Private Chef, Writer & Podcaster
We spend so much time chasing the shining things—titles, trophies, applause that fades faster than a bad soufflé—but living with sarcoidosis and years of unexpected detours has a funny way of reminding me who really shows up when the cameras aren’t rolling. This little reflection started with a series of questions from Charles Schulz, and let’s just say the answers took me somewhere… unexpected.
Recently, I sat through a medical survey that was so obsessed with despair you’d think optimism was contraband. As someone juggling heart failure and sarcoidosis with the grace of a caffeinated cat, I realized just how differently I approached my own medical circus. The questions were supposed to measure my suffering, but instead they reminded me of something far more unexpected… and a little hilarious in hindsight.
I never thought a tiny fish would wreck me like this. But here I am, staring at an empty tank and feeling more emotional than I did when my last favorite spoon broke. Sarcoidosis doesn’t prepare you for this kind of heartbreak. Come find out why this fish mattered more than he ever should have.
Sometimes life with chronic illness and sarcoidosis hands you a moment that stops you cold—something so strange and oddly comforting that you have to sit with it for a minute before deciding whether the universe is winking at you or just messing around again. Back in those early years, when my whole world felt stitched together with medical tape and caffeine, one such moment arrived inside an email from someone who wasn’t even alive anymore… and no, I promise this isn’t a ghost story. But it is the kind of story that might just make you rethink who shows up for you—and who doesn’t.
There’s something wild about living with chronic illness—like sarcoidosis and heart failure—that somehow turns you into a chemist, a juggler, and occasionally, a complete idiot. One night, after years of carefully choreographing my meds to keep my heart beating and my lungs cooperating, I accidentally double-dosed myself into a mild panic and a sleepless night watching for the Grim Reaper. Spoiler: I lived. But I learned a thing or two about pill organizers, fatigue, and the fine line between medication routine and chaos.
Tate Basildon 