the holidays, hearing "I love you" from that special someone or contributing to a Habitat for Humanity project, love in all shapes and forms is the only thing in this world that can cover up all pain and negativity and make life feel wonderful again.

So someone please explain to me why some are so averse to it. Terrified of it. Will do absolutely anything they can to run from it, including responding to those who attempt to show them love from the opposite end of the spectrum: Anger, cruelty, indifference and defiance. There are so many horrible things in this world that mankind tolerates every day and yet we fight God's greatest, purest blessing? It's inconceivable to me. But, "There by the grace of God go I". It is not my place to judge or to change...Only to love anyway.

Never use the words "I love you" loosely. If you speak them, practice them. And if someone says them to you, realize how blessed you are, refrain from shutting yourself off to it...And maybe even try letting down your defenses and reciprocating it. True happiness, in its simplest form, stems from love in one way or another. Be happy. Always.

:: "Bring Out Ya Dead!"..."I'm Not Dead Yet!"

Bit morbid? Probably. Moving along...

Happy Birthday to Me! :)

So the last few days until my 29th birthday are rapidly dwindling down. (Crack all the over-the-hill jokes you like, but keep in mind how little they affect us CFers ;) There are only two things that I want for my birthday - One of which has been discussed and will hopefully still be granted at the end of March after my PICC is out and my IVs are over - But the other is more unorthodox. I fully intend to carpe the hell out of my last diems in my twenties, but one day, that may not be possible for me without an organ transplant. The best gift that anyone can give me would be to officially list yourselves on the national organ donation registry. Yes, I'm serious. Currently more than 110,000 people across the United States are anxiously awaiting life-saving transplants...One donor can save up to eight lives and one day, one of those lives will be mine. I've been a donor on my driver's license for years, but I just recently registered at DonateLifeTexas.org and in honor of my decision and my birthday, my mama gifted me with the new license plates above that I personalized myself. Love them!!! :) Obviously in my case, my organs will most likely go to CF research instead of transplants, but will still be lifesaving in their own right. Once you've passed, your organs will be of as much use to you as your credit card, so why not make a second lease on this beautiful life possible for someone less fortunate? DonateLife.net. Do it. For me. And then let me know so I can smother you with thank yous :)

I'm also super excited and proud to announce that on 12.12.12, I'll be in sunny Florida standing beside the lovely miss Jessika as one of her bridesmaids! :D I won't lie...Between how happy I am for her, how honored I feel to have been asked and the anticipatory glee of finally getting to vacation to my one beachy dream destination that I've never been to, I got a little teary eyed...Before I started doing my happy dance. As an added bonus, by then she'll be all transplanted up and enjoying a new lease on life that will only be made that much more amazing once she and Leighton are husband and wife. And I get to be a part of all of that? Who says there are no such things as fairy tales?

My weekly follow-up with my Infectious Disease Specialist was Wednesday morning to draw blood, check antibiotic levels, change my PICC dressing and pick up this week's box of IV meds and supplies. I'm slowly becoming accustomed to my new Siamese twin. For the first few days I ran mid-grade fevers which, thankfully, have left and not returned, but have now been replaced with extreme fatigue, a fluctuating appetite, irritability (OK bitchiness...Let's call a spade a spade...), the inability to hear out of my right ear first thing in the morning and most recently, nightmares. Every. Single. Night :-p And the loaded question: "Are you feeling better?" Yes and no. My coughing is more productive when I wake up and after my treatments so my breathing is increasingly becoming easier, but the side effects have me so worn down that it's difficult to notice. Plus I'm going on two months of being out of Pulmozyme, so there's the added effort of getting well without that. But IVs are rough for everyone, so I have zero room to gripe, and I'm committed to doing whatever it takes to get better. It may not always be at the forefront of my mind, but the fact that I can still GET well trumps any complaints that I might have.

"For we walk by faith, not by sight." - 2 Corinthians 5:7. It never ceases to amaze me how certain verses can be as cathartic as hearing the right song lyrics. Thank you, Lord, for continuing to give me strength and patience in more ways than one ♥

:: All You Need is Love...And Sometimes Meds

First and foremost, the most important news of the evening: My darling li'l Jessika got engaged tonight!!!!! And it would be 156% impossible to be any happier for her :) I've watched my precious friend fight CF for going on a decade and she never stops smiling, but that smile has been even brighter in the two years that Leighton has been in her life. It's rare these days to see the unconditional determination and dedication he puts into showing her love and making her happy and it makes me smile to know that she will live the rest of her life adored, safe and well taken care of. New husband...New lungs...New life. It's gonna be a beautiful thing. I love you, kiddo ♥

As for my own Hearts and Hugs Day, it was spent in bed, but I have no complaints. I received a bouquet of gorgeous hot pink roses from my always sweet and thoughtful friend Mike in Florida and an adorable, wide-eyed stuffed puppy wearing a pink boa from my mom that Biscuit keeps sizing up and growling at. Both were complete surprises and put smiles on my face :) Honestly, I've never put a lot of stock into Valentine's Day. No reason really...I've just never been one of those girls that HAS to have plans for fear that I might appear unlovable. True love is all around me every moment of every day, from my cysters to my mama to my friends all over the world who let me know here and there that they're thinking of me. I could not feel more fulfilled or grateful.

