Thank you all for your patience while the judges and I carefully considered each of the poems submitted to this season of the Patient Press poetry contest regarding Cystic Fibrosis. A special thanks to our judges, Layne Simpson and Piper Beatty, who gave their time during a very busy season.

A congratulations, as well, to all that submitted. All of the entries were moving and it was an honor to read them.  In the coming posts, we will be sharing all of the poems submitted so that you can all benefit. If you submitted, please send me an email at patientpress@gmail.com with any info you want me to post. I recommend a short bio and your blog address, if you have one.

Thanks! Without further ado . . .

First Place Poem: He’s Not Gaining Weight by Lydia Samad Second Place Poem: Four Poems by Katelyn Bush Third Place Poem: All I Ask by Katelyn Malene Sims

The text of the three winning poems is below. The finalists will be posted soon! Thank you all for submitting. Truly, it was an honor.

First Place: He's Not Gaining Weight by Lydia Samad

Lydia Samad is the mother of a 7 year old boy with Cystic Fibrosis. She lives in Texas, and her website can be found at A zersCFWebsite.com

He’s not gaining weight. Feed him more frequently, more calories, more glasses of milk. I’m sick of this. What do they expect me to? Watching him sit at the table. Chewing each bite for ages. Frustration. Why can’t he eat faster! He’s not gaining weight. Husband comes home. Here YOU feed him. Pushing, forcing, coaxing, convincing, lectures. Just one more bite. He’s not gaining weight. Try these milkshakes. Lots of fat. Surely this will work. Blenders running all day long. Countless tubs of ice cream. Millions of gallons of milk. He’s not gaining weight. Doctors and dieticians. We’ve tried these options, you’re not a failure. He’s not gaining weight. Facing surgery. Feel like blaming my child. Feel like blaming myself. Pointing fingers at husband. Pointing fingers at self. If only I had given him two more bites. Just forced and prodded a bite more. No, it wouldn’t have worked. He’s just never hungry. Doctors and surgeons talk to me. Day of surgery. Feeling like this is my fault. My heart is in my throat. Trying not to throw up. What will my life be like next week. My son is mad at me. “I don’t need a G-tube.” “Please Mommy. I’ll drink my milkshakes faster. I don’t want this thing in my body.” He’s being sedated. Try to be strong for him. Tell him things will get better. It’s my son’s turn. The sedation medication is going through his veins. He’s not nervous anymore. One more sweet kiss with my son before he’s wheeled through green double doors. Telling myself not to break down. It’s a minor procedure. Waiting, pacing, nervous. Clinging to husband with sweaty hands. Texting family and friends. Finally the surgeon comes out. Everything was fine. He was in capable hands. Feeling grateful. Time to see him. Nurse warns us it will be noisy. What does that mean? Walking through strange hallways. Bracing myself for what I will see. Curtains hanging around each child. Countless children waking. They are crying and moaning. Are they in pain? One child is crying and trying to get out of the bed. One girl moans, and looks like she had surgery on her head. God, why must these children suffer? My ears are filled with the sounds of children crying. Oh God, what will my son look like? Will he be crying? Will he be in tremendous pain? Nurse points, there he is. The familiar face I know and love. His stomach is covered with blankets. I want to see what it looks like. Husband says to leave him alone. Maybe he’s afraid too? My son’s eyes meet mine and he starts to cry. What’s wrong, honey? Does it hurt? More morphine. It still hurts. His cries join with the cries of the children in the room like a chorus. Be strong for him. “I’ve done this to him. I’ve caused him to suffer.” Back to our hospital room. He’s sleeping, moaning. The day goes by at an agonizing pace. Too slow. Afraid to touch him, to move him, afraid of hurting him. Nurse explains information. Too much information. My head is spinning. It’s too overwhelming. I don’t understand what she’s saying. Giving me phone numbers, numbers of sizes, numbers of milliliters per hour. Why is she talking so fast? “Call me if anything goes wrong”. What? Fear. Trying to hold back tears. A sleepless night. He’s crying in his sleep. I finally drift off. Metal clangs in our room and I startle awake. A nurse is removing tubes from his stomach. I can see the button now. It’s not so bad. Shouldn’t there be bleeding? That looks pretty clean. My son looks down at the button. He looks up at me and smiles. “Wait till my buddies see this! They will think it’s cool!” Making jokes. “You have a balloon inside of you. I knew you were always full of hot air.” Time goes by faster. He’s walking across the room. Another day and it’s time to go home. New fears. Can I do this myself? A metal pole with a machine in my child’s bedroom. That doesn’t belong here. More medical equipment to decorate our home. Cans of formula, plastic tubes and syringes. I can’t do this. It’s too difficult to manage. I sleep on the floor next to him. Afraid to leave his side. I drift off to sleep. Morning sun hurts my eyes. I look at my son’s bed. He’s not there. The metal pole is missing. I hear noises coming from the kitchen. My son is rolling on the metal pole like a scooter. He is happy. The next week rolls by as fast as his new scooter. Doctors and dieticians, waiting to find out the news. He has gained weight.

