Private Chef, Writer & Podcaster
Living with sarcoidosis and heart failure means facing down terrifying statistics, clueless predictions, and medical journals that act like they’re auditioning to narrate a true-crime documentary about my lungs. But in the middle of all that doom, I’ve learned to rewrite the script, trust my stubborn body, and keep choosing a life filled with humor, resilience, love, and the occasional hummingbird cameo.
Before my MRI next week, a simple online check-in turned into a bizarre quiz about my private life, sprinkled with the usual sarcoidosis-related precautions—but what came next left me blinking at the screen and wondering who exactly was getting scanned here. Let’s just say the questions took a turn I did not see coming.
Living with sarcoidosis is already its own exhausting full-time job, so the idea of a support group sounded…promising. Or at least not disastrous. But back in the early 2010s, when my lungs and heart were misbehaving like rebellious teenagers, the search for “people like me” turned into something far stranger than comforting. I won’t spoil the whole story here, but let’s just say it involved Christmas ornaments, long train rides, and me realizing the person I actually needed to find was somewhere else entirely. Maybe someone like you.
On a quiet sunset drive, I stumbled into a raw moment between a fox and a crow—two wild creatures locked in instinct and mystery. What began as an ordinary evening turned into a reflection on survival, intuition, and the strange ways nature mirrors our own chronic-illness battles.
After a week of rain and gray skies, I stepped outside and found myself face-to-face with a monarch butterfly—a rare, breathtaking sight that reminded me why we let dandelions grow and bees buzz in our yard. Here's why moments like these mean everything when you're living with chronic illness and still trying to find joy in the little things.
Tate Basildon 