Private Chef, Writer & Podcaster
Would you let a stranger wrap something around your bare skin that’s been on hundreds of other bodies… and just trust it’s clean? If you’re living with sarcoidosis (or any chronic illness), that question hits different—because “probably fine” is not a medical plan. Come with me the next time I’m in a doctor’s office, silently judging a blood pressure cuff like it owes me rent.
Some people say we show up on Earth with a pre-approved “lesson plan.” If that’s true, I’d like to speak to the manager—because sarcoidosis has me collecting plot twists like they’re loyalty points. A collapsed lung, then a retina scare, and a front-row seat to how quickly doctors change their tone when you know the language… Let’s talk about the one skill chronic illness forces you to learn: becoming the calm, informed voice in a room full of confident strangers with stethoscopes.
In the U.S., “So what do you do?” is basically a handshake. And the moment you answer, people quietly file you into a mental drawer—salary range, social rank, usefulness, vibe. Add a diagnosis like sarcoidosis to the mix and suddenly you’re not even a person anymore, you’re a set of symptoms with a name tag. This is the story of how I learned to stop auditioning for other people’s categories—and how I keep choosing to be myself anyway, even when the world would rather label me than listen.