At twenty-two, Jennifer Cramer-Miller felt thrilled with her new job, charming boyfriend, and Seattle apartment. Then she received a devastating autoimmune diagnosis—and suddenly, rather than planning for a bright future, she soaked a hospital pillow with tears and grappled with the word “incurable.”
That day, Cramer-Miller unwillingly crossed over from wellness to chronic illness—from thriving to kidney failure. Not part of the plan. Three decades and four kidney transplants later, the love of family, fierce gratitude, and chronic hope have helped her forge a path to joy. Because sometimes, the sorrows that threaten to pull us apart unite us in hope.
The Following Book Excerpt (lightly adapted for clarity) is from Cramer-Miller’s memoir, Incurable Optimist: Living with Illness and Chronic Hope.
After school, my thirteen-year-old daughter and I headed to the pharmacy, a frequent errand, which may have sparked her conversation. “It’s hard sometimes,” she said, fidgeting with her backpack.
“What is?” I felt my protective-mom mode flare. Was there a bully at school? Was a teacher out of line?
“The kidney stuff—I mean . . . don’t take this the wrong way,” she said. Avoiding eye contact, she looked straight ahead at the road.
I pulled in a grounding breath. “It’s okay, Liza. What are you thinking about?” I stole a glance at her and then turned back to face forward.
“Well, I think you do a great job. I just hope...I just hope it doesn’t happen to me.” Her hands rested on her legs, and her eyes rested on her hands.
“Oh my gosh—no!” I exclaimed. “This will not happen to you. The doctors told me this condition is not genetic,” I said firmly. “It’s okay for me,” I continued, “but it would never be okay for you.” I wanted the conviction of my words to banish her thought forever.
Relieved, she looked at me as though I’d wiped away her doubts. “I think you have an amazing attitude, Mom. You handle everything really well.”
“Thanks, honey, I try,” I replied, turning briefly to take her in. My eyes on the road, I continued, “I guess through it all, I’ve become determined to make it the best I can.”
She nodded, and I felt connected to her in a way that filled me. Gratitude flooded me as I took in the bird’s-eye view of us, a mother and daughter running errands after school. There was so much more I wanted to say to her about how lucky we are and what a miracle it is to travel through this life together.
I wanted to tell her that the challenges I’ve endured scooped a piece out of me, but the hole has filled with a fierce appreciation for being here. For her. For Dirk. For my parents and family and friends. For robust coffee and crisp sheets and ripe avocados and spring blooms and blue skies and inside jokes, and the wonder of it all. Instead, I just rested my hand on hers and smiled.
She continued, “All I know is, I’m glad you’re determined because it seems to be working. Keep doing what you’re doing.” I inhaled a thankful breath that Liza held a positive outlook about my health.
Soon after, I recalled meeting a forty-something mother with her young daughter, long ago, at a chronic illness support group. I remembered the hollow expression on that woman’s face and the invisible weight that pressed her daughter into her chair.
I’d traveled a long way since my twenties when I’d sat in that group circle years earlier with my mom.
Now Liza was a teenager, and I was in my forties. I hadn’t allowed myself to empathize with the woman in the support group back then because I’d feared her fate was my future. If only I could time travel back to that moment as my current wiser self and offer understanding and support. I wanted to return to that room and hug her and her daughter.
Through the years, my proclivity to make everything okay had garnered more depth. As life played on through my twenties, thirties, and forties, I’d learned that we will always toggle between joy and sorrow. And life is a teacher that never retires.
As Liza and I connected in the car, I fortified my determination to boost my mind-body wellness with positive imagery. Everything I could do to manifest the future I wanted for my family; I would do. We had to be okay. I had thought the stakes of this game came down to heal or fail, and healing was the prize.
But no. Maybe the real prize is living.
Jennifer Cramer-Miller is an author and speaker, focusing on stories of hope. Jennifer’s new memoir, Incurable Optimist: Living with Illness and Chronic Hope received a Publishers Weekly starred review, an International Impact Book Award, a Book Excellence Award, a BookFest Award, an IPPY award, and was a memoir and cover design finalist in the Next Generation Indie Book Awards. As a patient advocate, she helps others manage uncertainty, move forward with hope, and find some joy. JenniferCramerMiller.com
You’ll find her essays featured in Zibby Mag, Brevity Blog, The Sunlight Press, Next Avenue, Grown & Flown, The Erma Bombeck Blog, Star Tribune, Minnesota Physician, Mamalode, and Medium.