My follow-up with the Infectious Disease Specialist was yesterday morning and I was fairly confident that I looked and sounded better than I did a month ago. Apparently not, because instead of leaving with another round of Doxycycline and Voriconazole for my Aspergillus, I left with an order for a PICC line and the excited and thrill-filled expectations {end sarcasm} of my first home IV experience. I know I have zero room to complain...Many of my fellow CFers do home IVs on a regular basis and truthfully, I WOULD rather do them in the comfort of my own home with my pup snuggled up beside me than be immobile in the hospital. What I am NOT looking forward to, however, is that I'll be on a 24-hour continuous infusion for the one-month duration of the treatment. That seems crazy excessive to me, but I ran it by my CF Specialist and he thinks the regimen sounds reasonable. So bright and early tomorrow morning, I go back to the clinic for basic training on how to be both patient AND nurse (Judy! Ruth! Christy! Save me!) and to pick up my first week's worth of medicine. I'm also thinking of starting a video blog with this new experience, so if I do, I'll tag my first installment on the end of this post tomorrow as an edit. Who knows? Could be fun.

Breathe it all in. Love it all out ♥

[edit]
Here we go, ladies and gents! Vlog numero uno...Intro to Home IVs. Let me know what you think! :)

[/edit] 

:: Cowgirl Up

This past Saturday was the final day of the Fort Worth Stock Show and Rodeo and I was privileged enough to attend with my very favorite family :) For those who are unaware of what this event is, it's a three-week extravaganza that includes livestock auctions, commercial exhibits, bull-riding and the largest indoor rodeo in the world. For the final auction that we attended, kids from all over Texas breed and raise steers to sell annually. Companies bid on the livestock by the pound and the kids receive every penny to either put toward cattle for the following year, their college tuition, or both. The Fort Worth Syndicate is a group of businessmen who push for the companies to purchase the cattle for more than they're worth...If a steer is worth around $2 per pound, the Syndicate urges companies to purchase for $5-$10 instead so that the kids make more toward whatever they're saving for. They make a LOT of money for the kids' futures - Saturday's Grand Champion steer sold for $250,000. All in all, it's a very charitable event and a really fun thing to experience firsthand.

Stock Showin' It Up with Mr McMichael

I know it sounds like a silly Texas stereotype, but between the company I was with and the Stock Show itself, I felt more at home than I have in a long time. Aside from the family oil business, my dad bred and raised Santa Gertrudis cattle and Quarter and Paint Horses when I was younger, so my childhood was split between our ranch in East Texas and the Fort Worth Stockyards. In my early 20s, I veered away from everything country for as long as I could, but the older I'm getting, the more I'm beginning to re-embrace my roots, from the soulful Texas country music to the cowboy hats and boots to even loving the scent of horse stables. Everyone has their happy place and it's very hard to put into words the feelings of joy and peace that I experience when I step back into that lifestyle, even if only for a moment.

As for the rest of my week, I've more or less spent it in bed. I'm going on day five of a nasty stomach virus that even the infamous CF appetite couldn't touch until last night, when I finally ventured back into solid food with a few pieces of smoked salmon sashimi (as unappealing as that may sound, seafood has always been easiest for me to digest) and today, half of a grilled chicken sandwich, half of a bowl of soup, a cup of fruit and some lemon Jell-O. All accompanied with nausea and sharp, shooting pains, but keeping it all down is progress in itself. I have my follow-up with McDonald, the Infectious Disease Specialist, on Monday to see home IVs for the Aspergillus on my lungs are necessary, but I don't see my CF Specialist, Davis, until the 22nd. Hopefully between the stomach bug, the increased shortness of breath and the 102.3 fever I fought off a couple of weeks ago, they'll activate their Wonder Twin powers and figure out a way to fix me up good.

Sleep, come easy to me tonight.

:: MTV's True Life - I Have Cystic Fibrosis

My precious cyster Katie put it best when she said, "If 'I Have a Psycho Pet' is an option for MTV's True Life, then I'm damn sure 'I Have Cystic Fibrosis' can be one". I couldn't agree more. Below is my submission to True Life's casting director in an attempt to launch the largest CF awareness project I've ever been a part of.

MTV's True Life - I Have Cystic Fibrosis

My name is Farrel, I'm 28 years old and I live in Texas. I spend my free time indulging in live music, photography, traveling and spending time with the people who make me happiest. I work part-time as a chiropractic assistant at a hospital and am slowly but surely working toward a degree in PR. But what you would never know by simply meeting me is that I was born with Cystic Fibrosis, a genetic terminal illness that affects the respiratory and digestive systems of approximately 30,000 people in the United States and 75,000 people worldwide. A faulty gene produces mucus the consistency of chewing gum that clogs the lungs and obstructs other vital organs resulting in dangerous lung infections, lack of oxygen and malnutrition. To date, the average life expectancy of a CF patient is only 37 years old; There is no cure.

I could go on and on about the scientific aspects of having CF, but I realize that's not what the public is interested in. So I'll instead approach it this way...I was once asked, "If you could tell the world one thing about Cystic Fibrosis, what would it be?" And it is this. That CF hurts. It hurts physically when it feels like sandpaper is scraping your lungs with every breath. It hurts mentally to plan for and get excited about a life you may never lead. It hurts to fall in love because CF can be an extraordinary burden on anyone who is not meant to deal with it, most times resulting in rejection and loneliness. It hurts to watch dozens of friends lose this fight that they never deserved or asked for. But most of all, it would hurt to not have been blessed with the opportunity to experience life through a CFer's eyes - No love is half-given, no day is not lived to its fullest and NOTHING is taken for granted.

