A Tale of Two Mornings

I’m writing to ask for your help. But first, I have a story to share.

The alarm goes off. You hit it violently, and roll over. You yawn widely and take a deep breath. You committed to work out this morning. But the bed is comfortable, it looks wet outside, and a bit more sleep would be really tempting.

Nothing in that paragraph sounds normal or out of place. Unless you have cystic fibrosis. Then your morning experience feels a little different…

The alarm goes off at 4 a.m. Again. It's hard to know what you hate most: the struggle to breathe, or not sleeping in. It screeches insistently, its electronic wail indifferent to your groans. Swatting at the clock, wanting it to go away. Knowing it won't. Physio won't wait, and there's three hours to be done before the rest of your day can start. Another session of someone else pummelling and beating your chest, your back, your ribs. Breaking up the thick mucous you wretch out, today just like every other day. But first, an insulin shot. The first of five you will inject yourself with. A handful of pills for breakfast; enzymes to aid digestion, drugs to ward off infection, more just to keep managing the disease. The one you were born with. The one that gave you a life expectancy of just fifty. Swallowing the pills, you look at yourself in the mirror, willing yourself to get moving. Just like yesterday. Just like tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that.

Until recently, that was the daily routine of Erica, the daughter of a good friend of mine. In 2018 she was lucky enough to qualify for and receive a lung transplant. Waking up from that operation, she took her first clear breath ever. There were still complications to be managed, but they were a small price to pay.

The next year was one of the best of Erica’s life. She could conceive, hope and plan for a future. She could move in to a place on her own. A dream trip to Paris became a reality. She began a career she loved. It was all coming together.

Sadly, last year her body started to show signs of rejecting her new lungs. She passed away on 26 August 2020.

Erica's journey has unfortunately come to an all-too-early end, but many more live with CF every day.?

I have been supporting Cystic Fibrosis research through the Ride for the Breath of Life for more than a decade. Cystic Fibrosis is the number one fatal genetic disease for children. Life expectancy is increasing, but is still a fraction of what you and I take for granted. Research is starting to make a difference and manage some strains, but more work needs to be done and more comprehensive (and affordable) solutions are required.

On Saturday, 7 August I will ride for the CF community, for my friend Abe's family, and especially in memory of Erica. Because of the pandemic, I cannot be in Edmonton and ride with the community I have come to know and respect. Instead, 2021 will once again be a virtual ride. As I did last year, I plan to ride to Tobermory and back, about a 600km round trip from where I live.

I would genuinely appreciate you supporting me in whatever amount you are able. Please give what you can. Every little bit helps a huge amount. Thank you sincerely, from the bottom of my heart.

You can donate by clicking here .

Thanks in advance,

Mark