SECOND PLACE – Four Poems by Katelyn Bush

4.1 Life with Lung Disease

Always changing day after day. What to expect? Whats coming my way? Something I hate; feeling like this. To breathe easy, that is my wish. Coughing and drowning, I choke and I gasp. All the while knowing my life is ending too fast. Nebulizers and oxygen, pills and vests. Total chaos, I cant take it, My life is a mess. What would I give to have a normal life. To survive long enough to be called someone's wife. Although its not possible, there is no cure in sight. And I'm getting weaker, I dont know how much longer I can keep up the fight. The things I would trade to just take a breath. Insted of constantly running, trying to escape my own death. 4.2 My Jail I feel imprisioned. No trial was I given. No chance to present my case. Why was this punishment thrown in my face? I never commited a crime. So why am I doing time? Thrown in jail, Everytime I try to inhale. My lungs have betrayed me once more. They're working for the devil, rotted to the core. I try to act like I dont care. But the truth is, I'm really scared. At night when I go to bed I'm never sure if I'll wake again. 4.3 Trapped in These Lungs Trapped in a place I cannot breathe. Wishing for a chance, I long to be free. Spending my life in a hospital bed. No wonder sometimes I wish I were dead. But no, This is the path God has chosen for me. So I make my world of lung disease the best it can be.   4.4 Please Breathe Easy Years and years she waited. for a chance to breathe. Life was slowly ending. Pain, Misery. Still she seemed to smile. Nothing got her down. Even as the air grew thinner, and her time was running out. Her lungs were slowly failing. But still she hoped and prayed. Time and time again good news would come, only to be snached away. She'd been let down so many times she didn't know how much more she could take. Shes my guardian angel and I am hers. Some things will never change. I'd give my life to save her, I'd give my everything. I live for her, she gives me strength. She reminds me that God is real. When finally that great day came and she could live again. She learned what it was like to truely breathe. She filled her new lungs with air. She was reborn. A new woman inside. Life and hope had been restored. Now she lies, motionless and still as the joy gets yanked away. I refuse to accept that this is happening. Not after all we've done. Theres got to be a way to save her. If I could I'd take her place in an instant. But she is gone now, Please, Breathe Easy. THIRD PLACE POEM: All I Ask by Katelyn Malene Sims

Katelyn Malene Sims is a CF Patient who lives in Florida.

There will be a day when I leave, I will leave this painful world behind. At the moment when you start to grieve, Read through my poems each and every line. -- A celebration of her life is what it shall be called, Not  funeral or remembrance. Allow the hurt and tears to be stalled, Take in the breathless indulgence. -- At the door on a table. Place my most memorable accomplishments. With every story and every fable, Showcase my significant achievements. -- Play the songs that I adored, And live that moment for me. Never allow the memory of me to be ignored, And know that I am free. -- Talk about the stories that I shared, From friend to friend. How there wasn’t one moment that I didn’t care, About how it felt in the end. -- Tell about my tribulations and my trials, When I was alone in the dark. All those times I had to be full of smiles, When there was a fearful journey I had to embark. -- Distribute his words that lifted my spirit, His words that became my desire. Read it out loud and let the world hear it, John 16:33 the verse that raised me higher. -- Recite a poem or two which I had written, That focused on joyous times and laughter. Tell about my personality and how I was driven, And that I wanted to live happily ever after. -- Listen to the silence when there is a break, Know at that moment I am with you. Take a deep breath for my sake, Because our separation shall be no issue. -- All I ask of you in return, Is that you bury me in the sunshine on a rainy day. The memory of me you may yearn, Never forget the words you heard me say. -- Only allow a single tear drop to fall, If you start to break and let go. Know that I would want you to stop, And remember that I love you so. -- I have been damaged, Throughout my fulfilling years. Torn into dispersing pieces of wreckage, Without shedding any tears. -- Remember how I tried to fix, What I could not change. There were not any tricks, To this life that is called a game. -- The life I lived was remarkable, This is a memoir of my legacy that I have left for you to share. The opportunities given to me were impeccable, Our memories will always be there.

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Once again, our great congratulations and appreciation to all entrants. The 4 additional finalists will be posted next week, and the week following, we will post the rest of the submissions. Thank you so!

Beth