There and Back

Seven years ago, I lost my life. Not in the traditional sense but pathologically. From the time I could remember, I was always told to prepare myself for the day when I would no longer be myself, but no amount of preparation could have prepared me for the battle I had to fight. The worse part of it all is that the struggle wasn't against any foe but against myself. Against my own body.

Sadly, my nightmare began after one of my best summers. The summer of two thousand-fifteen. I was twenty-five and living my life to its fullest. I had the love of my life, a job that I loved, and amazing friends, and I had just purchased my brand-new car. This summer was especially notable because my childhood best friend was coming to visit me. Unfortunately, the cause for a memorable summer was also what led to my eventual metaphorical demise.

On that warm summer day, the excitement and giddiness were palpable in the air as my sister and all of my friends congregated at the amusement park entrance, where we placed ourselves at the end of the long winding line. Once there, we passed around introductions and, within minutes, were all speaking and cackling with laughter as if we had all known each other our whole lives. Unbeknownst to me, while I stood there basking in the sun's golden rays and enjoying the company of those I cherished, my clock to personal pain and destruction had begun to tick.

For those who do not know it is here, I must explain my unique body composition; some I have known about my entire life, and others were little surprises I received along the way. The first and most formidable foe is Sickle Cell Anemia Disease SS. This is a blood disorder that causes not only severe and excruciating pain but also a multitude of other complications. Some are the eventual development of arthritis, bone necrosis, organ failure, stroke, and heart failure. My next “gift,” which I found out about only within the last five or so years, is Polycystic Kidney disease. Finally, my least severe complication is a mitral valve prolapse in my heart. Alone, each of these diseases would cause enough havoc, but all together, they created the perfect brew of destruction.

So, as I skipped along with my friends going on rides and running around the theme park, all of the stress I had put my body through was slowly accumulating into a bomb ready to detonate, and the last recipe for disaster was being stirred in. While for most people, an adrenaline rush is exhilarating, and mild dehydration is easily reversed, that was not the case for me. I was going to find out the hard way that when my mother would warn me that I was not like other kids and to stop, rest, and stay hydrated even if I was having fun should have been something I paid heed to even later in life.

The final boom of my allegorical bomb didn’t come until a day later. The exhaustion and stress from the day before and the build-up of me living my wild twenty-something dreams consisting of little sleep, a bad diet, and alcohol consumption all hit at once. One moment I sat down to watch a movie; the next, I was curled into the fetal position, asking God to kill me. The pain, I would imagine, is comparable to getting run over and then set on fire. The pain is blinding and encases my entire body from my jaw down to my toes. While the emergency room, at the time, was a simple five-minute drive away. Getting dressed and having my friend drive me there took a century, or it felt that long to my pain-addled mind. While I would have liked to tell you about my experience once I had arrived at the ER, I genuinely don't remember anything other than what my friend and my sister, who later came, told me. One moment I was screaming; the next, I was waking up three days later in the ICU. I later learned this is my brain's way of protecting me from the trauma. Similar to a woman forgetting the pain of childbirth once their baby is born. This experience was so startling that I applied and began nursing school immediately upon my release so that I may be able to help my fellow sickle cell warriors. Little did I know I would never get to use my degree…at least not yet.

While this sounds like an experience someone could only endure once in a lifetime, it became the norm for me for the next seven years. I spent every birthday and holiday either in an emergency or hospital room. And as you would expect, the constant trauma of going through such an ordeal wreaked havoc on my body and brain. The once lively, optimistic, can-do-anything me became solemn, pessimistic, and severely suicidal.

Although many people surmise that rock bottom is as low as you can go, countless people in situations similar to mine know that that isn’t particularly true. There is a level just below rock bottom, and it’s called hell. We often ascertain that rock bottom is the lowest level of destruction the mind and body can take because those who go beyond it don’t usually live to tell their story. So, if you would like to know my story of how I went there and back, please follow me as I tell you the harrowing story of my survival.