I consider Cystic Fibrosis to be a blessing in my life, which may seem like a strange, albeit crazy, outlook on something so devastating. But in my short 28 years, I have viewed life with a passion that most do not realize until they are lying on their death bed, wishing they'd done more with their time on Earth. I have met some of the strongest, most inspirational, most incredibly amazing people I have ever had the privilege of knowing due to growing up with this disease. The connection and sense of family among CFers, often referred to amongst ourselves as "cysters" (females) and "fibros" (males), can not be rivaled and can not be explained in words. Our lives' "normalcy" revolves around things that most only imagine in horror - Constant pain, illness, exhaustion, multiple drug treatments with miserable side effects, frequent loss of friends, recurrent hospital stays for weeks at a time, organ transplantation - And yet we never give up. We never stop fighting. And most importantly, we never stop smiling.

I respectfully ask that you seriously consider "I Have Cystic Fibrosis" as a valid episode topic for your show. I think you would be pleasantly surprised at what a draw an episode of this emotional magnitude would have and how many lives would be touched by meeting those of us who have been truly fighting for our lives since the day we were born.

Thank you for your time,
Jessica Farrel Amis
Dallas, TX

Thank you, miss Katie Fisher, for including me in the participation of this brilliant idea of yours. Let's DO this! ♥

:: Dolla Dolla Bill, Y'all

I woke up this morning and it was February. (Astute, I know.) First and foremost, it's my birth month! That's right, people. I'm claiming all 29 days of it. Let the party rockin' begin ♥

But this also means that somewhere between Thanksgiving and today, I have severely dropped the ball on fundraising for the annual Cystic Fibrosis Great Strides Walk that I participate in. I'm especially excited to participate this year with yesterday's release of Kalydeco VX-770. It has cost the CF Foundation millions of dollars to make this dream a reality and it will likely cost millions more to research, manufacture and gain approval for the supplemental drug that will save my life. Just imagine...There are over 1,000 mutations of the genetic chromosome that causes Cystic Fibrosis and they have conquered one. We've come such a long way, but we have an even longer way to go.

My team's fundraising goal this year is $5,000 and I really can not stress how much every single dollar makes a difference. Below is a short list of ways you can help:

Anyone who wishes to donate outright is welcome to visit my Farrel's Fighters Great Strides Homepage and do so securely over their server. 100% of donations will be credited to my walk team, Farrel's Fighters, the day of the event.

I also manage an eBay store, Puff Puff Bid, where 100% of proceeds also benefit Farrel's Fighters. This is updated almost daily with items ranging from electronics to movies to make-up to clothing and then some. Literally something for everyone if you catch it on the right day ;)

And last but not least, I'll be hosting the Fifth Annual Farrel's Fighters Garage Sale, taking place in yours truly's front yard the second weekend in May, and anyone who feels they are not at a place where they can donate financially is more than welcome to empty their closets and storage rooms worth of unwanted items into my back shed for me to sell the day of the event. (All unsold items will be donated to the Salvation Army.)

Aside from all of that, I'll be planning as many fundraising events as possible from now through mid-May in hopes of helping my team reach and possibly exceed our $5,000 goal. This, of course, will be the main spot where I'll keep everyone updated, so be sure to check back often :)

That's all for now about the fundraising business. But one more very important thing before I go...If you haven't met my very best cyster Jessika, you need to. Now. I love this girl more than life itself and she is embarking on a journey that I can only imagine is exhilarating, joyous, hopeful and downright terrifying and is definitely one worth following. She is such a positive inspiration and a huge source of sanity for me and I am ecstatic that she's been given this opportunity. Love you, sees-ter. It pisses you off, so piss it off back ♥

The end. Happy Farrel's Birth Month, y'all! :D

:: Dum Spiro, Spero

"While I breathe, I hope".

I feel giddily lightheaded as I type this. An indescribable breakthrough took place in the CF community this morning. The first drug of its kind, Kalydeco VX-770, was approved by the FDA to begin treating patients with the G551D genetic mutation. This pill will be taken by patients twice daily and instead of simply treating the symptoms of CF, such as overproduction of mucus, coughing, malnutrition, etc, will actually target the root cause of the disease and prohibit the symptoms from occurring. Quite possibly the closest to a cure that my generation may ever know.

So now, the most common question I'm getting: Am I cured? And the answer is no. There are over 1,000 mutations of the genetic chromosome that causes Cystic Fibrosis. Mine is Double Delta F508, shared with over 75% of the CF population and this particular drug only affects approximately 4%, those suffering from the G551D mutation. In this mutation, a defective protein acts as a locked gate at the surface of the cells, preventing the proper flow of salt and fluid in and out of the cell. Kalydeco helps unlock that gate and restore function of the defective protein, dramatically improving lung function, lowering sweat chloride levels and helping patients gain weight. HOWEVER, the approval of this drug opens doors to fast-tracking other drugs, such as VX-809 which WOULD be my "cure", through the process. VX-809 is currently in Phase 2 of studies with very positive results...Which means within the next 2-3 years, I could begin to live a "CF-less" life. The idea is incredible, almost unfathomable and slightly overwhelming :)

Thank you, first and foremost, Jesus. All of you haters out there can argue that science and man are the reasons that this is happening, but God gave these scientists the brains and knowledge to create the medications that are going to save my life. Thank you to the donors who have given millions and millions of dollars to the CF Foundation on a Hail Mary attempt to do the unthinkable and cure a disease rooted in my DNA. Thank you to my cysters and fibros who have made living with this shitpile of an illness actually worth it. And thank you to my family and friends who have spent days and nights on their knees praying that I would someday live a normal life.

