Happy Three Year Anniversary

There’s a kind of bitterness I cannot explain, in understanding that your body’s fighting to survive even though you want to give up.

There are no perfect circles. Except the disturbingly flawless roundness of inflamed cells in a pathologist report, confirming my diagnosis of colitis.

On October 1st, 2021, I was rushed to the hospital in the middle of the night due to incalculable stomach pain. During the peak time of COVID-19, 12 hours went by before I could even get on a hospital bed.

For the next 4 weeks, I found myself in the quietness of a hospital room. My parents taking shifts to visit me. The only sound is the steady rhythm of my heart monitor. Each step a conscious effort. Murmurs of medical jargon. The days blurred into a haze of blood tests. Needles. Vomiting. The only comfort was anticipating my next dose of morphine.

Three Octobers ago, I dug myself a ditch to lie in — but luckily my tears wouldn’t let me drown. After rounds of tests, an endoscopy, and 2 months in & out of Atrium Health, my life finally belonged only to me again. Now I get to feel the joy of simply being present in the world.

Although there are still days when phlebotomists need to take 12 tubes of blood from me, this continuous journey reminded me of the resilience that flows within me, and to carry a little extra compassion for those who might be going through the same thing.

Today and every October 1st since 2021, I've celebrated this day with a hearty meal, grateful I'll never have to endure a clear-liquid-only diet again. 🙌