Mid-February of my freshman year, I developed a chronic illness. Multiple chronic illnesses, to be precise. It was a Saturday, and I slept through my alarm, so I had to rush to get ready to meet my friend for brunch. I was feeling a little shaky, a little nauseated, and not at all hungry – no big deal, I just didn’t sleep well. Right?
I ate a couple bites of a chocolate muffin, went back to my dorm, and spent the rest of the day laying in bed. I felt so sick, so tired and worn down, that I made an appointment at Deacon Health for the next morning. There, the doctor said that I was just stressed, recommended more sleep, wrote a two-week prescription for a protein pump inhibitor, and told me to follow up with my doctor at home. The doctor said that, within those two weeks, I would feel better. I didn’t.
At first, it was rough. I could barely stomach any and all food, lost countless friends as my body left me empty, and was dumped by my now-ex for being “too boring.” Most people in my life couldn’t understand why I barely had the energy to respond to texts, and I couldn’t understand how to be a “normal” functioning human again.Â
There are so many moments from this period that will forever be burned into my memory: my first gastroenterologist telling me the only things that would help my chronic nausea were dropping out and drinking peppermint tea; “ruining” Thanksgiving by following my prescribed elimination diet; being the youngest person in every specialist’s waiting room.
Now, two years later, I can appear to be a “normal” functioning human. I can go to my classes, keep up with homework, and try new restaurants with my friends. I can finish my to-do list and actually have the energy to read, crochet, or go for a walk. I can walk the narrow line of balancing my needs and responsibilities, and if I stumble, can get myself back on track.Â
No matter how I am feeling, I can function because of the kindness of the people around me. Because of the support of my family, who learned alternatives of my favorite recipes and my friends, who are willing to hang out with me, even if I only have the energy to lay in bed and watch a movie. Because of the faculty and staff here at Wake, who go out of their way to accommodate my needs and allow me to take my time. Because of my loving partner, who has my back no matter what.
I find it hard to speak about my illnesses. Sometimes, it feels like I am the only person on campus who struggles with my health, who constantly feels sick, or is struggling to balance everything. Every day, I am aware that most people on my college campus have no idea what it is really like to live with a chronic illness or a disability. My college campus was not built to be accessible, and yet, the only way to make change is to talk about it, so I’m finally speaking out, and hopefully make others reading this feel less alone.