My day starts around 7:30 in the morning. My mommy usually gets me out of bed…sometimes my big brother or sister helps me out of my crib.

After I get dressed, it’s time for breakfast. When I eat, I have to take my medicines. Usually it is just enzymes—my mommy opens up these big pills and pours out the little beads into applesauce. I’m used to taking these—I like the applesauce. If I don’t get the right number of enzymes, my tummy hurts and I don’t grow big and strong. I also take special vitamins when I eat my meals.

When I’m sick or have an infection, I have to take extra medicines. They don’t always taste yummy.

After breakfast, we take my big brother Zach and my sister Mimi to school. When we get back home, I get to do my chest therapy and watch Elmo. My mommy helps me put on a vest with tubes that connect to a machine that vibrates my chest. It is fun to make noises while I wear my vest—I sound so silly. I also get to wear a fish mask—I have to do a nebulizer treatment during chest therapy. I don’t mind doing therapy in the mornings, because I get to watch TV. My therapy lasts for 30 minutes. I do another therapy at night—usually right before my bedtime snack. When I have an infection in my lungs, my therapies are twice as long.

I like to spend the rest of my day playing. I can do all kinds of things. Mommy and Daddy say that running and playing is good for my lungs. I don’t really care—I just like to run.

Some days I have to go to the doctor’s office. Usually I don’t mind going because I get stickers. I get a throat culture once a month. I do not like these. The doctor says he’s going to tickle my throat, but I think he doesn’t know what tickle means. My daddy…now he knows what tickle means…and his tickles are a lot more fun.

Every three months I have really long doctors appointments. They call it CF clinic. That means they check me all over. Every once in awhile at one of my clinics, they have to take my blood. I don’t like this. They see how tall I am, how much I weigh, they hug my arm or leg with this scary thing, they put something else on the end of my finger—it tells them numbers. I don’t know what all these numbers mean, but last week, everybody was telling me how proud they were that I was so big.

I see all kinds of doctor people—a lung doctor, a chest therapy nurse, a tummy doctor, a lady who asks a lot of questions about how I eat (Mommy calls her a dietician). We are there for over two movies. All the people we see are really nice, but they all listen to me breathe, check my tummy, and ask a lot of questions. I usually play while they talk.

Daddy and Mommy were really excited with my appointment last week because the doctors said I’m growing better than ever—I don’t look sick. The doctors tell us to keep up the good work, but I think God is keeping me healthy…and I’m glad.