What do you think of when you hear the term, “nesting?”  Most people have in their minds sparkling images of pregnant women laying out fluffy pink or blue blankets (or both).  Putting together the crib, Crocheting socks and hats, or trying to find that perfect place for the sock-monkey.  That is a pretty picture.  “Nesting.”  How comfy.

Well, I’ve got news for you people. I’m experiencing a whole other form of nesting, and sock-monkies have nothing to do with it.

In early October, my husband and I relocated to “The Big City” for my transplant. Seeing as we were living in a town of about 8,000 people, this was a change.  I knew this would be a big adjustment for me, so my family suggested that we look at it as a chance to have a whole new redecorating adventure.  As I consider myself to be quite self-esteemed in that area, this seemed to take a bit of an edge off the thought of leaving my home and all the people in it.

Well, I’m here to tell you the that the redecorating has been completed, and the just-plain-ole “nesting” has set in.  And by “nesting,” I mean reorganizing all the closets in the house at least 7 times so far, and I’m sure there’s more to come.  Also, purchasing every natural and scent-free cleaning product available to mankind, and testing it on pretty much all surfaces in our new apartment. I’ve always been what my friends and family like to affectionately term “obsessive” about my household, but lately things have been in high gear.  I think the thought of having a transplant and coming home helpless, and not having everything in place beforehand, is somehow subconsciously controlling my “nesting.”

And that, my friends, is NOT a pretty picture.

And Then It Begins…l

My name is Miriam Rhymes. I’m thirty years old, but I feel like I’ve already lived a lifetime. A bit cliche, right?

I’ve been dealing with serious health problems my entire life, and now I’m waiting for a double lung transplant due to a disease called Obliterative Bronchiolitis.

Why write a blog? Honestly, I wasn’t really into it at first. Who wants to read another sad story about another ill person? Doesn’t everyone get enough of that already?  This was my thinking.

It was my amazing support system of friends and family that made me realize that my trials and my humor about my trials could help me help others.

And helping others is the most important thing a human being can do in this world.

Plus, I can make all the inappropriate cracks about myself and my disease that I want, and no one can say anything about it!


So, if you want, follow my story. And maybe we can learn something from each other in the process.