That One Sick Girl

As I sit here and think about all that I want to say in reference to the year 2015, I can't help but think it cliche to be writing about my year at all, but, fear not, I have my reasons. 2015 was a year of many firsts.  I had my first ambulance ride, my first ICU stay, and my first actual diagnosed blood clot.  I went into septic shock for the first time, and ran fevers for 5 consecutive days for the first time in my memory. Apart from medical firsts, I have also had a few life firsts during the year of 2015.   I moved away to live in a dorm for the first time, and I also drove across-state (to and from school) on my own. 2015 was a year of many hardships. My health began to rapidly decline around six months ago.  If you know me at all, you know that I have a chronic illness.  I have been sick my whole life, but I can usually manage pretty well from a pain standpoint.  My symptoms have gotten so bad that I sleep 90% of the time in an attempt to escape them.

When I lost my grandfather in August I wasn't aware of the legacy that he would leave me.  I hadn't had time to process all that he had taught me yet, and, what I did know about his life, I wanted to be selfish with. Grief struck hard.  It has taken everyday since the day that we lost him for my family to rebuild what my grandma affectionately refers to as the Nation.  We have had to learn to live with the hole that was left upon my grandfathers passing, and, though we will always ache for his return, everyday gets a little easier.  I think a lot of that is God's doing. After a lot of thought, and some beautiful words from my grandmother, I am ready to share about the legacy that I have you all wondering about. In faith always. What does this mean, you might ask? Well, it started out as a loving reminder between my grandparents to live for Jesus in everything that they do.  As you have probably guessed by now, it means so much more to me now than it ever did when Po

I know that you love me, worry about me, or whatever else, but I need you to stop acting like I'm likely to break.  It is really starting to get on my nerves. I am sick, big deal. I'm also nineteen.  I'm a big girl, and this is my life.  I have to live it as normally as I can.  When you act like I'm made of glass, it is kind of difficult to do that. Please understand that this is no big thing for me.  I have been sick for a long time now.  I just incorporate it into everyday life.  Sure, I have more medicine than most people my age, and I might have my specialty clinics on speed dial, but that's just me.  Treat me like anyone else, and I will tell you what I can handle and if I need your help, but don't just assume I need it without a second thought. I need you to realize that I will have good days and bad days.  Having a chronic illness is just like that.  Some mornings I wake up, crack open my eyes, and realize that there is no way I am going to make i

Have you ever been told that you can't judge a book by it's cover?  Yes? Then how can you judge me by mine? Tell me that. I know that I have been focusing a lot on not looking like I feel, but this is important to me.  It really bothers me when people tell me that I look good (meaning healthy), and it makes no sense to me that I am judged by how I appear.  I know that the people who are saying how good I look mean it to be a compliment, but.. it's definitely not one. Why can't you just ask me how I feel? If you did ask, you would know a different story from the one you have made up in your head about me.  You would see how hard I have to fight just to look half way decent in the mornings or to smile and be happy at any point in time. This cause... this awareness week.  It means so much more to warriors than just a chance to make our illnesses known to the general public.  It gives us a chance to share our stories.  It allows for you, the general public, to see t

People often ask me how I can stay so positive in living like I do, so today I thought I would share a little bit about what drives me.  I guess it's important to start by making one thing clear.  I have not always been so positive, and I can't say that I won't ever have another negative thought again.  My illness is invisible, and, thus, so are many aspects of my fight. One of those so called "invisible" aspects to my fight is actually not a what but rather a who. My mama.   Every morning when I wake up my first order of business is to get my medications together and my elemental formula (aka food) made for the day.  What if I'm in too much pain to get around that day? What if I am running late? What if I'm feeling lazy?   You guessed it.  Mom is always there to help.   Every week I have several doctors visits and/or emergencies to attend to.  Do I really have to go to the hospital alone?  Nope.  You guessed again.. Mom tags along when

When I think about who I am, I know there is something different about me... beyond the fact that I'm a medical anomaly.  I hurt more than I should, and I have a hard time just being myself.  Don't get me wrong, I love people, but... I suffer from a fear of people. I know it's irrational, and I know that I am loved, but that just isn't enough.  Being around people who don't understand me and know me is hard.  Change is hard, and, thus, being here at school is hard.  I'm always afraid that I will say or do something wrong. Social ques aren't really my strong suit, so I put on a mask to hide my insecurities. I'm so afraid of saying the wrong thing that I do just that in the midst of my anxiety. No, this isn't an easy subject to write about, but it's a necessary one.  Anxiety is a real thing, and it can destroy the soul if you're not careful to address it.  I have seen therapists and school counselors.  I have poured my heart out to my bes

The dictionary definition of empathy is as follows: Identification with and understanding of anothers feelings, situation, and motives.  When I think of this in competition with sympathy, which can have several meanings, it doesn't seem right to me that there be any competition at all. I want empathy.... No, I need empathy.   To use the best definition for my purpose, sympathy means pity or sorrow for the distress of another. I don't know about you, but I don't like the idea of being pitied.  What I mean to say is that everyone comes to a point in their life where they need to be in contact with someone who understands the feelings and motives that go along with the situation currently underway.   Take life with chronic illness, if only because I deal with it daily, as the perfect example of empathy being far superior to sympathy in dealing with the situation.   When you're sick all the time, people who do not understand on a more intimate level will do

Being away at school has been pretty great but also very difficult in several ways.  In order to handle the daily challenges from being chronically ill as well as all of my schoolwork, I had to develop some rules to live by.  I figured someone else might benefit from them also, whether they are chronically ill or not.  Here they are. 1. Breathe Having a busy schedule is part of being a college student.  It's okay to need some time to just breathe. Your friends will understand if you can't always "go go go" like they can.  If they don't, then maybe they aren't the friends you should have in the first place.   2. Health Comes First I know that going to that class is important, but so are you.  If you don't figure out your health today, then you might set yourself up for missing class the rest of the week.  You will be better off missing a couple of classes now than you would be missing the entire week of midterms because you got yourself hosp

I want to post something different from anything I've ever posted before. It has nothing to do with my sick story, but everything to do with my story. Please bare with me... Around 2 1/2 years ago my family went through one of the most pivotal moments in our lives. Things were really really bad. My step dad, who is an alcoholic, had been drinking nearly every chance he got. He was a mean drunk. I feared the nights because that was always when he was at his worst. Often times things would become physical and he would hurt my mom, myself, or sometimes my brothers. My mother took the worst of every confrontation and I would find myself coming to her aide much of the time. I hated him, but I always held off on calling the police at my mom's request. I was the protector in the house. I took it as my responsibility to break up fights and make sure my mom and little brothers were safe. This earned me a few bruises, but mainly emotional battering from my step dad. One night in