Normally, people celebrate anniversaries. Whether it be your marriage, or other milestones in your life. A day, where you look back and remember something monument that happened on that exact day.
November 16th is my "sick-aversary." The day my life changed forever.
126,230,400 seconds, 2 ,103,840 minutes , 35,064 hours, 1,461 days, 208 weeks, 48 months, 4 years...
I remember the exact moment it happened, very vividly. It was just another normal, typical day. My friend and I decided to go for a bike ride, which was something we always did. We couldn't drive at the time, so we hopped on our bikes and went anywhere we wanted to, in our small little town. We got about 10-15 minutes away from my house when my chest starting hurting and getting tight. (I've had Asthma since I was two years old, so I thought maybe I just needed to go back and take my inhaler.) We biked back to my house and when we arrived, I could tell something wasn't right... I made it upstairs to my bedroom when right before I hooked up my nebulizer, I was on the floor, struggling, gasping for air. When I finally made it to the hospital, I was immediately taken to Critical Care and eventually the Pulmonary Intensive Care Unit. (PICU).
Little did I know, that was th e f irst part of my journey I nev er saw c omin g.
From that day forward, nothing was th e same again. For 2 1/2 years I was in the hospital and/or PICU at least, several times a month. From the beginning of my journey, when I ha d no diagnoses (besides Asthma) and no explanation as to why I was so sick, I would make it a couple days out of the hospital before I was forced to be right back in. I spent more time in the hospital than I did at home, and whether I l iked it or not , the hos pital was my new home.
November 16th is my "sick-aversary." The day my life changed forever.
126,230,400 seconds, 2 ,103,840 minutes , 35,064 hours, 1,461 days, 208 weeks, 48 months, 4 years...
I remember the exact moment it happened, very vividly. It was just another normal, typical day. My friend and I decided to go for a bike ride, which was something we always did. We couldn't drive at the time, so we hopped on our bikes and went anywhere we wanted to, in our small little town. We got about 10-15 minutes away from my house when my chest starting hurting and getting tight. (I've had Asthma since I was two years old, so I thought maybe I just needed to go back and take my inhaler.) We biked back to my house and when we arrived, I could tell something wasn't right... I made it upstairs to my bedroom when right before I hooked up my nebulizer, I was on the floor, struggling, gasping for air. When I finally made it to the hospital, I was immediately taken to Critical Care and eventually the Pulmonary Intensive Care Unit. (PICU).
Little did I know, that was th e f irst part of my journey I nev er saw c omin g.
From that day forward, nothing was th e same again. For 2 1/2 years I was in the hospital and/or PICU at least, several times a month. From the beginning of my journey, when I ha d no diagnoses (besides Asthma) and no explanation as to why I was so sick, I would make it a couple days out of the hospital before I was forced to be right back in. I spent more time in the hospital than I did at home, and whether I l iked it or not , the hos pital was my new home.
I wish I could say, that this story had a happy ending. That I'm no longer sick, or that was just a one time thing. But unfortunately, that's just not the reality. It's been 4 years now and though I'm not in the same exact spot as I was, I'm still stuck in the same merry-go-round, going in the same circle over and over.
Sometimes, people will tell me that they have no clue how I manage to stay strong all the time, how I manage to keep a smile on my face through all the adversities. But part of staying strong, is allowing yourself to break down. Allowing yourself to grieve over the life you once had, the one you lost. There are times when I scream as loud as I can into my pillow. I will punch it over and over. Times when I cry and cry until I think I can't possibly have any tears left. Times where I wish this life wasn't mine..
I wish that I could just trade in this life for a new one. A pain-free, illness-free life. But then I realize, I was given this life because I am tough enough to handle it. Maybe I was given this, so that someone else, who maybe wasn't strong enough, didn't have to. So even when I'm "done" I still fight. I wake up every morning and fight through the day. Fight all the battles and wars no one has a clue about. That's what I have to do, because there is no other choice.
So yes, this journey has broke me down many times, but it has also lifted me up in so many different ways too. I owe it all to the support system I have. Being sick has showed me who my true friends are, it shows me who truly stays around when the going gets rough. I have met so many other people my age, battling the same and/or different illnesses as me. I am blessed by the overwhelming support they offer me and to know that through it all, I'm not alone. I have a few of the most amazing specialists and doctors on my team who, work seemingly endless to find the next medication, testing, surgery, or treatment plan they think will help me best. I fell out of my faith for a while, but got back into it and work towards a relationship with God and trusting in the plan he has for me. Sometimes in the midst of all the trials, I am reminded that there is good in this fight.. even when I have to look a little harder on some days, there's hope.
So far in this journey, I have had many ups and downs. Though my fight is nowhere near over, I will maintain hope that someday a cure will come, and good health will return. But if it doesn't, I'll continue to fight every single day.. fight for the life I deserve.