“Life is High Risk… You May Not Live.”

I know. I know what you’re thinking. In the last year, it’s been pretty clear. I make a lot of decisions and plans that don’t make a lot of sense.

A month or so ago, when I was in the hospital with double COVId pneumonia, several people were surprised to see that I was living in California.

Life is an adventure.

That’s the fun way of framing that living with a terminal illness makes planning the future nearly impossible.

A year ago, I sat in a doctor’s office and was told that the level of organ failure and systemic infection in my body was progressing such that, I shouldn’t really plan to be alive for more than 6 months.

So I didn’t. And because I wasn’t planning to live, I moved to Florida. The last year has held more memories than I ever expected to make. Bucket list busting (including scuba diving and meeting Bob Goff!), dancing, creating… and celebrating a terminal ain’t terrible.

I’ve slept in my car and lived in hotels, spent time in Airbnb’s with roaches (and two separate ones that had floods for different reasons), and the hottest summer months in Anaheim without AC…In the last year, I haven’t stayed in a place for more than 6 weeks. Because you don’t make plans beyond that.

• 

• 

It’s also been filled with more “I couldn’t make this stuff up” moments that have left me questioning everything. I’ve broken my hip, pelvis, and coccyx (weirdly enough not all at once) gotten run over in a hit and run, my identity was stolen as I flew out on a trip to Hawaii, I was diagnosed with watermelon stomach and underwent multiple outpatient surgical procedures, have received at least 5 blood transfusions and 10s of iron infusions, had over 30 ER trips (4 ambulance rides), undergone a “high risk… you may not live” hip surgery, overwhelming medical bills, and then… was in a COVID ICU after getting “high risk… you may not live” double COVID-Pneumonia.

But I did. And you’d think that would be enough drama and trial for a year, right? But 2 weeks ago I got in a car wreck and one of my sweetest blessings from this year was totaled. A car that I spent 4,000 miles with on a solo journey across the country a couple of months earlier (that story to come soon). It was a vehicle I purchased during this terminally ain’t terrible year and it was PERFECT for me physically. Every detail. At least a couple of days every week since I got my little 10-year-old VW Tiguan I would tell my mom how much I loved my luxury car with its grainy outdated backup cam but fully working heated leather seats. A true bright spot in the year…

**Also, note, in an airbag exploding, vehicle destroying accident… I came away alive. (Is a #terminalaintterrible life defined by my initial thought being “nope, still not dead” when I opened my eyes after impact?**

Just the week before, after walking through these last trials and joys in California, I made a decision while waiting on hold, listening to Disney music. The California chapter felt like it was leading to an ending right at that moment. My housing was already ending and unsettled and after looking at apartments and planning options all morning to stay, I felt so strongly I wasn’t supposed to.

• 

• 

• 

Because the last couple of years have been so complicated, my belongings seem to be littered across the country. And if Florida was, again, to be the final destination for this part of the journey, I needed to plan how to best get items from California, Arizona and Colorado, and my little Volkswagen, to a place in Florida (which is still experiencing a housing shortage because everyone is going there amidst COVID).

And in an instant (though still not dead ) my precious blessing vehicle, so much of my plan of how I could take myself to where I needed to go… was gone.

I’ve been dealing physically and emotionally with the loss. Dealing practically and financially with the steps forward. And fearful and embarrassed to even talk about the situation because, seriously, how do these things keep happening to me?! “You just can’t make this stuff up!” updates make me worried to share one more nugget of drama with the world before everybody starts thinking I’m crazy, or worse deserving of it for some reason? More on that later as well… So by way of packing boxes as luggage to Colorado and my mom to get me that far, then via plane and a stopover in Orlando I’m back… home. Home in South Florida.

Today I begin a lease on an apartment.

It’s longer than 6 weeks.

Today, a year ago, I was told I didn’t HAVE more than 6 weeks. My illness is still terminal and I may not have 6 days. Some days I think that’s the case, and yet I do HAVE today and I have enough faith and dreams to keep me here at least 6 more years!

I can’t make a plan. And because of that… my decisions won’t make sense.

• 

• 

• 

See, “LIFE is high risk… you may not live.”
In fact, statistics suggest I absolutely won’t.. forever.
But neither will you. I’m starting a discussion with you about how we walk out our PURPOSE when we can’t have a PLAN. How we celebrate and embrace the moments, grieve and sustain trial, worship and declare God’s faithfulness, and love and live out each #terminalaintterrible day.

Also, here is my updated address: 1801 Flagler Drive #407, West Palm Beach, FL 33407

Or over at amandaferrin.com where you can also find links for more updates and ways you can help and support me along the way!