It’s often said that every person experiences grief differently. For many years, I struggled to come to terms with my CF identity. Writing this blog is an effort for me to achieve the final stage of grief, which is acceptance.
From the time I was born in India, I faced frequent infections and hospitalizations. At age 5, after a long journey to Delhi, my family finally found out that I had cystic fibrosis. In many ways, that was just the beginning. Informationabout CF was scarce, and many doctors were unsure about my condition. One even said I might not live past 18.
My parents did everything they could, searching for answers while carrying the weight of constant judgment. Misinformation was everywhere, and I often felt like a test subject. Even when following every medical direction, I still ended up falling sick. Mornings were difficult, school was inconsistent, and treatments were limited.
But honestly, the physical symptoms were not nearly as tough as the constant mocking, body shaming, and judgment from people around me. It made me angry, bitter, and defensive, constantly questioning my existence. These experiences pushed me inward, and comics became my world. My mom and I made a deal that I could read them as a reward for reading literature. I realized as I got older that I was drawn to comics because no matter what, theircharacters kept fighting back. This mindset helped me through treatments, and I carried action figures to hospitals—even during multiple polyp surgeries—to remind me to keep moving forward.
After coming to the UK for school, a severe flare-up left me hospitalized for a month. It became clear that due to a complete lack of specialized CF centers and equipment in my home region, I had been systemically under-treated for 23 years. This lack of infrastructure, combined with India’s severe air pollution, caused permanent, irreversible lung damage. The clean air quality in the UK is critical to prevent the life-threatening lung bleedings I faced back home.
With proper National Health Service (NHS) care, my health improved, and I received vital mental health support that simply does not exist in the Indian medical model. Furthermore, life-saving CF modulator therapies like Kaftrio(Trikafta), which are financially impossible to obtain in India, have drastically stabilized my health. Returning to India now would be a death sentence. Without access to specialized NHS clinics and modulator therapies, my lung function will rapidly fail, sending me right back into a toxic environment with a radically reduced life expectancy.
Hiding my condition for so long took a massive toll, and last year I reached a very dark point. With support, I sought help and began accepting myself. I am still a work in progress; CF has taken opportunities and time, but I have rediscovered art, dance, fitness, and swimming. Today, I feel more optimistic.
I will paraphrase Captain Holt from Brooklyn 99: Every time someone accepts who they are and says it out loud, the world becomes a more interesting place. I have had a village helping me, and now I want to become a villager for someone else. If you are a CFer or a family member, I am here to listen and help.
A few of Rishabh’s sketches 
By: Rishabh Shukla
To read Rishabh’s full story, click here.