My ever disorder Cystic Fibrosis, of typical ΔF508 form, hasn’t ever been a subject of conversation for the scribe in me, for a number of reasons. I was only diagnosed at thirteen and had already developed a teenaged ego without CF. The late psycho-therapist Dr. TerVrugt in London, Ontario, who regularly provided advice and was knowledgeable of the genetic malady, wondered why I was diagnosed so late and mentioned that most cases were found in young children. Later on, in post-secondary school and during my career, there were always, always more rewarding subjects to write about than this life-shortening nuisance.

Once, a few years ago, I posted something relevant on Facebook. By then I’d been a member of the Cystic Fibrosis Foundation’s patient committee for a term as well as a sufferer for over four decades. Lots of deaths and sickness and treatments and doctors. My comment on Facebook years ago was brief, but almost immediately my townhouse was hit by a hate crime. The London Police Service investigated, were concerned and helpful. What a strange time. So much drama all at once, including the COVID-19 pandemic.

The Foundation’s symbol, no longer used in contemporary marketing, had been painted behind the townhouse of which I’d just taken possession. In 2021 there were only 4,300 Canadians with Cystic Fibrosis, but that’s still a lot of surveillance. Here was another reason not to blog about CF. Probably I wouldn’t have written again if there wasn’t a need for written content.

Cystic Fibrosis symptoms were worsening when I was targeted. About that time I’d had three lung transplant evaluations. Not quite sick enough for the procedure but had been spending a lot of time in hospitals for more than a decade. Up to months at a time. Sometimes I was receiving home intravenous treatments.

Contemplating death had been a part of my life since diagnosis. When teenaged, the mid-twenties were promoted as an average end-of-life. Then in my thirties and earlier forties, at least in Toronto, the clinicians were achieving fifty years or more for people with CF, if they looked after themselves and followed the prescribed regimen.

While living in London, Ontario again, where earlier I had spent some of my imperfect adolescence finding myself, my family doctor told me, “You will live longer if you go further south.” He was confident in what he said. A friend from the Caribbean had already made a similar suggestion. Given my long-term disability from a telecom company in Toronto—best opportunity—I began to think of that possibility as therapeutic, not only tourism. I’d already attempted a return to the office, and soon became sick again. In response to my cough, a Human Resource employee suggested I go home.

First it was off to Jamaica, west island Negril with its healing climate. Even before I relocated west out of Scarborough and the GTA. Two winters for months at a time. There was the Mexican Pacific Coast to escape the cold, and since then Florida. Sunshine State real estate was less expensive than I expected. Driving there was simple.

Most importantly, I found my GP’s advice true. After moving south in the winter, the hospital admissions ceased. My Toronto respirologist and the CF clinic, leading experts, agreed the southern climate provided what they called “health stability.” Since then a new genetic prescription, brand named “TRIKAFTA,” has further reduced my respiratory symptoms.

Even with my new super pills, there is permanent lung damage that has created a lifelong disability. I can snorkel, in calm waters, but have come close to drowning twice. The only surfing I do is for the average temperatures and sunshine hours of different cities. No, I’m content to be a snowbirding sun worshipper, in awe of all those unseen healing energies radiating here to earth.

Jeremy Tompkins’  Canadian Mockingbird: Exposing Censorship and Textbook-Mediated Social Engineering, the 223-page nonfiction book describing a program of covert public and Catholic school textbook censorship during Baby Boomer and Generation X eras is now available. The program regularly ignored the panel consensus of paid subject specialists, defying domestic and international protections.