We're halfway there, y'all :)

:: Farrel in Wonderland

Alice and the White Rabbit

If you've ever seen the episode of Friends where Monica and Rachel gamble their apartment away thanks to a personal trivia game against Joey and Chandler, you might remember when Ross, acting as emcee, quizzes them on which movie Rachel claims is her favorite (Dangerous Liaisons) versus what actually is (Weekend at Bernie's). I am here to admit to you that I, too, am guilty of "Favorite Movie Fraud". Don't get me wrong...My cult love for Boondock Saints and Wedding Crashers knows no bounds. But I have an inability (and admitted unwillingness) to let go of the 1951 Disney version of Alice in Wonderland as my number one favorite movie of all time. Hence my Halloween costume for the last, I don't know, five years.

So, in knowing and embracing this somewhat shameful addiction of mine, the lovely Sydney gave me the picture above as a Christmas gift this year. And I luh-huh-huv it. Not only do I obviously like it because of the story, but also because I have an affinity for turning vintage things into DIY projects for my house. So I've decided to make a matted frame and post the picture, along with a favorite poem of mine that I wrote about 4 years ago, on the wall of my new house in Fort Worth. I can't wait to have the time to start on it!

So anyway, upon digging said poem out of a bedroom drawer, I decided I want to share it with y'all. I can't really explain where it came from...I've always enjoyed writing, but poetry has never been my strong suit. This particular poem however has stuck with me for years. Maybe because by reading it, I can still feel everything it describes as if it happened yesterday. Maybe because it reminds me so much of my beloved childhood favorite. Who knows? Who cares? I'm proud of it and I want to hear what y'all think :) So. Here we go.

Slowly sinking...Failing to rise...

Truth set free in my blind eyes.

Unable to move...Barely thinking...

Into make-believe I find myself shrinking.

Still life took flight and time slowed to a halt,

All reality sealed in an eight-hour vault.

Five senses heightened, one before now untapped;

Behind transparent walls I find myself trapped.

I tasted the cracker and met the Mad Hatter

As I watched the Wonderland I knew being shattered.

While Beelzebub poured me a glass of red wine,

I met the Father and he kept me alive

And as unlikely angels guided my path,

My inner turmoil lashed out its wrath.

Then poison released, I am once again brave...

I love what I am and it's perfection I crave.

Colors are flavors, not shades as I'd learned

And as each second passes, another is earned.

Everything what it isn't and nothing as it seems...

Fairy tales and fantasies only brought to life in dreams.

To be better is worse and to have less, so much more...

All of this imagined in my dream I was awake for.

:: It's the End of the World As We Know It and I Feel Fine

By now, I'm sure everyone has heard the big prediction. Arithmetic may not be my strong suit, but I'm 99.9% certain that no matter how "holy" the math that David Koresh wannabe did was, the Rapture is not going to take place tomorrow.

I am a Christian. Not a fanatic. (There's a very fine line.) And it seems that every Christian out there with common sense is thinking the exact same thing: "In the Bible, doesn't it clearly state more than once that no one knows when the Father will return except for the Father Himself?" Preeecisely. You'd think that these extremists, in all of their Bible toting and quoting glory, would be privy to that information.

But as much as I want to roll my eyes and admonish them, I can't help but be more focused on what I find to be the truly tragic part of the equation. Don't get me wrong...Even as a Christian, I don't claim these fruitcakes. (Zing. Sorry.) But you know what? At least they believe in SOMEthing. The only reason this event has my attention whatsoever is because of the multitudes of non-believers that are coming out of the woodworks, the blatant disrespect to their fellow human beings for not sharing in their lack of beliefs and comments that are being posted on message boards across the world:

"When this doesn't pan out, can we finally stop taking the Bible and its wizard in the sky seriously altogether?"

It makes me sad...Heartbreakingly sad...That something as sacred as believing in God is taking the fall for something that man created.

To be a Christian is not to say that I think I am perfect. Far from it. I take the Lord's name in vain in Dallas rush-hour traffic, I party more than I should, I have moments of doubt and I enjoy some extremely shallow and materialistic things. But I also believe with all of my heart, mind and soul that Jesus died for my sins, saved my life and forgives me for being an idiot on a daily basis. It's an amazing comfort, assurance and elation that can not be described in words. Do I believe in the Rapture? Yes. Do I believe in Heaven and Hell? Absolutely. Do I believe that if I don't forward a Facebook post that I will go to said Hell? Not in the slightest.

So to anyone out there who runs across this blog and feels it necessary to chastise me for "believing a fairy story", I don't mind. It will never change my beliefs or the way that I live. Because the bottom line is that I would rather live as if there is a God and find out there isn't than live as if there isn't to find out there is.

:: Bye Bye Prednisone Belly!

It's official. It's been 4 months since my last hospital stay and I've finally had it up to HERE with this stupid pooch that I acquired. I thought over time that it would disappear, much like the 10 pounds of Prednisone water weight that I gained and lost fairly quickly, since I actually ate less and did more physical therapy while admitted than in my usual day-to-day routine. But try as I might, it refuses to let my pants fit comfortably and makes for a pretty grumpy Farrel while sitting at my work desk or attempting to squeeze into my favorite jeans.

