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Before the most needful event in my life thus far, I was a wreck. I didn't give a crap about anyone other than listening to music, drawing and trying to avoid suicide in any way that I could. I hated the house I lived in, hated the citizen I lived with, couldn't understand the world and didn't authentically have the desire to do so. Sure, I tried in school but at some point in my freshman year in high school I stopped caring. The F's and D's were rolling in as constant as the sun rises and sets. I had fallen into such a deep rut that depression was my sanctuary. There was no way but additional into the darkness at this duration in my life. High school was rough until I moved to California where I started trying again. It was a new start. I started overachieving at everything. I got English awards, had Gpa recognition seminars to go to each semester. I was golden and averaging a 4.0.
That was until right after my 18th birthday. My handwriting changed, I went from writing bouncy and bubbly (like an excited preteen) to writing tiny, all capital letters with very minuscule punctuation; something odd inspecting my love of English and desire to write. I started tripping down and up stairs, slurring my speech and failing in math. My grades slipped in every branch other than English where I continued to strive and write as much as possible. I wrote all the time, but my writing was different. I was misspelling words and getting the letters in words mixed up.
Headaches began to ravage my being. I couldn't go one full day without a debilitating headache that left me lethargic, in agony and confused. I would fall asleep at the most random times. Sleep claimed me the moment I sat down in any class, once I got home, even at the evening meal table. Sometimes I slept more than 16 hours a day. My once approximately excellent hand-eye coordination began faltering; I would drop anyone tossed in my direction, put something at least half a foot from my target.
These symptoms went on for two weeks before I was reluctantly forced to go to the doctor where he ordered an Mri and a Ct scan. I remember being stuffed into the tiny capsule and falling asleep to the metallic clicking that would come to be a well-known lullaby with every visit. The doctor sat me down in his office and looked over the results then turned to me and said calmly; "I think its best you have man with you when I read your results." I went home to fetch a family member. On the way home I was wrecked with tears, so much so that I could barely drive. I was petrified of what may have showed up.
Back at the doctor's office with my family the doctor looked at me and said; "Now, I don't want to alarm you, but there is a mass that has shown up on the scan." I burst into tears, knowing this was my end. My family member cradled me as the doctor wrote a referral for a neurologist.
Over the next two months I would explore my health that was still a big fat ask mark. I knew that surgery was my only question. I needed to live my life and succeed, make something of myself. How could my life be cut short at 18? I wasn't even a real adult yet...
We went to one neurologist that said, "Let's wait six months, check again and see if it has grown any." I looked that doctor straight in the eye and said, "This is my brain we're talking about..." He said, "Exactly. We need to see if this mass poses a threat. It's not even that big." I rolled my eyes, looked at my family and said aloud, "This guy is an asshat." And left.
The next neurologist I saw said that we needed to take action as soon as possible. I had a surgery date but no idea what to expect. I was terrified. The internet became my escape, researching what was going on with my brain every hour of every day; I'd been taken out of school while this transitional period. I had friend's support, but it wasn't the same because I was still the new girl. My friend came down from my home town to visit over the next week before my surgery. I got a haircut just in case I'd have to get my head shaved for the procedure.
My friend and I spent every night for a week discussing what was going on. I remember one singular discussion.
"Are you scared?" She asked me as we lay over from one another in the deep darkness of 3am.
I shrugged. "I kinda want to die."
She gasped and punched my shoulder. "Don't say that!" I hushed her and lay on my back. "What if I die on the table? What if I wake up and I can't speak, hear, see, taste, draw..." She fell silent and held my hand. "Don't die yet." She whispered.
When she left I still had a week to go before surgery. I was terrified. Every time I went into the bathroom I'd look at myself in the mirror and wonder what it'd be like if I just died. At some point I hoped that I'd die on the table just in case something happened that would leave me deaf, blind or crippled. I didn't want to be a burden on anyone.
That was until I got a letter in the mail. I'd been getting cards and letters for the last three weeks, but I didn't know I was being view of so much until I opened this letter. On the envelope was my name, address, a stamp. That was all. I opened it and read over 200 names of citizen at a church that my grandmother went to that all said they were praying for me. I started crying. I don't believe in God. But I know citizen do and I know the power of their belief. This took away my desire to die, just sufficient to keep me going for the next week.
