Maggie

        I only have to go to physical therapy once a week now instead of twice a week. I am making good progress, according to my physical therapist. I am getting stronger. (I'm not boasting, I'm quoting her.) Before, she could barely touch me or move me, and I was in a large amount of pain. And while I'm still in pain a lot, the pain is not only less frequent, but less intense. My hip still pops quite a bit, and once in a while (two nights ago, for example), I will wake up in the middle of the night with a piercing pain in my hip. It feels like repeatedly getting a shot with the needle they used to give me an MRI arthrogram. Thankfully, like I said earlier, the pain is less frequent and less intense, and I am very grateful for that.

       Outside of my hips, life just keeps going. And that's the good thing. I do not believe that someone should decide not to do something, or just sit around because they happen to have some kind of disability, or health problem. Sure, things are limiting. But people can still learn and grow and be successful.

       One of the people that taught me this is a remarkable young woman named Maggie Dingwall. She passed away the day before my surgery, at the age of seventeen. Maggie Dingwall battled cystic fibrosis. We met when we were nine or ten years old. We danced together. Imagine. A girl with cystic fibrosis dancing multiple hours a week, working just as hard as the rest of us, if not harder. I was one of the first people at the dance studio who knew she had cystic fibrosis. Understandably, at that age, she didn't really want people to know about it, and she swore me to secrecy. As she got older, she realized that it wasn't anything to be ashamed of.

        I want to be like Maggie when I grow up. I want to be the hard worker that she was. I want to be just as strong, and optimistic. Maggie never asked for pity. She never expected people to treat her better than everyone else. She took the cards she was dealt and created a life more full of living than anyone I have ever met. I have tried to emulate her. I started going to school full time three weeks after surgery, walker, and then cane, in tow. I choreographed and assistant stage managed San Juan College's production of "You Can't Take it with You". And now, I'm back at work, running up and down stairs, carrying platforms and flying in curtains and electrics. That's the point. Don't let things hold you back. Maybe you can't do everything you want to do. But you can do something. And you can make a good life for yourself. Create a life for yourself that is as full of living as you can make it.

        Because of my surgery, and where it fell in conjunction with Maggie's death, I didn't get to go to her memorial service. I never really got to say goodbye. People don't think I think about her. But I do. I think about her a lot. I try to emulate her strength, and her positive, resilient nature. And truth is, I miss her. I think everyone who got to know her does.

       Her motto was "just breathe". It's something that everyone, not only people with CF can apply to their lives. Life happens. Sometimes we get dealt rotten cards. Sometimes things happen that just aren't fair. Someitmes life is cruel and heartwrenching. But if we "just breathe". If we just keep going. If we just relax and do the best we can, we make it so much farther. Things work out, in their own way.

      So here's the challenge:

•  Create a life full of living
• Be positive
• Be resilient
• Just breathe

      Mann Dance Academy Inc., the studio where Maggie and I danced for so many years, has taken the song "Mr. Pinstripe Suit" to choreograph and perform in her honor. This song was chosen because it was supposed to be her solo piece this year. Anyone who wants to participate is welcome too, and I think it's fitting that Maggie's dance is the first one I do after my surgery. So that's what I'm going to do. Her dance will give me my passion back.