Bon Appetit! :)

So, today being the first day of the month, partnered with my OCDness about things starting on a proper schedule, I got off my lazy butt and did something about it. I went to Kroger and stocked up on healthier meal and snack options (fresh veggies, Odwalla smoothies, avocados, Triscuits, yogurt, etc)...Stopped by the gym on my way home from work and did 30 minutes of brisk walking cardio while watching my Rangers spank Tampa Bay (Again. Woot!)...And received the green light to begin Isagenix, a full-body cleanse to get rid of pesky toxins and hopefully my caffeine and sugar addictions too. Snacks today consisted of granola bars and yogurt instead of crackers and Fruity Pebbles and dinner was whole grain pasta in a garlic and olive oil spaghetti sauce with fresh Bella mushrooms and grilled chicken cooked in. I was also advised to start drinking Muscle Milk after my workouts for the calories and sheer amount of protein that they contain and I've felt better today than I have in months. I've had more energy, been in a better mood, my mind has seemed sharper and more clear and even though I'm still fighting the annoyance of the tummy, I've felt lighter and less puffy. Next up, I hope to resume biking and introduce yoga and maybe Zumba into my routine for added fitness, increased lung function and most of all, to break up the monotony of exercising. I wish my cysters Afton and Jessica lived closer so I could give their yoga classes a try! But for now, I guess I'm just going to have to trust a local ;)

So long story short...Don't be stubborn, Prednisone Pooch. It may take a few weeks, but you won't win this one. It's better to arrive late to swimsuit season than to not show up at all.

:: Land of the Free and Home of the Brave

Most everyone has something that they are fiercely passionate about. Aside from raising as much awareness for Cystic Fibrosis as I am capable, I am also a hardcore, proud supporter of our American armed forces. No particular branch...Just lovin' me some soldiers :) I am blessed to know many members of the military, past and present, and I can think of no act more unselfish and brave than to sacrifice their freedom to protect ours.

So in honor of Memorial Day and our troops: Thank you. From the bottom of my heart.

And in honor of all of the fallen soldiers, the sacrifices they've made and the families and friends they've left behind:

  

All I ever wanted to do was fly...

 Leave this world and live in the sky. 

I left the C130 out of Fort Worth town;

 I go up some days and don't wanna come down.

I fly that plane called the Angel Flight; 

"Come on brother, you're with me tonight." 

Between Heaven and Earth you're never alone 

On the Angel Flight..."Come on brother, I'm taking you home."

 I love my family and I love this land,
But tonight this flight's for another man.
We do what we do because we heard the call.
Some gave a little, but he gave it all.

I fly that plane called the Angel Flight;
"Come on brother, you're with me tonight."
Between Heaven and Earth you're never alone
On the Angel Flight..."Come on brother, I'm taking you home."

Well the tarstrip's quiet and the stars are bright;
It feels kinda like church in here tonight.
It don't matter where we touch down...
On the Angel Flight it's sacred ground.

I fly that plane called the Angel Flight;
Got a hero riding with us tonight.
Between Heaven and Earth you're never alone
On the Angel Flight..."Come on brother, I'm taking you home."

:: My Hero (Part III of III - The Release)

Catch Up » :: My Hero (Part I of III - The "Crime")

:: My Hero (Part II of III - The Trial) 

I was 9 years old when my father left for prison. My family was forced to file for bankruptcy and we lost everything we had...The house I grew up in and the ranch it sat on went to the IRS; The horses my father bred and raised were divvied up among fellow ranchers in the area; And the Trust that had been set up for my health and education was dissolved and the millions it had once protected went to the Browns for reparations of their loss. We were left penniless and homeless.

My grandfather on my mother's side had set up a small rental property operation after he retired and he offered to move us into one of his rent houses inside the city. It was a fairly nice neighborhood with a handful of kids my age, so it was a smooth transition for me. However, an indescribable amount of pressure was put on my mother. Having only a high school education and a child at home with Cystic Fibrosis to dedicate her time to, employment was hard to come by. But at the expense of many tears and sleepless nights, she still managed to give me everything I needed and then some.

We started out making the 8-hour round trip to see my father every weekend. I remember the cold steel gates, the white brick walls and the fluorescent lights. I remember seeing him through the chain link fence and being pulled back by a guard when I tried to run through the gate to greet him. I remember they weren't allowed sodas or junk food in the mess hall, but on visitation days the vending machines were open to everyone and we always shared a package of Grandma Smith's cookies. For his impeccable behavior he was granted Trustee status and contact visits, so we were able to sit at picnic tables outside without glass separating us and for two hours every weekend, we were a family again. Until I was 13, I was allowed to sit beside him instead of across from him and I remember holding his hand and listening to the rhythmic tap-tap-tap of the cane issued to him for his blindness as we made our way down the long white corridor to the visitation yard. He was adored and respected by everyone, known as "Mr Amis" instead of "Bill", and his fellow inmates never hesitated to compliment us on what a wonderful man he was. He became close friends with the chaplain, who stuck by his side when we couldn't be with him and instead of passing his sentence listlessly, he joined the chapel choir and attended the in-house state-ordained college where he finally earned his degree.

