It was like a movie. Like my life was some perfect story with the perfect family, faith, friends and social status. In reality, I didn’t have those things, and when my health went, so did most of my friends and parts of my family.
Then, you would expect that after years of struggle, a miracle would happen. I would miraculously heal and then my life would be better than ever before. I believe in miracles, but I have not experienced one yet.
It took the doctors three months to realize I needed an MRI. It took them four months to realize I still wasn’t better. It took them six months to realize having nightmares every night was an issue that required action. It took them seven months to realize I was sensitive to medicine. It took them eight months to realize I needed to go to the emergency room.
They gave me five drugs and they still have no idea how to stop the constant excruciating pain. They took about 20 vials of blood to realize nothing. All the hope I had rested in [religion]. And sometimes even those did not feel like enough. But, occasionally the things and actions weren’t the support I needed, the words from others helped me through the hard times.
-Isabel Church, sophomore