From diagnosis onward, people with cystic fibrosis are inundated with statistics. When I was born with meconium ileus in 1972, my parents were told I had a 50-50 chance of surviving the surgery to repair the bowel blockage. During my first pulmonary function test at the age of 18, my lung capacity measured 50%, much to my surprise. Was my lung half empty or half full? When I was listed for a lung transplant in 1996 with a lung capacity of 30%, I was told I had a two year life expectancy. If I had a transplant, there would be a 50% chance I'd survive five years.

Statistics. Numbers. Data. They swim in my head like a school of fish, confusing me and forcing me to face the ultimate question "How much time do I have? How we comprehend the numbers depends on our psychological frame of mind, how the information is presented to us by our medical care providers, and how we and those around us internalize the information.

In 1989 the life expectancy of people with CF was 19 years of age. I remember my best friend, Karen, who was 16 at the time, stated, "Well, I guess I have three more years."

"Don't say that!" I told her, explaining that nineteen was the median life expectancy, meaning that half live longer and half live shorter. "We have to beat those odds!"

Well, Karen died at the age of 19. But from then on, I promised myself I would not fall into the trap of a self fulfilling prophecy and I'd fight the statistics and be an exception to the odds for as long as I could. Youthful idealism gave me many more years.

I've come to learn that statistics are research based numbers collected to give overall trends and generalized likelihoods for large groups but often don't hold true for each individual. I try to balance between healthy optimism, realism and denial. Some denial has allowed me to focus on living rather than getting depressed about the inevitable. Yet I also have to be realistic so I don't lose the perspective and "smell the roses" philosophy that living with a life threatening illness has taught me.

Now, five years after my lung transplant, I'm still alive and live a healthy, active and amazingly normal life. I'm grateful beyond words. In my morbid state of humor, I've collected cards and bumper stickers that state things like, " Not Dead Yet, " or " Any day above ground is a good day."

Am I still aware that I face a limited life expectancy? Certainly! But I still try not to pay too much attention to the statistics, but rather focus on taking care of my health and adopting the mantra, "Today, I'm okay."

Like many lung transplant patients experiencing life without CF for the first time, these extra years are icing on the cake, and regardless of what limit in life expectancy I may face eventually, it has all be worth it.