My family flew in for the surgery and went with me to the hospital. I wore my favorite, most comfortable clothing and walked into that hospital with a shred of hope. Something was wrong though; my family was wrecked, afraid for me. So I did the only thing I knew how to do: I became strong. I put on the smile that everybody loved and walked with so much reliance that my family was smiling as I gave hugs goodbye before the surgery.
It was meant to be a three hour surgery. I went in at 7 in the morning (after running nearby the huge hospital for some last minuscule scans). I met my anesthesiologist, a chubby man that held my hand as he spoke. A woman put an Iv in my arm as I dressed in my gown. I sat on the wheelchair in my cap, gown and booties and was wheeled into the waiting room to give a last wave to my family. My mom was crying.
I breathed and held the nurses hand. She stroked the back of my hand, the latex glove feeling so weird. She smiled, "You're the youngest brain surgery inpatient we've had in a few years." I laughed and looked at the table that stood in the middle of the Or. It looked so ominous.
They asked me to sit on the table and lay back. I did so and looked up at the white, overly sterile ceiling. Six or so nurses and assistants were walking nearby the table, hooking wires to my chest, temple. another Iv slid into my vein. The anesthesiologist came in and smiled, shaking my hand. My weak smile triggered him. He leaned down, touching my face: "Don't worry. You'll be just fine." He prepped me for the anesthesia and looked at me, sliding the mask over my nose and mouth. "Alright now... You're going to fall asleep soon. Count backwards from 100 to me okay?"
I nodded and suddenly felt a weight on my body. My eyes fluttered and my head spun. "100..." I whispered, seeing over at a table with a tube I knew would be put in me to help me breathe. "99..." I looked at him and shuddered, he stroked my hand. The darkness was pulling. I took a breath and whispered, "98..." I wanted to stay awake and fight it. Fight this power that just kept pulling. Just before I could say 97 the darkness claimed me and I was out.
When I awoke I was crying, calling out for my family despite my raspy throat. The surgery had taken 8 hours and fifteen minutes. I was in saving for another three hours, listening to other citizen wake from surgery, suffering in agony just as I was. My face was swollen on the left side. I was vomiting profusely; the anesthesia didn't react well with my body. I was puking for two more days before I suddenly sat up one day and started talking.
I began speaking again, waking up when the light shined into the room, eating soup and drinking, going to the bathroom (which is remarkably a big deal after a surgery). A nurse came into my room and offered a walk. I finally got to take off my leg cuffs that prevented clots by massaging my legs. Without any help other than that from my Iv stand, I walked nearby the floor, wondering into rooms and saying hello to fellow neurosurgery survivors like my. My face was mega swollen; the doctors had gone straight through my eyebrow to get out the mass.
Then I saw my doctor. He told me he was amazed, the mass was not as big as the last knuckle on my pinkie. It was bigger than my father's whole thumb from base, near the wrist, to tip. I was surprised, so was everybody else.
I became a favorite nearby my floor, saying hello to anyone that walked past, taking multiple walks a day, finally starting to eat solid food and keep it down. On the fifth day of my hospital stay I was off the Iv, walking on my own, speaking, and the swelling from my surgery was down sufficient to where I could see out of my eye. I hadn't showered in a week and smelled like hell, but I was ready to go home.
So I went home. And two weeks after that, with one eyebrow still missing (having been shaved for surgery), bruised up to high heaven, I went back to school. I graduated that year with over 135% in one class and a 4.0.
I had been reborn. I cared about my life so much that I wouldn't let anyone stand in my way of my dreams. I told my family that I had a dream and no one is going to stop me. I went into college despite some rough road and have gotten a 4.0 every semester. I appreciate all things given to me now and accept everybody and all things as they are, not as what I want them to be. I know that I wasn't meant to die. I was meant to live and thrive. I was meant to prove to this world that I can overcome anyone it throws my way.
If I can do it.
So can you.
Go out there. Catch your dreams and never, ever let go.
You are here to succeed. Every trial you have, every trial I have was meant to be overcome.
I live each day to the fullest, loving every second. Cherish every breath you breathe, every sunset you see, each star in the sky and every fiber of your being.
Carpe Diem!
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