My 16th birthday happened to fall on a weekend, so I chose to make a trip to visit him instead of partying with my friends. Over those 7 years, the visits had slowly dwindled down to once every two or three months...The drive and the lack of money took its toll on my mom, but she stayed faithful to my father and we made the trip every chance we could. My birthday was the first time my father and I had ever gotten into a fight and the first time I'd ever seen him cry. He was happy to see us, but not feeling well and in a horrible mood. I remember leaving and feeling confused...The hugs had been shallow and the "I love you"s rushed. My father had never been so temperamental and sharp with me and I was ready to leave it behind, knowing that next time everything would be fine.

Three nights later, I was finishing homework in our living room when the phone rang. Within seconds of answering, my mom's eyes went wide and she began to cry. She hung up the phone, made her way to the couch, took me into her arms and told me that it had been the Texas Department of Criminal Justice on the line. My father had just died of a heart attack.

Apparently since before my birthday, he had been suffering from severe chest pains. When he visited the infirmary the morning of his death to receive his blood pressure medication that he had taken daily since he was 14 years old, they suddenly refused him, claiming they believed he had become addicted. That night, he left his cell and barely made it to the doorway of the computer lab before he collapsed and was rushed to the infirmary, where he died minutes later. I take solace in knowing that he wasn't alone...Chaplain Larson prayed with him, assured him it was alright to accept freedom and promised to take care of my mother and I. We were told that the last words he managed were prayers for us.

In September of 2012, my father's sentence would have been complete and he would have been released to rebuild his life. I have no doubt that he is in Heaven and that he checks in on me from time to time and I take great pride every time I am reminded by others that I have his eyes or his personality. I love him and miss him terribly and often wonder why people like him, people with such a positive influence on the world around them, are taken away when there is so much good left for them to do. I look back at the Polaroid pictures that were snapped throughout the years in the visitation yard and for a few seconds, I can feel the way he used to pick me up, swing me around and laugh when I grunted that he was squeezing me too tight. I imagine it's the same greeting I'll get when I see him again.

"If I could get another chance...Another walk...Another dance with him, I'd play a song that would never, ever end. How I'd love love love to dance with my father again."

:: My Hero (Part II of III - The Trial)

Catch Up » :: My Hero (Part I of III - The "Crime")

That afternoon, my father did as he was told and proceeded to the local Police Department to turn himself in. Two days later, upon finding out that David Brown's brother, Paul, had recently been re-elected as Federal Judge of Texas, my grandfather suffered a fatal heart attack with me on his lap, his last words to my parents and I, "I'm sorry for what is about to happen to you." Three years of preparation passed and in September of 1992, my dad's trial for Attempted Murder began.

My parents hired the best attorney in East Texas and my father's optimistic attitude was infallible. Every morning, he said a quick prayer with my mother and I before they headed off to the courthouse. At 9 years old, I was of course too young to fully understand what was going on, but somehow I still realized we were in trouble. One night while he was tucking me into bed, I remember him trying to explain to me what was happening...That he was in trouble and fighting some bad people and that if they won he would have to leave for a long time. All the while though he assured me, "But we're not going to lose, so you don't have to worry. The truth will set me free." And I took his word for it, kissed him on the cheek and fell asleep.

It became apparent within the first week that something was wrong. The judge presiding over the trial was known for two things in our hometown: A) That she practiced cutthroat ruling according to quota rather than justice so that one day, she might attain the status of federal judge and B) That she sat front row in church every Sunday morning with her hands held high. The first day of the trial, during her address to the jury, she stated, "I am friends with the Brown family and I will not let their name be tarnished with this filth." And she kept her word...For the duration of the trial, not one single witness that my father provided was allowed to testify. Instead, the trial focused on attempting to argue that my father wasn't really blind and that he had strategically aimed to paralyze Brown, never calling into question WHY he had had to defend himself in the first place. My parents spent hours with my father's attorney, poring over the case and perfecting every detail, but when they appeared in the courtroom, the attorney never objected to anything the judge or prosecuter threw at him. We later found out that he had been paid an outrageous sum of money to stay silent.

To make matters worse, halfway through the trial, David Brown contracted pneumonia and died. After an autopsy was performed by a close family friend of the Browns, it was ruled that the pneumonia was due to complications from the gunshot wounds he had received almost half a decade earlier.  With these new developments and no allowance for a second, unbiased opinion, my father's charge was immediately changed to Murder.

And one week later: "We the jury find the defendant, William J Amis, Jr, guilty of the murder of David Brown."

My father was convicted and sentenced to 20 years in a state penitentiary. Protests broke loose outside the courthouse and appeals were filed, but with Brown's brother as the reigning Federal Judge of Texas, there was no hope. Immediately following the trial, my dad was held at the County Jail where the warden routinely snuck my mother, father and I into his office for visitation, which was under no circumstances allowed, but he claimed that if a judge could break the law, so could he. Two months later, my dad was transferred to Huntsville State Prison in south Texas. The first night he was there, one of his blockmates heard him sobbing and called out to him, "That you, Famous Amis?"

"You must be thinking of someone else. I'm hardly a celebrity."

"Naw, man...You're Famous Amis. Everybody in here knows what they done to you."

Next » :: My Hero (Part III of III - The Release)

:: My Hero (Part I of III - The "Crime")

After my last entry, I received a few comments and emails asking to know more about my # 10 fact regarding what happened to my dad. Normally I would add some sort of lengthy disclaimer before launching into it, but this time, I'm simply going to break it into three parts and let the story speak for itself. All I will add is that in 2000, my mother was contacted by a reporter from The Houston Chronicle who ended up publishing a 13-page article that has resulted in four book and two movie offers. Yes, it is every bit the Texas soap opera and yes...Every bit is true.

