We all have our own hell

I once thought that I was good for nothing.

I’d like to stress this early that this ain’t a drama series just so I could save some of your time. Everyone would say I’m the exact definition of a pessimist. And maybe I am, ever since I started getting bad news and big needles, I’ve always been that way—disappointed, discontent, craving, insecure even. I had a lot of dreams in my head and I’ve always tried to achieve them little by little, but struggling. And whenever I’m on the rising some bull situation would pull me back down without any warning.

When I was 9 years old I was diagnosed with a heart disease. I suffered weeks having a serious stiff neck, that I was eventually called a robot at home because I can’t turn back if I didn’t move my entire body. My physique was that of C3PO, thin and with limited movements. For a 9-year-old kid who’s used to run and play outdoors, it’s not acceptable. I also thought I’d lose my ability to walk as I suffered from swollen knees for days that walking caused so much pain. I felt bad back then that my grandmother had to carry me for me to take a piss.

My cardiologist told my parents that I had to rest awhile for tests and medication. Results say I had a rheumatic heart disease and so we went to the Heart Center and took tests. When we got there I initially felt different, because I was the youngest patient diagnosed with the disease. Some looked 30s or 40s, their nails are color purple and some even have wheel chairs. I wondered if I’ll eventually look like them when I grow up, and that thought scared me.

As a child I felt I was ready to move on and accept things as it is. I never cried or even talked for almost a year and my parents were too busy to notice. I took tests, endured needles and at the same time feeling bad knowing how much my parents are spending for my treatment. I fought the fear and promised to myself that I’ll make it up to them.

I always hid my emotions and sometimes I literally don’t feel anything, I’ll often times slip a plate off my hands as if I was floating someplace else. I had to undergo painful injections once every 21 days, I take up 27 tablets every day and suffer from nausea and allergies. All those things for 4 years. I spent half of my childhood on hospital visits, patient-doctor conversations and being excused from physical activities. Good thing was I’m not the type who people could bully, so unlike any story, I lived my life and made a lot of friends. My parents would also treat me as if nothing happened, which made me feel secure that I’m going to be back to normal.

Every time I think about this experience I honestly am teary- eyed. I wonder how strong I was as a child that I was eager enough to fight the situation. Maybe I got old at a very young age.

Eventually I got a diploma from my cardiologist saying that I passed the test of the disease. My heart went back to its normal size and I’m good to do whatever I please. I continued junior and senior high school playing sports, I was back in the game. Every time I get to shoot a ball or strike a goal, I always think about what I went through. That I won’t waste this life and keep living it. I can also see that my parents were relieved at how I recovered from that situation. Much more my parents became closer and thoughtful about each other.

I went to college and enjoyed every bit of it. I thought it was a happy ending story for me, that there’s no more bump along my way but I was mistaken.

I was about to start on my 2nd job and all I needed was a medical certificate that indicates I’m fit to work. I was 22 years old back then. I’m not sure but I felt as if there’s something about my tests but it can’t be since I looked really well and felt really healthy. When I went to the clinic, much to my dismay, I wasn’t able to meet the requirement and declined the job offer. I was diagnosed with a lung disease. I had the hope that it was just a machine error so I took the test thrice and same result would appear. I was really disappointed about myself as I was already starting to be where I wanted to be. I’m not sure what this situation means but I said hell, there is science to save me.

I thought I’ll be able to work while taking up the medication but after a week, every morning I would suffer from high fever that reached 42 degrees. I felt awfully ill that I can’t walk straight and sober. I initially thought this might be how it felt to be high and I didn’t like it. It didn’t end there; my intestines won’t process the food I’m eating so I had to throw up every after meal until my throat started to bleed. I also had internal allergies that my insides literally felt itchy and not a scratch would end it. I suffer from it everyday for a month thinking I had to go on because I have loved ones waiting for my recovery. I haven’t even met my promise yet of making it up to my parents. Slowly, as I take every pill I felt like I was dying.

Out of fear, my mother brought me to the hospital and told me to stop the medication. She says I might not really have a disease and that the tests might be mistaken. And as expected my doctor told me that I was a rare case, I was the only one who suffered the side effects of the medicines. She told us that I had to endure the pain, or I’ll have to choose between that or a daily injection for a year. It wasn’t recommended to have injections since its contents are hard to find and might result into a 50-50 case. Both option seemed like choosing which way to die.

I took a rest from the side effects and eventually started again. I suffered the same allergies, vomiting, 40-42-degree fever making me feel out of my mind and out of balance. Instead of getting better I felt as if I was being punished. I almost decided to put an end to it. I called my boyfriend and told him that he might not see me anymore because I don’t want to live that way. I’m not even sure if the medication would work so I gave up. I told myself maybe in the next life I’ll be healthy and accomplish the things I missed in this forsaken side of life.

My parents fought it and found a way to make me feel well and better. It was a longer process, double than the suggested timeframe, but I was highly sensitive to medicines so I had to see and try it. I was finally able to work while religiously taking the medication for almost a year and I looked really healthy, far off from when I started fighting life’s end. Right now I’m 25 years old, living my life, fully-recovered.

I thought it was the end of me and that I’m not meant to grow old and happy like people my age. I wanted to live longer and take life’s lessons along with my adventures. Just like everyone else, I also ask myself why of all damn people, I’m the one who always get into situations like this. The best part about living is finding out where you want to be and finally getting there. From someone who almost put a deadline to herself, don’t look at the dark side because you won’t see answers there.

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