As many times as I closed my eyes and envisioned of having a normal life again, a needle jabbed into my arm and slammed me back to reality.
Sitting there in my hospital bed I always thought what I could have done to prevent me being there.
I began having odd symptoms I could not really explain a few months before. I had told my mom about the bloody stool and the cramping, but assured me it was probably nothing too serious. Figuring I was a pretty fit and healthy 17 year old I really had nothing to worry about. A couple days went by and the cramping became worse along with the bloody stools. I was in chemistry when I had fell to the floor with excruciating pain. I had a classmate help me to the office where I called my parents to admit me to the ER. And that is where it all began, the blood work, the tests, colonoscopys, endoscopys, and X-Rays. I was diagnosed with ulcerative colitis. Many doctors appointments went by and I was so ill I was admitted into the local hospital for evaluation. Hospitalized and angry, I didn’t give off the best attitude for a young lady. With a childlike mentality I took most of it as a joke. I was better after about a week of fluids, needles, ivs, oral steroids, pain medications, and hosp ital gowns. I didn’t realize how serious this illness after about a week and a half. I started to go in reverse. None of the new meds were helping, at all. My grandma had passed away the same week I was going to be readmitted into the hospital . I was able to attend the funeral but I was not able to stay for long. My mother brought me straight to the house, packed the things I had needed most and took me to the hospital.
So, there I was, admitted once again but I had a different attitude this time, I was scared. I was put on liquid steroids and a lot of fluids. Dropping down almost 30 lbs in weight and having a hemoglobin of 6, I had almost lost all hope. I was helpless. I was dying.
Having your family surrounding you with despair and worry on their faces was the worst thing I have ever experienced. My father; the toughest man I know, grabbed my hand and started to cry. I stared at him, trying my hardest to squeeze his hand. My lips trembling, a tear rolled down my cheek as I quietly stuttered “I love you”.
I still can not explain the thoughts that were running through my head when my doctor tried explaining to me what was going on. His words faded in and out when I was listening to him… “Too much blood loss… level 6 hemoglobin … anemia… life threatening … transfusion…”. It was all a blur to me, almost like the whole situation wasn’t real. I was ready to give up the fight, TKO. I decided to pray. I needed to try, I haven’t prayed since I was 7. I begged God to give me strength to pull through it. To give me courage. I didn’t sleep that night, I cried and cried and cried. A feeling came over me, like, everything is going to be okay and to keep fighting, so I did. I fought from giving up that night. The morning came and so did 3 nurses and my doctor. Handing me a paper and a pen, he told me it was the only option. I read the paper over and was horrified of all the risks printed off in bold font, I took the pen with my weak hand scribbled my name.
All I remember is a needle and staring at the blood slowly drip from the bag to the reservoir, and slowly working its way down the tube. I blacked out.
I really don’t know how long I was asleep, but I woke up alert and a bit more energized than I was.
After a few more days of recovery and evaluation I felt real again. I was released a couple days before my discharge date. I walked out of the hospital, in remission .
I am now 20 and still battle ulcerative colitis everyday, and I never give up hope. I have realized that if I would have given up hope, I probably wouldn’t be here right now. And I thank God everyday for giving me the strength to fight.
NEVER GIVE UP HOPE.