chronic illness – Tate Basildon

When Privacy Went Missing: A Baby Boomer’s Rant on Boundaries, Social Media, and Performative Tears

Growing up in a world without smartphones, social media, or the constant performance of feelings, I’m reminded how much life has changed—and how much we’ve lost. Somewhere between rotary phones and viral videos of strangers crying, something fundamental shifted in how we treat privacy, boundaries, and each other, especially for those of us navigating chronic illness like sarcoidosis. I found myself spiraling down that rabbit hole after reading about yet another plane-ride drama… but not in the way you might expect.

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Salt Air, Sick Days, and the Things That Still Heal Me

Growing up in the Caribbean taught me a lot about salty air, stubborn lungs, and the strange medical advice that somehow worked. Decades later, living with sarcoidosis and trying to survive winter colds, I stumbled across something unexpected that brought those memories rushing back… but whether it’s brilliant or ridiculous is still up for debate

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If You’d Told Me Twenty Years Ago: Sarcoidosis, Heart Failure, and the Audacity of Still Being Here

Twenty years ago, I would’ve laughed at the idea that sarcoidosis could slowly rewrite my life until my heart needed supervision and my lungs required accessories. I didn’t know my future involved acronyms, oxygen tubing, and a pharmacy relationship built on mutual trust. If your body has ever quietly changed the rules while you were busy living… this one’s for you.

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Trading Cold Showers for Sarcoidosis: From Caribbean Surf to Upstate Snow

It wasn’t the cold air that woke me up—it was the memory of cold showers in the Caribbean, decades before I knew the word “sarcoidosis” would take over my vocabulary. One frosty morning in 2025 Upstate New York, I stepped into a hot shower and was transported back to simpler times when my lungs were clearer and the water was somehow always warmer, even when it wasn’t. And yeah, maybe I didn’t know how much those ocean swims mattered… until they weren’t an option anymore.

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The Study That Tried to Measure My Despair (But Forgot I Was Busy Surviving)

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.