“You’re lucky. At least, you don’t have some horrible disease.” says the ultrasound tech as she squeezes cold gel on my chest.

I smile & nod because it’s true. And because this is what people say. What they always say.

Well-meaning people who judge the broken book by its unblemished cover.

The wave of guilt washes over me, chokes me, as I hear the words unspoken… You’re not sick enough. Not suffering enough. Not grateful enough.

Because I don’t feel lucky. Doubled over in pain, too sick to eat. Waking up exhausted. Collapsing on the floor. All my time spent in cramped doctors’ offices & overcrowded emergency rooms.

I didn’t feel lucky as I watched my life shift, like a jigsaw puzzle being slid onto a new surface. A few pieces falling off. No big deal. Seemingly easily fixed.

But then, falling apart, faster & faster, until all that was left were a few pieces still connected.

Sections that no longer formed a whole.

Some pieces lost forever….The future I planned. The career I loved. The friends I thought would always be there. My freedom. My independence. The separate pieces that form the whole of a life.

But from the scattered pieces, I created something new. An incongruent, beautiful kaleidoscope of a life….The people who support me. The moments of joy and laughter. The love I give. My strength. My resilience. Not by luck, but by choice.

So, say l’m a fighter. Say I’m a warrior. But please don’t say that I’m lucky.