My grandfather graduated from Texas A&M with honors and was a top geologist for Shell Oil in the 1980s. After he had been with Shell long enough to learn the ins and outs of the oil business, he started his own and within a few years, Amis Interests was one of the most stable and trusted oil companies in Texas. Before he knew it, he had become a multi-millionaire. As it became more and more successful, he created a Trust to control the exorbitant amount of money pouring in from our productive wells. It was to be left to me, the only child left in the lineage, upon the passing of he and my father or upon my 21st birthday to ensure that I would never have to worry about my CF medical bills being paid or be at loss of an education. I was he and my father's world.

In 1988, my grandfather suffered a massive heart attack and stroke, then underwent two brain surgeries, a quadruple bypass surgery and a balloon surgery. He was rendered an invalid and Amis Interests was automatically thrown into the hands of my father. My dad was blind, had only completed two years of college at Texas Tech and had little knowledge of oil or the business in general, but he managed to run it well. In 1989, the company hit an all-time high and due to the demand at the office, he enlisted the help of a family friend, David Brown, to take care of my grandfather. Brown was an ex-judge of Texas and knew the family well, so he was unquestionably trusted.

Little did my family know that when Brown started caring for my grandfather, he had recently been disbarred from practicing law in Texas for stealing money from the elderly and from charities across the state. Situations soon began to arise though that made my father question Brown's loyalty to our family. There were extended periods of time where Brown and my grandfather would disappear, along with large amounts of my grandfather's drugs, with no forewarning or communication from either. When contact was finally re-established, my near-comatose grandfather would lie that they had gone on vacation and there was no need to worry. Shortly after this happened a third time, my father's secretary found legal documents signed by my grandfather and witnessed by Brown turning all government of our family's assets solely over to Brown...An action my grandfather, in his right mind, would have never even considered. Later, Brown's personal assistant admitted that on several occasions, Brown overmedicated my grandfather and forced him to sign papers giving him complete control of my family's wealth. He often mentally tortured my grandfather when he would resist, refusing to change his clothing for hours when he soiled himself and threatening that if he didn't do as he was told, he would never see me again.

Once this was brought to light, my father immediately filed a restraining order on Brown and asked to be driven to my grandfather's house to protect him. That same afternoon, Brown forced his entry into my grandfather's house and demanded to see him. My father showed him the restraining order, which Brown spit on and claimed didn't apply to him because he WAS the law. He began hitting and kicking my father and a blow to the back of the head sent my dad to the ground. My father reached into his pocket and took out a loaded pistol and unsure of where he was aiming due to his blindness, fired the entire round into the air, hitting Brown once in the neck and twice in the leg. As soon as he was sure Brown was no longer a threat to his father, he made his way to the phone in the kitchen, dialed 911 and told the operator he had shot a man in self defense, that all weapons were empty and to please send help as fast as possible because he feared for the man's life. Then, he waited by his dad's side for the paramedics and law enforcement to arrive.

Brown was taken to a local hospital where he was pronounced paralyzed from the neck down. After close scrutinization of the crime scene, two Texas Rangers told my father not to be remorseful and that he had done what any man would be expected to do for his family: He had acted in self defense and protected his father at all costs. They assured him that everything would be handled properly and sent him home with my mother and I.

Two weeks later, the local Police Department called and instructed him to turn himself in within 24 hours or a warrant for his arrest would be issued for the attempted murder of a prominent Texas official.

Next » :: My Hero (Part II of III - The Trial)

:: 28 Completely Unnecessary (But FUN!) Facts About Yours Truly

It's Monday night and I'm trying to pass the time while finishing my breathing treatments and winding down to sleep. The basic guideline is to come up with as many random facts as you are years old. So let's see what ridiculous things you and I are about to learn about me....

1) I'm a textbook Pisces. Damn feelings.

2) I graduated from high school, got married, got divorced, then started college. I'd call it white trash if it weren't me, but because it is, I refer to it as "living backward".

3) I have to have volumes on increments of 5. I WILL correct yours.

4) Up until like two days ago, I despised shopping. I don't know what happened, but my mom got more shopping out of me last weekend than she has my entire life. And she was so happy to finally have a shopping buddy she was practically skipping through the mall.

5) I firmly believe that all color schemes should include black and white zebra patterns with hot pink accents.

6) I grew up on a ranch where my dad bred and raised Quarter Horses, one of which he brought to my school and let my entire class take turns riding around the parking lot for my 8th birthday.

7) I've been baptized twice. (My mom forgot about the first time.)

8) I'm happiest when I'm traveling, taking pictures and listening to live music. If I can wrap all three of those into a single occasion I'm one happy pup.

9) I'm beginning to realize that 90% of the time, I like animals more than people.

10) My dad was wrongfully sent to prison when I was 9 years old and died there when I was 16. The world has never known a better man. He is my hero.

11) Some might consider me un-American because of the sheer number of classic movies I've never seen.

12) Because of complications with my digestion due to CF, I drink goat milk. No, I don't salivate when I pass a goat farm any more than you do when you see a cow pasture.

13) I've played piano since I was 5. I'm fairly out of practice, but I can play better by ear than I can read music.

