A small cough I refused to ignore
For a long time I suffered from a nagging cough. At first it came and went, and didn't really stop me from carrying on as usual. But over time the cough grew worse.
I went for medical tests, and at first I was told that everything was fine. But I felt that something was wrong.
I decided not to give up. I asked for a second opinion, kept asking questions and insisted on understanding what was causing the cough that wouldn't leave me.
In January 2017, after tests that included a bronchoscopy with cryobiopsy, a procedure in which a sample of lung tissue is taken, I received the diagnosis: pulmonary fibrosis.
Pulmonary fibrosis is a condition in which scar tissue forms in the lungs. As the scarring progresses, the lungs struggle to do their job and breathing can become an ever-growing effort.
It was not the news I had planned on receiving at a time when I wanted to start enjoying life more. But I didn't want the disease to define me.
Five years of living alongside the disease
After the diagnosis I started drug treatment aimed at slowing the progression of the disease.
I knew my medical condition had changed, but for several years I still managed to keep much of the routine that mattered to me. I kept working for about five more years, kept cycling and tried to enjoy life.
The treatment helped slow the decline, and in those years I felt I still had room to live the life I love. But the disease didn't stop.
In October 2024, as part of a medical work-up, I underwent a lung lavage, a test called BAL, whose purpose is, among other things, to check for infections in the lung.
After the test my respiratory condition deteriorated significantly. My blood oxygen level plummeted, and from that moment my life changed almost overnight. Where before I could manage without oxygen, suddenly I depended on an oxygen concentrator 24 hours a day.
Suddenly even a shower became a task
It is hard to explain to a healthy person what total dependence on oxygen means. It's not just the device you have to take everywhere. It's the fact that every simple action requires planning, and every small effort can leave you without air.
Even a shower, something I had done all my life without thinking, became a complex task. Standing, moving, the water and the effort of breathing forced me to turn up the oxygen flow and cope with real difficulty. Even getting up from the sofa wasn't always simple.
But I tried not to go easy on myself. I knew that the more I avoided activity, the easier it would be to stay on the sofa and do nothing. I tried to keep moving and to hold on to as much independence as possible, even when my body no longer cooperated.
The word that left me speechless for two days
After the deterioration I went through a series of tests and treatments at Ichilov Hospital, trying to understand what had happened and whether my condition could be improved.
When the treatments didn't bring the hoped-for improvement, my pulmonologist mentioned for the first time that I might need a lung transplant. I remember that moment well.
Until then I knew I was dealing with a serious disease, but the word "transplant" made the reality far more tangible. Suddenly you understand that your lungs can no longer function the way the body needs, and that perhaps the only way to go on living is to receive new lungs.
After two days I understood that I had to move forward. I turned to Dr. Liran Levy, a lung transplant specialist, and began the evaluation process for a transplant. I underwent many tests and learned about the surgery, the risks and the life that waits afterwards.
In March 2025 I was placed on the waiting list for a lung transplant. And from that moment a different kind of waiting began.
"The moment he mentioned it, I didn't speak for two days. I was in shock."
Waiting for the call that might change my life
I am a rational person by nature. For years I managed complex projects, and I am used to working with information, data and plans. I tried to manage the wait for a transplant the same way.
I read, I learned, I asked questions, I spoke with lung transplant recipients who had already been through it, and I also looked into transplant options abroad. I kept an orderly record of tests, approvals and medical documents. For me, every task I could move forward was one more thing within my control.
But there was one thing I couldn't manage: when the call would come. I knew I was high on the waiting list, but there was no way of knowing when suitable lungs would be found. Sometimes I would check my phone again and again, just to make sure I hadn't missed a call.
Even when you try to stay calm, there are moments when the uncertainty is almost unbearable. You know you need a transplant to go on living, but you have no way of knowing when it will come.
"About once a week I would check: maybe they called and I missed it?"
My greatest fear was that my wife would be left alone
People asked me whether I was afraid of the transplant, of the surgery and of the life afterwards. Of course there is fear. You can't go through a process like this without thinking about the risks and the uncertainty. But my greatest fear was a different one.
My family was the most significant source of strength in that period. My wife and children were there for me, and I felt I could focus on my own struggle because I had a strong, supportive family around me.
There were also moments when I broke. I didn't always want to talk about them. Sometimes I preferred to watch a film, go out to a café if I could, or simply distract myself from my thoughts.
I also found support in conversations with people who had undergone lung transplants, and in patient communities where you can ask questions, learn from others' experience and feel that someone understands exactly what you are talking about. I didn't always need encouragement in words. Sometimes practical information, and knowing that someone had already walked this road, was exactly what I needed.
"I wasn't afraid for myself. My greatest fear was that my wife would be left alone."
A chance to start again
After the waiting period came the news I had been waiting for: suitable lungs had been found, and I underwent a lung transplant.
After years of living with pulmonary fibrosis, and after a period in which even simple everyday actions became an effort, a new chapter opened before me.
A lung transplant is not the end of the medical journey. It requires close follow-up, ongoing medication, caution about infections and adjusting to a new routine. But it also gives you a chance: to go back to doing the things the disease gradually took from you, to plan the future again, to spend time with family and to aim for a more active and independent life.
And for me there is also a very simple dream: to get back on my bicycle. The bike that waited for me at home while I was tethered to an oxygen concentrator reminds me of the life I love and the things I want to return to.
My message to other patients: don't give up on yourselves
When I look back, I think a lot about that cough that started it all. About the first time I was told everything was fine, and about my decision to keep checking and to insist on answers. I also think about the years in which treatment let me keep working, cycling and enjoying my family, despite the disease.
So if there is one thing I want to pass on to other patients, it is the importance of listening to your body.
Even when you receive a hard diagnosis, it is important to know there is something you can do. Appropriate treatment, medical follow-up and pulmonary rehabilitation can help manage the disease and preserve function and quality of life.
Research into pulmonary fibrosis keeps advancing, and over the years more treatment options are emerging. For patients with advanced disease, every option that slows the decline can be significant. Because that time is not just a number on a lung function test. It is more time with family, another chance to leave the house, another bike ride, more moments of ordinary life that are so easy to take for granted.
And today, after the lung transplant, I am starting a new chapter, with hope of returning to the things I love and with far more appreciation for every breath.
"If something feels wrong, don't ignore it. Ask questions, ask for a medical work-up and be an active partner in your own care."
"The disease changed my life, but it didn't take away my will to keep living it."
— Yossi Ben Moshe