14) I hate talking on the phone, but I'll text for hours on end.

15) When I eat pizza, I eat the toppings and bread separately. I also eat only the toppings off of my last slice.

16) I type 120 words per minute.

17) I can't tell a joke to save my life. Delivering the punchline is always my downfall. That, or the fact that the joke sucked in the first place  and I was the only one who found it funny.

18) Fire fascinates me.

19) I had my license revoked at one point for too many speeding tickets. I'd like to think I learned my lesson, but I still average around 45 for residential and 80 for highway.

20) Back in 2005, my ex Justin and I went to jail overnight together on our first date. I was taken in for a speeding ticket warrant (see exhibit 19) that to this day I SWEAR I paid and him for being drunk in public. Of the 14 hours we were there, over half of mine were spent in the waiting area with our arresting officer who flirted shamelessly with me while Justin sobered up in the detox tank and overheard every word from, "So does he treat you right?" to "Let me take you out and you can play with my siren".

21) I hate hate hate math. I understand that to some, there's comfort in knowing there is one indefinite answer. My problem comes from not being able to figure out that frickin' indefinite.

22) My furbaby, Biscuit, is named after Family Guy's Brian's mom, not the pastry.

23) I'm a total closet 80's hairband fan. There's something about that cheesy, electrically synthesized excuse for noise that makes me smile deep down inside.

24) Some girls collect purses. Some hoard shoes. I heart panties.

25) I've had a recurring nightmare at least twice a week since September 11th that wherever I am is in danger and I can never get a hold of my loved ones to say goodbye.

26) My intuition is so accurate it's scary. I just never listen to it.

27) My full heritage is British, Irish and French. I adore London, which I attribute to my British side; The Irish are lots of fun, so I claim them too; But I don't usually acknowledge my French side because, well, they're assholes....

28) I'm a firework. Katy Perry said so.

:: Forever Young

When describing my childhood, "sheltered" is an understatement.  Elementary school was accepting of innocence and naïvete, but junior high wasn't so forgiving. By sixth grade I was overweight...Because of how small my primary school was, I lacked the social skills and status to fit in at my pretentious parochial middle school...And above all else, I had something "wrong" with me. Something that made me different. Something that made ignorant kids shun me because of what their even more ignorant parents told them.

But I was oblivious to all of it because as a child, I acted like a child.  I was unaware of the pettiness and cruelty of the world. I was even unaware that others didn't have CF...Hell, I thought everyone set aside time in the mornings to blow Albuterol smoke rings. But I ran around outside. I played games. I used my imagination. This behavior carried into my junior high years and for it, I was an outcast. I didn't have many  friends growing up, but the ones I surrounded myself with were true blessings. Namely, my bestie across the street.

SG moved into my neighborhood when we were 9 and it wasn't long before we were inseparable. I joined her theatre company and participated in a week-long run of The King and I with her. We watched Clarissa Explains It All and adhered religiously to her guidelines for life. Her dad hid "clues" which we searched for as Nancy Drew and Bess. We believed that creating a string-can telephone with shoelaces and scraps of yarn tied together would be just as effective as using one long string and were dumbfounded when it wasn't. We laid dead birds to rest and made sure they were paid the proper respect in a makeshift bird cemetery to the side of my house. In short, while other people our age were already getting drunk, dabbling in drugs and enduring pregnancy scares, we were having FUN.

For high school I transferred from private to public education and went from a class of 37 to a class of 500 where it was easy to remain unnoticed by those different from myself and even easier to find others to click with. Although we shared few of the same classes and although she and her family moved to another part of the city, we remained close and through her, I met the close-knit group of girls that I keep in touch with to this day. But most importantly, when my dad passed away unexpectedly halfway through my sophomore year, she was the first friend I called and the last friend to leave that night. She skipped school to attend his funeral with me and her shoulder was the one I cried on after delivering his eulogy. And after my most influential and adored role model was gone, her father stepped up to the plate, took me under his wing and loved me, protected me and disciplined me as if I were his own.

2010 would have marked the 9-year anniversary of having not seen her and the 15-year anniversary of having not seen him. Instead of continuing that trend, I made the trip to south Texas after receiving a call from her that Dad had been diagnosed in the last stages of liver cancer. Admittedly nervous at first, I soon realized that even after all of the years apart and all that had changed, I didn't feel the slightest bit uncomfortable around my second family. In fact, we almost instantly reverted back to our childhood...We re-lived countless high school memories, posed provocatively on the mechanical Dino the Dinosaur outside HEB, terrorized a dead jellyfish on the beach with a stick, turned cartwheels around the town's tourist billboard and ate like we had our teenage metabolisms back.

Why and at which point does that leave us? Why do we trade childhood jubilance for stress and overachievement with barely anything to show for it? At least as kids, at the end of the day we were worn out but satisfied with our day's activities. As adults, we exhaust ourselves concerning what comes next, if our house is decorated fancy enough, if our car is sporty enough, if our jewelry is large enough and if we're high enough in the hierarchy.  News flash: It's NEVER enough. What will matter on your deathbed is core happiness.

To My Sweet Little Bacon Addict: Marriage, mini-you and 10-foot growth spurt aside, you will forever be SG to me, with your ice skating princess Keds and ponytail on top of your head. You and Dad are in my thoughts and prayers daily; I love you and will always love you like the sister I never had and I will be here every step of the way for as long as you need and want me to be. I am only a phone call and a plane ride away.